A Toast: To the Ones Who Have Drank for Deeper Reasons

We once only dreamt to drink,

and now we drink only to dream.

With our limbs longer,

our livers lessened...

we have become bottles ourselves, 

just waiting to be thrown out to sea.

With love letters written in our stomachs,

they burn like a tomorrows sun...

and our liners are much too weak

to hold all of these memories,

all of this pain.

They are much too weak

to last until we find a shore,

until we find what we were

always searching for 

at the bottom of that bottle. 

They say that most of the great writers in history all had drinking or drug problems…

                            “Write drunk. Edit sober” – Ernest Hemingway

Although this may or may not hold any truth, you can choose to believe whatever you’d like. But before truly deciding whether you agree with this claim or not, I think you should just sit back and attempt to truly define what the term “Problem” really means. When the word problem gets dropped in any context, from any aspect, or when it leaves anyone’s tongue, it can hold a different meaning every time. Is a problem really a problem if it’s only a man’s muse? Is a problem really a bad thing, if it created the greatest memories? Is a problem really what it’s defined to be, if every problem we have ever had made us who we are today. What is a problem if we still are alive, if we still get to breathe?

There was once a time when we were much younger than we are now, and there were places where my friends and I would go to get drunk on so many of those beautiful summer nights.  There is an endless list of different places where we would go drink at, but I think I might lose your attention if I was to mention them all, so I am going to focus on just one. This place is an elementary school that backed up to one of my friends houses, a place where we would set up a tent within in its soccer fields, a place not far from the backdoor of his house, but just far enough to say that we felt its freedom. There is no need for names of where exactly I am talking about, or who I was with, but I need to explain to you why…

Yeah, we may have been a rowdy bunch-a-kids, but our carelessness back then has made us stronger today. We weren’t old enough to drink, hell; we weren’t even old enough to claim we knew what 10^th grade felt like, but get over that and hear me out! Any night that we had the chance, we would tent-it-up just beyond my buddy’s backyard, and one of us would make that call to the older kid to have them drop off some cheap beers or a bottle by the woods. Back then, we could get drunk off an amount of alcohol that today, could barely Listerine my breath. But it was never about the amount, it was never about how much we drank, it was about getting drunk so we could lie in the grass and watch the stars until we didn’t have to think anymore. It was about friendship, brotherhood, love, and at the time, it was what it took to open our chests to one another. It became a burn that has now defined us far beyond our bodies.

We drank in the fields behind this school for years, summer after summer, night after night, shooting star after shooting star. We would hang on the playground or swing on the swings and just talk about life together, about what it meant to love someone, about what it meant to be a man, about our families and our friends, about the future and the past, about our scars and our bleeding cuts. Slurring our words, eyes reddened, tongue and teeth free of judgment and care, we talked about everything on those nights. It was the first couple sips of a bottle that felt like a beehive filled with razor-blades, but it’s the sips we take today that feel like tomorrows knives do not matter, and yesterdays cuts have bled dry.

We are much older now, and backyards and playground have turned to bar-stools and top shelves. But the stars still hang above, and our conversations haven’t changed much. We still talk about everything, whether we are sober or drunk off our asses, we still are here for each other, and always will be. Yeah, it’s true; we definitely drink too much, but is it a problem is the question? The answer is No! I look at it as a solution, but not only for my depressions, but for my everythings’. Sometimes we turn to the bottle when things are going wrong, but sometimes we swig it in a celebratory fashion, and sometimes we drink just to remember those nights, those nights when we were younger, hands gripped around monkey bars or the chains of swings. Sometimes we drink because we want to fade away from this hellish world we were forced into, sometimes we drink ‘cause we love too much, sometimes we drink just to fuckin’ drink, and sometimes we drink just to remember what it once meant to live carelessly, with naïve eyes, and crooked smiles.

