opportunity
How Sad True Sadness
There was a sadness I revered,
But never possessed,
Because there was youth
And opportunity to spare,
But as life ebbs,
And opportunities recede,
I know that sadness for real,
And how sad true sadness feels.
A Year Or So Ago
"It's been over a year.
I realize,
eyes playing about on dates
of the calender.
Suddenly thinking
back to a year before,
days exactly 364.
So, less than a year,
by hours. When the
lips that pressed were ours.
When our fingers intertwined,
when we felt each others' bodies,
souls, mind.
So wrong, so forbidden,
it felt right.
Written into passing,
the scripts and screenplay
of night-time stays,
never staying until morning.
Visits,
door left unlocked,
just in case.
Offered, often heard,
only once utilized.
She always said she would.
Eventually.
She did,
softly cooing my name,
pulling me out of my slumber,
and instantly hopping into my bed,
my arms, pulling her close.
My warm bare skin
juxtaposed to her cold clothing.
We soon matched.
There was no lack
of mutual attraction,
no shortage of constant communication,
trips, adventures,
ridiculous confessions
and straight-forward denial.
I denied I did wrong,
to myself.
Who knows how she felt.
All I know
is that she felt good,
she felt like home,
like I belonged.
Longing for her scent,
I still remember
how it drove me wild.
Past-tense,
as she liked to point out.
It's a lie,
there is nothing passed.
Though, once she asked
if she was hurting me.
I, misunderstanding,
replied, 'why, no,
it's my other shoulder
that's broken.'
She grinned,
leaning into my arms,
'no,' she said,
'this. Us.'
It hurt,
seeing her dog I grew to adore
slowly separate us on the couch
a year or so ago.
It hurts still
thinking of some details.
Fond memories,
so vivid, full of her laughter.
Haunted by scorn,
the scorn of several people,
over all that transpired.
You'd think a year
would wash it all away,
but nothing is past-tense.
Hence,
the dreams.
Thoughts I can't deny,
lying that they're gone.
They aren't.
I was told it was trouble,
I was warned.
But still I got in her car,
she got in mine.
She's a phone call away;
I don't have the heart
to dial,
knowing damn well
I'd immediately answer if she called.
Does she read my poetry?
Does she think of me?
Love me like I love her still?
I should have not turned my cheek.
I should have came to her rescue
against canine off-leash.
But I didn't.
And I wish I had.
Instead, all I have
is a book with edits,
another that's a gift
belonging to her,
one of her favorites.
We even shared a quote,
'Never lend a book.'
An act of affection instead,
one of several.
She never said the words,
but she gave me many gifts.
It started with a cold can.
That's how she loved me.
I wish I had realized it
a year or so ago."
My World
Sometimes I wonder if the world could change from my existence,
and when opportunity comes knocking why I meet it with resistance,
I can see my future up ahead and its terrifying,
our lives often dictated from others verifying, but I tell you I swear I'm trying,
and the bullshit their trying to sale I ain't buying.
They want you to stay in line and start complying,
but my talents I ain't denying.
When life's kicking you around, and trying to pin you down,
never ever throw in that towel, you got strength you haven't found.
I never get a tan, I'm still deep underground,
set this world ablaze with my own unique sound.
I'm gonna lead by example, create my music no samples,
the truths hard to handle, and I know I can be a handful.
But stick it out with me and never look back,
I'll have fools stopping in their tracks the instant they hear my tracks.
Thank God my mind ain't distorted from the shit I was snorting,
and I'm walking around today thats what's really important.
I've been blessed with this vocabulary so extraordinary,
these others real ordinary so please don't compare me.