Monthly Archives: July 2011

Tropical Birds.

I’m not that guy you saw in the club.

I’m not that guy mistook for a thug.

I’m not a punk, or a hipster, or both,

but honestly, are you allowed to be both,
shouldn’t it be one or the other?

I don’t have ink or colorful sleeves,

No hoops through my lips, or brows can be seen,

I may be too boring to fit in your scene,

but I never cared that much…
…or I would have done so, a long time ago..

But here’s a surprise, regarding my eyes,

Like many swank hipsters, they operate fine.

I see you, so trendy, surrounded alike,

To get in your circle I might sacrifice..

well…I like you for the same reason they do,
not because I got to know you, I just like the way you look.

Don’t get me wrong, I love your art too,

But I’d rather see what your life has tattooed,

Beauty and style are small parts of the whole,

Not even a fraction of content of soul.

Resisting Resistance.

Change is work.

Work that no one will believe can happen, even as it is happening. It is work that others will try to sabotage. Even those who care about you, because your small, day to day victories, cannot be measured by anyone other than you. Like children on a long car ride they will ask you, “when, when, when?”, without understanding that you have worked so hard to stop asking yourself that very same question, knowing that the answer will always be, “never”, until the question ceases.

Then there are those, who confidently lay out adages about predatory felines, because it is much easier to dissuade your line of thought, than to accept that should their assertion be incorrect, then they too would have no excuse.

All the while you wade through this jungle, holding tightly to that you inside, that is a little better than you were before, and will soon be a little better than that, and so on.

It is a long, lonely walk.

You can’t just say, “I won’t give in”. It’s not enough. You have to feel like it too. If you can’t make yourself, then imagine a time when you did make yourself, and remember what that felt like until you feel it again. Now, go ahead, say it again.

I can feel a hand around my wrist, lifting my arm in the air. That never became stale, or meaningless. It felt just as good every single time it happened, and it happened often. So I’ll fight despair with that, and let go of the things that have been able to hurt me, long after they occurred.

In the meantime, I will be patient. With myself, and with those around me, who can’t yet see that “when”, is actually now.

I won’t give in.