I have written poems drunk, and I have written poems sober… they are much different. Without claiming one or the other to be better, I’ve bled from both angles of the pen. So, as far as the word “Problem” goes, the only problem I have is with people judging something without understanding it. Why don’t you just sit back, take a swig of the bottle beneath the night sky, think about life and think about death, then fall asleep and dream, and hope you get the glory of waking up to once again breathe. This life is much too short…

I have lived,

and will continue too.

Memories held close,

written in messages

at the bottom of

shared bottles.

Memories of times

when we were free,

and some when 

we were not…

Letters From the Sky

Dear Michael,

I've been watching you for some time now,
and I know why you love them so much
but... please stop writing about the stars,
for they have never even thought 
about writing about you.

Love Always,
                     The Moon


For as long as I can remember, I always found myself waiting for the night to wage war on the day- the silence of darkness to replace the sounds of the sun. It's weird though, I have such a love-hate relationship with nighttime, cause' it's often where my most glamorous dreams are created as well as my emptiest and most fearful moments? It's confusing as hell, Trust me I know this! But in the weirdest sort of way, I love the helpless anxiety I get when approaching that coin flip at sundown.

SIDE NOTE: Q&A (taken from Michael's diary on July 1, 2009, sometime during the night)

Q: Why the fuck is Pluto not a planet anymore?

A: Well, according to the new definition, a full-fledged planet is an object that orbits the sun and is actually large enough to have become round due to the force of its own gravity. A planet must also dominate the neighborhood around its orbit. Pluto has been demoted simply because it does not dominate its neighborhood. Charon, Pluto's large "moon", is  about half the size of Pluto as a whole, while all the other true planets are much larger than their moons. 

If you are a person that has kept up with my writing over the years, for starters, I love you and thank you so much, but if you truly know anything about me from my writing, it's that I hate, from the abysmal corners of my stomach, I hate organized religion! But do not confuse that with me hating on any type of belief, because if that's what you think of me, then you do not quite know me. I believe too, just not in any one simplified God. I believe in family and friendship, I believe in love, in fate, and in the unknown. I believe the stars watch over me like angels, and that if I was to ever "pray" or do any begging for relief of any sort... It's the moon that I drop to my knees for.

I remember when I was younger, you know back when everything in the world was out to get us? (we all know that time, when in reality nothing was wrong and you were just a complete depressed-asshole for no reason) But as pointless and selfish as it was to act like this, things happen, and it's just a part of growing up. I would walk the streets, either alone or with a close friend, and I would watch the sky. I would literally just watch the sky, and I swear it moved in sync with my racing or fading heart beat. It was as if it knew how I was feeling and the flickering of the stars sang songs in silence that somehow fed my broken body to the moon to be fixed.

I have felt the pull of the moon on more nights than one should, like it wanted to bring me home or something? I cannot truly depict the feeling without sounding a little insane, so fuck it, here we go:

It's pull feels like death is coming for you. Death in the distance, but a death of only temporary moments, so you can remember what it feels like to be alive. The moons pull feels like the last swipe of a cutters blade, the needle to an addicts arm, the morning burn of a deep whiskey to an alcoholics chest, it is a pain capsule with no side effects besides the feeling of pure Ecstasy. The moons pull is a bloodless release of pain, and I've been addicted to the way it strangles me since the moments I left the womb and saw this hellish world we were forced to live within... and o' how beautiful every one of its flaws are.

I once would stare at the stars. I would choke myself with Orion''s belt and wonder why it's so tight. I would dream of being scooped up by the Big Dipper and being fed to the abyss of space, only to find my way back to Earth. I would stare at the stars of lost constellations and name them after people I have loved, and the ones I have forgotten. I would wish when I saw a shooting star. I would wish for it to crash into my chest so lovely and painfully.

Lately, I've been staring at the stars through the gloominess of these Rochester clouds... I just wish every light in the world would explode so I can see them more clearly, because I think their fading on me. I'm sick of writing about the stars, and I bet everyone else is just as sick of reading the words I write about the stars.

