NVK

I try to live a day at a time, moment by moment. Appreciating the present without being so lost in what might be that I never realize what’s in front of me. Because what might be also might not be. Understanding that looking forward means preoccupying myself with myth, grasping at something that does not quite exist yet. But by focusing on the present, I can ensure certain things follow a course of action.

I live by accepting that I’m not perfect and that I’m allowed to make mistakes. I take those mistakes and learn from them to do better and be better. And I accept that others, like me, are allowed to make mistakes too. That nobody is perfect, that some people may come close but perfection is subjective and ever-changing. And slightly overrated.

I live by accepting and respecting myself the way I am and acknowledging that nothing is set in stone. That the universe has set me on a path and that whether or not there is a greater plan, I’m also in control of a great number of factors and experiences.

I live by looking forward to experiences and shift my focus away from material. Materials can be replaced, memories cannot.

I live by forgiving my past. By accepting what was for what it was and what is for what it is. Treating certain periods of time as their own individual lifetimes and honouring them as they were.

I don’t know how to live. There’s no definitive way, that’s for sure. But I try to keep it simple and start with what I have control over and try to keep a positive outlook (on most days). Some days are harder than others. But life is good.

i.  portrait of an apology with a shovel i promise you i’m not crazy     i’m just tired of sounding like an apology     like everything i’m doing here is wrong     like my name is your mouth is another bad omen     like faith juxtaposed with madness     who really knows which is which     these days     everything begins and ends     so suddenly     we are barely aware     something was there     a start stop pulse     the side of the road     so conveniently called a shoulder     as though a little gravel can solve     all of life’s ills     one must always carry     in their trunk     jumper cables     a shovel     a golf club     each one has its purpose     the road ends     by the water     the shoulder stretches on     just in case     there was something     like your name juxtaposed with     a mistake     an error in calculation     everything ends and begins     heaving on the shoulder     gravel     shovel     jumper cables     like a stop start pulse     the engine doesn’t turn     ignition refuses to spark     who goes golfing with a skull     i’m tired of sounding like     an apology     i promise you     i’m [not] crazy –  ii.  portrait of an apology in morse code i’m tired of sounding like an apology     like a eulogy     like an epitaph     tapped in morse code     on your skin     every moment     becomes a grieving     i wish to be selfish     with you     without feeling     like i need to apologize     for taking up your time     my name like an omen     next to yours like a song     i know     we live lifetimes     in brief minutes     often sparse often scattered     dream of dreams     that remain only dreams     silence     is louder than sign language     and your body     has gone quiet     the thought     wasn’t fleeting enough     i grabbed it by its tail     squeezing gently at the throat     beckoned it to stay     in a way     i could not you     i’m tired     of sounding like an apology     of dreaming in morse code     just waiting     for you to intercept     – iii.  portrait of an apology by a lighthouse some people are     lighthouses on fire     stranded     like smoke on the water     cascading unfurling      burning     where things should not burn     i use my     false medical degree     to press the flesh harder     in all the places     i know it hurts most     and i even    have the audacity     to act surprised     when it does     there is so much     i cannot be trusted with     but you     are not one of them     it’s true     that i’ve built bridges     and wired explosives     to every pillar and suspension     and carried the detonator     in my pocket     but i’m also     shit at swimming     so what does that say about me     i’m tired of sounding like an apology     but what can i     even expect of myself     when so often     i’ve been told     i’m at fault     i promise you i’m not crazy     i’ve just spent     a lot of time     sitting on the shoulder     of this road     wondering     who keeps putting     these     lighthouses on fire