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….