SIDE NOTE: Q&A (taken from Michael's heart at approximately 3:00 am last night, 
found somewhere sketched into his valves)  

Q: Do you still believe Pluto to be a planet?

A: Pluto is still a planet to me because I once believed it was as a child. I believed in many things then, that I still believe in today. And as for the fact that its size compared to the size of its moon is only double, that means that the moon in a way, consumes half of its body.... I wish our moon consumed half the size of Earth. But I also wish the moon consumed all of me. 

For as long as I can remember, I always found myself waiting for the night to wage war on the day- the silence of darkness to replace the sounds of the sun. I could really use the moons pull tonight...


Dear Michael,

We've been reading your poems for some time now,
and we know you have been screaming to us for answers
but we have yet to send a reply of any sort... Sorry.
The moon lied to you when it said that we would never write to you!
We are writing to you now, just to say hello,
because we still do not have any answers for you.
You must find them on your own.

P.S. Don't blame the moon for lying to you, 
it was only so you wouldn't be let down.

Love always, 
                 Some of those lost stars. 

Something About Fate...

Beneath the water,
I have sold my soul to suffocation.
And when I come to the surface,
I will refuse to swim,
for my heart is waterlogged,
and soaked in your sadness.

I'll take all of your pain,
if you promise to just 
drown me in all your love. 

I saw an old couple the other day walking, holding hands, and laughing. It was like each wrinkle upon their faces told a different story of why they loved each other. Each day, a different reason to love, a different reason to stay together; every wrinkle taught me that they simply never got used to the feeling of what it felt like to walk next to each other, to hold each other.

Today, I am not here to wonder where that kind of love has gone, and I'm sure as hell not going to go searching for it right now! I'm much too tired to do that at the moment. With your knees weak, and head exhausted, the feet inside your heart refuse to stand and run, so that's why you must allow your chest to fly. Sometimes even when you feel like you cannot breathe, these are the moments you were meant to float away. Float away from your body and linger in the embellishments of love like a lonely cloud stuck against a sky it doesn't belong in, and  then wait, just wait...

I was once told that you are supposed to let love just hit you, and although I agree deeply, there is much more to it. Yes, if you go searching for love, these are the moments where you most likely will never find it. But if you just sit around and do nothing, nothing at all, you are also bound to feel nothing. This seems like a catch 22, yeah? The answer is NO! If you truly believe in hope and think with an open mind, there are far more than only two ways to do everything. Prove me wrong... I'll disagree no matter your argument. Sorry.

Okay, so we have:

1.Go search for love
2. Let love find you

Then we have my method, the one I found in my dreams:

3. Work as a team, You & Fate, Together...

People think Fate is something where you only have a connection to one person, and no matter what, everything happens for a reason and it will find it's way, and you and this other person will end up together. Although this is beautiful, but for me, having Fate with one person is much too simple...
I believe we have Fate with more than one other person.

"I am the wisest man in the world, for I know only one thing, and that is that I know nothing"
               -Socrates

Okay, I posted that quote after what I just said to explain to you that my theory of fate holds no more factual truth than yours or the next persons. It is just how I feel. So Let me explain it more...

I believe we have Fate with many people, not only in love, but in friendship and just simple interaction as well. But I also believe you cannot just sit back and expect Fate to do all of the work for you; if you feel any connection at all, you must act on it, because there is no evidence that Fate will catch it as it drifts away. I believe that Fate comes from the universe and it comes from a power that we as humans simply cannot comprehend, I believe something allows us a moment of meeting each other, walking by each other, seeing each other, then it leave us with the option of acting on these moments.

I'll give an example of some situations:

1. A Interaction of Friendship (Living Angels):
It was about one year ago when I was driving to my internship, the world weighing on my mind, and I felt lost in the thoughts of everything. The cashier at the gas station I saw every morning, him and I had the same stupid conversation about the weather and how we wondered if the sun was going to come out anytime soon?

