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@poetically-imperfect
Letting go is the hardest thing someone who loves with their all, cherishes with their all, and gives with their all can do. It is almost like having to forcibly remove part of oneself, knowing it will hurt but is best in the end, at least for the other person. Sometimes, things are irreparable, and instead of hiding behind wishes and hopes and stale greetings or texts, the only other option is to let go.
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What if the pain we feel could just disappear? What if all the heartache and tears and lies and trauma could just be made numb to where life was somewhat bearable? What if the suffocation…brought an end…to everything? Pain is so hard and vast an ocean to traverse, taking many sailors underneath. Perhaps, another sailor’s failed venture is to occur not too far into the future.
Sometimes trying becomes too much. Sometimes strength vanishes. It is a terrible place to be in to want to be the support and the anchor for someone when realizing you are only the chains flowing in the water, broken from both the boat and the anchor amidst the storms.
I find myself to be one of the most complicated people to love. I am stubborn. I am emotional. I am jealous. I am needy. I am clingy. I am insecure. I have so many problems that stem from a long line and a deep past that I can't fathom how anyone in their right mind would ever want to even attempt to try to love me...but someone does.
I guess it takes someone crazy to love someone crazy, right?
This poem is my attempt at explaining on how to handle loving and handling and dealing with me. I know many people who want to be a part of my life but just struggle existing with me. I hope this poem helps explains how to put up with all of my baggage. I love you all who continually do so on a daily basis. It means the world to me.
Life seems to have moments of calmness and serenity and moments of chaos and calamity. It is in these chaotic moments that I find myself struggle to meet everyone else's expectations while also wanting to create and meet my own.
Anyone who knows me understands that I love helping, love supporting, love providing assistance in any way possible. It is likely that my kindness is my biggest weakness.
Lately, I've felt overwhelmed. I feel as if I'm struggling to meet everyone's image of me that I'm failing to do and be what I want. I feel as if I'm being placed in everyone's box that I'm failing to create and remain within my own. I feel as if I'm slowly creeping towards the edge while grasping for the rails of stability.
Everyone sees "me", but what they fail to realize is that the "me" they see is just the "me" they want to see...not the real me.
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I once read a question that stated, "Do you point out problems or provide solutions?" This question has resonated within me, causing me to realize that we, as a whole, tend to have an innate desire within to want to see the world become better than it currently is. In some cases, we even try our best to think of ideas for how this can be achieved. The error, however, occurs when we fail to realize that change begins from within.
When wanting to see a change in the world around us, we must always start by looking within to determine if a change needs to occur in our hearts first. After all, how can we expect others to change for the better if we never attempt or strive to do so ourselves? At some point, we must lead by example, exemplifying the change we so eagerly crave.
Michael Jackson stated it best: "If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make that change." (Song: "Man in the Mirror") What change are you wanting to see in your life right now? More importantly, what changes are you needing to make within yourself right now?
Loss is a terrible thing to experience, especially when unexpected. I've spent the past several days attempting to understand and reconcile with the events that transpired and my lack of being aware of them...yet I still find myself with more questions than answers.
I am not sure where my emotions completely reside in this very moment, but I know I'm grieving and hurting as I miss the very person who was my go-to at all times. She wasn't perfect, but she was my best friend.
Rest in peace, Angela, and know that my heart will always be with you. I'm sorry for failing to be there when I should have been.
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I believe that most writers struggle with orally expressing any emotions they hold. We find our release through the written word. After all, that is why we're writers, correct?
Because of this, we tend to be very good at disguising the emotions we feel. We laugh when we want to scream and smile when we want to cry. There comes a moment—even if it is in the dead of night in the deepest of slumbers—that everything comes rushing forth. Every emotion held bubbles over, and all that we can see is the hurt, the anguish, the pain...
This is when we are most vulnerable. This...is when we are human.
I believe that all life is precious and should be treated as such. I have known several men who served time on death row. Because of the changed individuals I've seen—men who are truly remorseful and sorrowful for their past actions—I stand firm on the belief that there should be an end to the death penalty.
I have never had a loved one killed, so I cannot understand the grief a family who has experienced such may go through. What I can say, however, is that the killing of one life doesn't revive the original life lost. On top of this, are we any better than the convicted killer if we strive for their execution, ending their life?
At some point, humanity must believe in itself and strive for betterment. Rehabilitation should always be the goal. I have watched lives be transformed behind the razor wire enough to say that change does exist—that the way people think and act and view life can change. If you don't believe such change exists, then you must not believe in change at all. If you don't believe in change at all, then you are nothing more than the sum of all the mistakes and poor choices you've ever made in your life. Doesn't sound fair, does it? Grace and love overpower condemnation and hate every time.
Concrete poems are, in my opinion, one of the hardest poetic forms to master. In spite of having no syllable or rhyme restraints, the ability to take a poem and create a visible object or photo with that poem is incredible. Doing such brings a visible liveliness to the written word.