 I said: "Have a good day man.." and he replied: "Same to you Michael"..
Then I was outside pumping my gas when he ran out and said: "Michael, come back in here!"
I didn't really give a shit about anything that day and was in no hurry, so I made my way inside.

Then, there he stood with a large hot coffee and said: "I bet you it doesn't rain today, I think it's going to clear up as soon as you drive on outta here. Here's a coffee, I know how much you love your coffee" Then he giggled. A weird giggle it was, but I enjoyed the presence of happiness that day.

I told the man thank you, thank you so much. Then I began my drive to work, and I shit you not, the sky began to clear up. It was like the clouds moved away, away from my chest, and I felt freedom in my throat.

2. A Simple Interaction of Love:
I once walked by a beautiful girl in the library back at Coastal. Her hair so blonde, her eyes a blinding blue. She smelled of the oceans forgiveness, and I smelled like left over whiskey -Even Williams- you know, the cheap stuff. When our legs walked in sync by each other, as our eyes barely touched, something punched me in the chest... it was a heavy fist of a Fate that I would never grow to know. I walked by her, That's it.  Call me crazy, but I felt like I've felt her before, I felt like I loved her before. In past or future life, or in my dreams.

3. The Breaking of the Already Broken:
There was once a girl, so beautiful and broken. We met in the hallways of naive hearts and scrawny limbs, all so unaware of the power we held within the way we walked together during passing time. Her eyes taught me that pain was meant to be seen, and her scars made me want to die, made me want to bleed. For her. She screamed to feel alive, so I put a heart in her chest... my heart. Then we let fate slip away, and it was beautiful. We didn't trap each other anymore, we unchained ourselves, and walked away in different directions. But the only problem was, I forgot to grab my heart. I walked around for a couple years with a hole in my soul the size that only infinity shovels could dig. I was empty, and cold, and I almost knew what her scars felt like when I screamed.

4. A Complicated Interaction of Love: 
She tells me that another universe connects us, and I believe her. I tell her we were born in the stars and meant to gaze the moon together, but we may never touch. She made me feel again, my heart, my soul, my feet and how they were meant to walk forward. She made me dream, when so many years I had nightmares. The kiss between us is teasing, the tangling of our pain creates a happiness, and without her today, I don't know if I would have ever left the darkness. I cannot call her mine, and I am not hers. Yet, maybe never, maybe someday... if we ever act on in, not yet though, not yet though.

5. Friends Like Family:
I have friends that remember when the only thing I cared about was becoming a ninja or a power ranger. I have friends I met and drank with, and we told stories about broken hearts, lost dreams, and happiness together. I have friends that I will never forget, but never see again. I have friends in states I'll never travel to again. I have friends in countries that I'll never know if I'll get the chance of going back too... But I also have friends that mean more to me than everyone I just said. These friends have the same blood inside their veins, I know they do. I wear their heart on my sleeve, aside my own. They protect my heart.

I saw an old couple walking the other day... their hearts sang to me a song, something about how they knew who I was. Something about how they were me, and they were you. Something about how we will all be okay, Fate is by our side, but we must be by its side as well.

The old couple faded away into the air. The cars passed, and the sky wrinkled. I think they were from another universe, a past life, or maybe the future. I think they were you and I, dancing in the glory of just walking together. I think they were trying to tell us something... Something about love...

something about Fate...

The Balloons We Once Let Go Of (part 2)

I’m laughing at my fingers,

for they have found no more

purpose here…

I have already let go of

so many balloons…

…and they have also let go of me.

In the last post, I talked about how the balloons we once let go of as children were metaphorically filled with our once dreams and loves, but I never explained my other thoughts about balloons….

I think the reason I want to fly away with them, is not only because I want to see where they have travelled, but I want to be relieved. It’s like we keep all of these things inside our chests, and weighing on our shoulders that prevent us from flying, you know? What if we could use all of the negative things and bad memories that we for some reason tend to hold so close to our hearts, and just injected them with helium, and then filled a balloon with them to just watch them fucking fly away.

…What an amazing thought.

It’s like revenge against the sky for stealing our dreams and happiness that we once loosely held at the ends of those strings-so pointless to the weakness of our naive fists. So, when I say I want to fly away with them, I mean I want to follow these balloons that I have filled with my every darkness and follow them to wherever they may go, and then when we land, I will throw pins and needles at them…and this is when any bad memories, regrets, or things I don’t want any more will blow up in a high pitched helium explosion. This is the part when I will begin to laugh like that little boy I once was, with my voice ironically sounding like it just injected itself with helium as well.

…Then the other balloons will find me, because they remember that little voice. 

The other balloons, the good balloons I once let go of, because I swear they promised me that they would find me again. And they will. And they will. They just wanted to test me, and see if I had what it takes to choose between the noises of life or the beauties in the hiding. They were just seeing if I would keep my promise too, the one I made with my fingertips, the one within this letter, within this poem…

Dear Balloon,

I didn’t want to let you go.

My grip so weak and young,

But I will learn.

Just let me live first.

I will find you.

I swear.

I promise.

P.S.

Go fly the world for me... So I know my purpose here. 

The Balloons We Once Let Go Of...

Once a child with hands so small,
my squeeze so weak and careless,
and my limbs barely tough enough
to break...

Once a child who let go of balloons,
only to wonder where they would go,
and if they'd ever find another hand  
much stronger...

Now older, with much more grasp,
I find my fingers to be funny;
the way they still let dreams 
fly away...

just to never chase after them.
Stuck wondering, here.


For starters, that poem wasn't for me; it was for anyone who fears the chase, who fears failure. I've failed countless times and I'm still breathing... I promise, failure means nothing but forward steps. I'm not sitting here at the young age of 23 and saying that I have conquered  all of my hopes and dreams, and now lecturing you about yours, I'm sitting here and saying up until this point, yes, I have done everything I wanted and was able to do so far. But I am not done, There is much more of the world to see!

I lived in Rochester, NY. for 18 years until I attended school in Buffalo ( which in my mind is just a shittier Rochester, but anyway...), After living in Buffalo for a year and meeting some of the greatest and most inspiring people, it still wasn't enough for me. I made my way back to the good ole' ROC and attended a Community College there for a year to save money and figure out what I wanted to do (this, a big mistake to say the least; I really fell apart here) After a year of what I like to describe as the demise of my heart and soul, my buddy explained to me how badly we needed a change.

The thoughts of the ocean and the beach life we never get here up North filled our minds like a cancer and the only cure was to go find the water; so we simply made our way to the Coast. The name Coastal Carolina filled our minds: a newer university located right outside of Myrtle Beach. Perfect. I spent three years living in Conway, SC. and this is now a place that I like to call a second home. After 35 long 800 mile road trips from traveling back and forth from the ocean to Rochester over the course of only three years, you truly get to see the beauty of the Earth (people always thought we were crazy for driving, but they just didn't understand).

We would travel through forgotten parts of the South, where people still rocked confederate flags on their garages, with front yards that looked like they were reenacting the crucifying day of Jesus. We saw cotton fields and have felt the ghosts of slaves sing songs about freedom as we drove at night. We've seen North Carolina and the way that Wilmington can save you when your not feeling right. The stars at night will never be forgotten in the way they would shined so clearly up in the clear skies of Virginia. With our bloodshot eyes and racing hearts, I cannot count how many times we swerved the winding roads of Pennsylvania and how we have seen that it does actually have beauty in it's hills, especially in the fall when it's body looks like a box of smashed crayola crayons; it was purely liberating.