When I first noticed this prompt to create a concrete poem, I wanted to pass it by, but something kept drawing me back. As I thought of what object to depict, the image of teadrops continuously ran through my mind. Throughout my life, especially the past decade, I can honestly say I've cried a lot. Some tears were tears of joy or happiness. Some tears were tears of sadness, ones in moments of deep anguish and sorrow. Feeling like I always had to keep a smile on my face—to remain the source of strength for others—solitary crying helped relieve the pressure.
As I began writing this poem, I pondered back through the various emotions and situations that sparked moments of tear shedding. I cannot always explain why I've let things break me down or why I've reacted as I have in all circumstances, but I know there's a purpose behind everything that occurs in life, including my tears. Not a single one is ever shed in vain.
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Being part of a system that reminds you of the person you used to be hinders your personal growth. Life is about making mistakes and learning from them, but I've learned the majority of society do not believe change is possible. They would rather mark you and brand you by a mistake made years ago than give you the chance to redeem yourself today.
There comes a time when humanity has to help boost the next person in line, not continuously tear them down more. When a system makes more money off slave labor than it spends rehabilitating and preparing its members for reintegration into an ever-changing society, then the system has failed, and behind this system, society and the government have failed the people who have the quietest voice: the marginalized, the hurting, the abandoned, the neglect, the downtrodden.
Mistakes happen, but change happens too.
Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that the man I was roughly a decade ago has changed a lot during that time period. Everyone around me constantly walked on eggshells, for they never knew what little thing might set me off. I would go from one extreme emotion to another with no full understanding of why or how. I would act out and say outlandish things just to emotionally abuse people into staying in my life.
The person I am now, however, has slowly drifted from that extremity of emotional expression to the polar opposite. I've been told that my silence is the most painful, for people are used to my being vocal. Few seem to ever experience much of my true emotion—outside of the poetry written—and this is solely because I have shifted. Finding that medium just doesn't seem to be possible.
For those who knew me before, I am sorry. None of what you went through prior did you ever deserve, and I wish I could justify or explain it away, but there's no excuse for how I acted. For those who know me now, please be patient with me. Growth and healing take time, and for me, things tend to take longer than normal. I'm not the man I used to be, but I'm not the man I was created to be yet either. I'm a work in progress, so please don't give up on me.
Life, as it pertains to love, is not about finding perfection, for there is no such thing as perfection when it comes to humanity. Loving someone...truly loving someone is when you see them at there worst in life, yet the thought of not loving them or of leaving them never crosses your mind. It is realizing that the person loved is a part of you to the extent that losing them would mean losing a part of yourself.
Because of this, I find it easy to end up in a strained relationship. Neither individual wants the be the one to end it, the one to call it quits, so both grow distant, becoming strangers to each other while still remaining in a relational commitment with one another. Love is such a strong, complex emotion and force. I would attempt to explain it, but I still have yet to understand love in all its facets. All we can do is love as love comes—fully, faithfully, and unconditionally.
Over the past several years, I have acquired a decent amount of tattoos. I believe there is a negative connotation in society with tattoos, and I feel a lot of that is a misunderstanding of the representation that tattoos hold for those who get them.
Tattoos are more than just inked markings on the body; they represent something or someone that, at one point, mattered deeply to the individual. Tattoos, for the majority, are not meaningless; they're a form of individual expression. Society must remember that individuality is just as much a part of being human as breathing is. We were all created differently, so we all express ourselves in different manners. Some may through specific fashion styles they wear; others may through piercings or the music they listen to. Tattoos, for me, are a visual representation of what has and will always ring a significant chord in my heart. Tattoos are just a part of me.
Going through the past +7 years, I have faced trial after trial, yet I have been able to see God's hand upon my life, guiding me back into His will for me.
It has taken years to finally be able to say that society doesn't control me—that people's opinions don't matter—but I am thrilled to exclaim it nonetheless. If you are walking in God's presence and divine love and protection, then what is there to fear or worry when it comes to mere man? Man can harm your body, but God holds your soul, and it is this soul that is eternal.
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I've written about the shortness of life before, but this poem comes from a different place, one that rings close to home for me.
Growing up, I remember my grandparents owning a beautiful grandfather clock. I could always fall asleep on their couch as I listened to the ticks drone on and on until the chime would notify of a new hour's beginning. While pondering on this memory, I related this to the reality that life's clock continues on as well. We don't choose when we're born, and we have no call on when we pass.
As a man who has struggled with painful memories in life, I can honestly say that holding on to such things really diminishes the amount of time I spend on the positive. With a life length unknown, it would be wise to focus on the positive, let go of the negative, and accept that—whether we're ready or not—the clock of life continues ticking.
I've learned that the memories we desire to keep are the ones we forget, yet the ones we want to forget are the ones that forever remain.
I struggle with remembering a lot of things, and I'm not entirely sure why. I can't remember any birthdays. I only recall a couple holidays, but I can't remember when exactly they were. I suppose I lumped all memories into a "Forget Me" folder and walked away. Sadly, however, the folder still remains. Memories—the painful ones for me, at least—are like items you post anywhere on the internet. Once they're there, they will remain there for life. I wish I could remove the harmful memories, the ones that trigger my bouts with depression, but I haven't figured out how yet.
Until then, I'm left with these unwanted memories.