When I was real young, I saw a place called Las Vegas, and although I do not remember much, I remember the lights and the way the lit my chest up like fireworks in July. I have seen Niagara falls so many times that often, I forget it's beauty even when I'm staring at it. But I've gotten lost in Toronto, and didn't care if I was ever found. I've seen the Cape, and I honestly never want to go back. But I will never forget the Bahamas and how relieving it was to breathe there, with that reggae sound always playing in the background, and how the ocean water looked as clear as cellophane. I've been to a couple different parts in Florida and I found beauty there too, beauty so old and done. Beauty of retired limbs, and souls that are tapped out.

The furthest West I've been is Chicago ( which I plan to change REAL SOON!), what I beautiful city. A windy city that blows loves around like leaves; or at least it seemed that way when people walked by smiling.  After seeing the business of New York City, I realized the only part I like about it is the Yanks, but we won't get into a sports argument here. I've been to Philly too. I like that place. I'm forgetting many other U.S. cities that I've briefly stayed in or traveled through, but I must move on...

I'll never forget driving through the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee and the way I felt home when we were so lost driving through them. I'll never forget Nashville, and how on every corner, there is just country music and acoustic bands that probably won't ever make it further than the bars they drink at. Nashville, a place I would live in a heartbeat. It was like you felt music notes in your feet and the plucking of guitar string in your heart. I've paid respects to a great man in Lynchburg TN, when my buddy and I did the Jack Daniels tour and then found his grave. I figured he's cured my soul on many nights, so he deserves a little respect.

But it was when I made the decision to live in Florence Italy for a month when I truly felt like I knew what I wanted to do. I studied Art and Culture there everyday, museum after museum, and cathedral after cathedral. You honestly felt the streets; they walked ghosts of early artists and philosophers who believed in dreaming. they walked ghosts who reminded me of why I am here. There was one day when we hiked the mountains that surrounded Florence, and this was the day when everything changed... We climbed further and further up the mountain, until we reached the very top. When we arrived, the world in  front of me became my Epiphany of life, and I felt something I cannot explain. I wish I could, but I just can't!

I made my way back to Rochester: a place I will always call home. But when I arrived here, I felt empty, like something was missing. After a couple weeks of thinking and staying up at night counting those points on my ceiling that I always lost count of as a young boy, I finally realized what it is...

I am still searching for all of those balloons I once let go of into the unknown drifts of the sky. I am still searching for all of those balloons I once filled with my dreams, and the loves I had in my tiny chest. I am still searching for the world. I've seen much of it's beauty, but much in this case is not enough. There is so much more out there... there are places where my balloons have traveled, and I intend on following them.

To Be Continued...

I love… love, too much (part 2)

I often rest my feet against this pavement

and spite the rain for confining me to this porch.

I rest my body against this open jail cell

and then use my pen as a torch…

…and then I write the world on fire.

I don’t understand why I find the need to write cynical poems before I post about loving love?

It’s a dam mystery to me, but I think I like it.

We left work early today because of the 4^th tomorrow. Everyone in the office seemed pretty pumped about getting out, and to be honest, I experienced my first moment of “writers block” since I started there so I wasn't exactly being really productive anyway.  I was on my way home when it started raining again… I know I've been away for a while but Jesus Christ! Does it just rain everyday in Rochester now?

I was still like 15 minutes away from my house, but I felt the pull of my porch so strong against my chest. It felt like some sort of heavy magnetic force, and I felt like pointless metal for those moments.  What does it mean to feel pointless you think? Don’t look at it in a depressing light, yet truly think about it logically, and understand how minimal we are. 

Carl Sagan once said: “Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot” This is thinking logically about it. But in response to, in my mind, one of the most brilliant things ever said, I realize that if you just accept how minimal everything is,, you then start to live a happier life.

Having said this, and accepting that we as people, as enemies, and of course as lovers all are tiny creatures of a truly unknown purpose… I would like to scream how amazing the things that appear to be so small can feel in this lifetime.

Going back to Sagan; he also once said: “You’re capable of such beautiful dreams, and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you’re not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we've found that makes the emptiness bearable is each other” …These are purely beautiful words.

So, I’m here writing in the rain again. Well I actually am not exactly in the rain, I’m on the porch, but you get the point. I cannot stop thinking about love; it has consumed my mind like a disease I wanna fuck, and I’m constantly so badly lost its madness. But I have done this to myself and I’m okay with that, the only problem I have is when people tell me to stop searching for love.

I am not searching for love; I simply just understand what the word means. The word L O V E

cannot be found in a dictionary. It cannot be bought nor sold. It has been portrayed in movies and in books, but those things aren't real. The word L O V E was first written in moon dust by the fingertips of stars. It was first found burning to death in a sun that we have yet to find and then sent here to scorch us dry. The word L O V E is far from a word at all. Words are supposed to have definitions, but these four letters possess tidal waves of empty blood, filled with healing kisses and lost maps.

We turn pages of love to try and find what it once meant. But today, It is just so hard to find, and sometimes you do, but other times you're too afraid to let it touch you, to let it feel you, to let it breathe you in deep. It’s okay to be afraid, we are all scared. If you don’t feel a little bit of fear at the thought of something, it probably won’t be too fulfilling when you get it.

And as far as that everything is minimal and pointless babble I went on earlier, don’t disregard it, because I do truly believe that we are virtually meaningless if you look at the bigger picture. But If there is anything, anything at all in this lifetime that could give you meaning…

It is L O V E…. it always is and always was. 

I love… love, too much

I’m writing in the rain

so I can feel its pain exit through my pen.

I’m writing in the rain to allow myself to breathe

when this sky wants me so badly to drown.

I will not suffocate in its sadness,

nor will I fade away…

I’m sitting on this porch at my parent’s house, which I guess, since I have no other place to live these days, it’s considered my house as well. That may of sounded like I've been homeless or wandering the streets at night to spite my parents or some dumb shit, but I didn't mean for it to come off that way. I actually am happy to be home with my family from school and graduated, it’s a good feeling not having to worry about tests or sitting in class…

(I must admit, all I ever did in class was write poems, that’s why it was so hard for me to do well on tests, because I would spend my time trying to become the next E.E. Cummings rather than just listening to my marketing professors like I was supposed to)

…But being home has been nothing but a pleasant struggle at trying to remember what it means to not be able to go touch my toes to the sands of 3^rd Avenue, or make love with Miss Atlantic with my eyes anytime something gets a little tough. It’s about growing up I think?

You can only grow up so much I believe, before you begin to become everything you never wanted to be. You know, like become that man you promised some girl you thought you once loved that you would never act like? Well, I live by this promise that I made myself back in a darker time; I promised myself I would never become what the world today expects of a “Man”. I simply feel too much feeling in my chest to be as empty as the lost men that I wish to never walk among. Let me be considered forever, a boy, if that’s what will get you through the night. I don’t care. This is me.

I feel like a symbol of irony tonight… I’m sitting on this porch as a young man (happy so far with whom I have become) But this is also the place I once sat as boy, just staring out the trees as they burned in the summer heat, and I felt the burn of a cheap whiskey bottle engulf my liver like needles with a purpose that has been forgotten.  

I would sit there for house sippin’ straight whiskey as I wrote poems that I hoped people would never see. I must have read too much Shakespeare in the dark as a child or something, cause fuck, when I read some of my old poems… I want to travel back in time and cut my hands off for ever being able to write like that. If you read my poems, you know that I always talk about how there is beauty in the darkness, but I have learned that to exceed true happiness, there needs to be a line on both sides that we must not cross. “Too little or too much of anything is both a bad thing” …a friend of mine told me that quote before. It’s a great way to live your life.

But I can grow up all I want, or be that little boy I’ll always be deep down, but If I know anything about myself at all, it’s that I’m one stubborn soul. And if there is anything that I’ll always want too much of, and love way too much…

it will be… L O V E. it always was... L O V E.

To Be Continued….