you play the game for so long
it gets hard to stop
call it inertia
or competitive spirit
but you get so engrossed
in perfecting your skill set
your strategy
that it becomes you
all day
every day
you are stuck with your
guard up with
this game face
that won't let up
it's a ruthless
endeavor
and not always a
fun one
but you continue to play
and continue to get better
until you're on top
of the game
and everyone knows it
but it wears on you
and one day
you finally decide
to shut it all down
cut the losses and retire
all those years of hard work
the practiced lines
and polished smiles
the conquests and victories
decide to toss it all away
for an opportunity
at honesty
now it's almost like
you don't know how to act
but it's nice
not having to put
so much effort in
all day
every day
meet a girl
former opponent
see how things
work
without the rules of the
game to abide by
it's refreshing
this honesty
until you find out
from a friend of a friend
early one sunday evening
that the game never stops
whether you know it or not
and if you
stop playing
then you're just
losing
so here comes that game face

retirement wasn't for me
anyways

Don't ever let people know
that you're attached to them.
Make it seem as if you could care less
whether they're in your life or not,
even though you really want nothing more
than for them to stay
forever.
Don't ever let people know
that you've cried for them--
over them.
They'll use it against you
and throw your biggest weakness
in your face
leaving you completely vulnerable
and raw
and broken
and crying.
Don't ever let people know you love them.
Trust me, they don't care.
Not one single bit.
Sure they might tell you that
they love you too,
and maybe they do.
For the time being.
But things change.
Feelings change.
People change.
All in a matter of seconds.
People only love you when it's convenient for them,
or when they have
no one better to love.
It's all a sick
twisted
game of chess.
Constantly trying to protect your king,
or in this case
your heart,
but your opponent is always
one
step
ahead

and you lose.

I chain my arms to the walls,
to the bed,
I lock them in so tight,
I am restrained,
I am safe now,
but I struggle to break free,
my body jolts, turns and flips,
from the mattress my body flies into the sky,
I fall down as if from wandering heights,
but that’s a better way than this boxing ring,
where the only opponent is myself,
and the bloodshed is too severe,
so these chains will do for now,
but if I break free,
I will find peace.

This is our generation.
We will think we know everything,
About everything there is to know,
When in reality,
We have a lifetime to learn.
We are young and we are stupid,
But we will not admit to this.
We will fight until we feel we've won.
We will take charge,
Where no charge was needed.
We will argue until our opponent backs down.
And we will believe that we are better than everyone else,
And that everyone else is just stupid.

We will skin our knees,
And rip our jeans,
And cut and dye our hair,
Until we fear it may fall out.
We will turn the music up way too loud,
And scream along to a song we've never heard.
We will drown out everything around us with headphones,
And risk going deaf in the process.
We will make stupid decisions once,
And do it again,
After we swear we've learned.
We will make promises just to break them,
Find all the risks just to take them,
And try to learn to fly.
And shortly after, crash to the ground.
We will then have our hearts broken,
And stomped on.
We will think love doesn't exist,
To then only think we can't live without it.
We will think we can't live without someone else,
And then we will hate everyone.
Including ourselves.
There will be days where we want to die,
And days where we wonder why we ever thought that.
We will feel invisible.
We will feel numb.
We will be so depressed,
We just want it to end,
But we will know,
that if it doesn't get better,
It isn't over yet.  
And then we will even doubt that.
We will doubt everything, until we hate ourselves yet again.
And this will not change for a while.
But when it does, it will be amazing.

I wish I could tell you this is avoidable,
But we all share the same fate.
In a world of teens,
Is a world of dreams,
That we will break our backs trying to make reality.
And in a world of teens,
There is a world of parents,
That have a right to say no.
No matter how much you think otherwise.
We are the wise ones.
Or so we think.
Really, we are the idiots, just trying to belong,
And failing, mostly all the time.
There is nothing we can do to change this,
Except wait.
Wait until you know everything.
But let me tell you.
You don't know everything,
Until you've accepted that you truly know nothing,
And you've got a lifetime to learn.

He keeps the contents of his life in boxes. The clear Rubbermaid totes with the locking lids that keep the contents from spilling out across the floor when they are least needed. The same containers that keep everything within protected against assailing liquid falling from above. Most of his possessions have long since been discarded, but there is an odd assortment of memories that are kept safe.

A model rocket that his grandfather, long since passed, used to take him to open fields to launch towards the heavens. It never quite reached, but in his mind he was chasing down the parachute of a spaceship returning from a long voyage.

Birthday cards received when it was still exciting to count the years. When the cards still had happy monsters devouring birthday cake and the short handwritten messages read "We are so proud of the person you are becoming".

First place medals from sports competitions, spelling bees, and field days. A single second place medal from a martial arts tournament where brute force could not overcome the wisdom of an elder opponent.

The metal plates off of every baseball trophy earned since playing teeball at age four. When the shelves could no longer support the weight of the trophies they were discarded, and the cheaply made nameplates are the only reminder left that they ever existed.

Too many years of school yearbooks with sloppy signatures following words of wisdom reminding him to stay cool, and that he would see you all again after the summer.

A red, sweat-stained Schlitz hat that was stolen from the older, much more cool, cousin. He stopped asking for its return years ago, and has probably forgotten that it even existed.

Certificates that prove he was once a member of Builder club, Beta club, Phi Theta Kappa, National Honor Society, Student Government, and Junion Ambassadors to the Chamber of Commerce. Reminders of times when joining clubs meant you got to miss class to hang out with your friends.

A single blue ribbon knotted three times as a reminder that it should never be untied. Beyond those simple knots are all of the love letters that were written between him and the first girl that was able to open his eyes so that he could see what love, and loss, truly meant.

An old, barely functioning, paintball gun that he bought with the money from his first real job. The same gun that, through some miracle, gave him and his father their first common interest. He picks it up from time to time and pretends that they are still hiding behind bunkers ready to charge the opposing team.

A tiny red Rock 'Em Sock 'Em robot ring used as an excuse to wrestle around in bed with one of his closest friends on a lazy Sunday afternoon. The blue ring moved far away and has long since stopped answering her phone, knowing that the rematch of the century will never occur.

Diplomas from high school and college that will probably never hang framed on a wall. He was never truly proud of accomplishments so easily attained.

Hiding in the shadows of these boxes is each first kiss that is a stone sitting beneath the shattered mirror friendships that could not hold their weight. He is reminded to find either lighter stones or more sturdy mirrors in the future.

Friends that he has met in countless towns huddle together, trying to stay warm amidst the bitter cold they perceive around them. He calls or texts from time to time, but the embers cannot replace the pyre he used to provide.

Lovers that never expected the love they received in return bask in the solace of the fact that they are rarely seen or disturbed. He smiles when he comes across them, but knows better than to retrieve them from the storage where they are kept.

He still keeps all of the contents of his life in boxes. The same clear Rubbermaid totes with the locking lids, whose transparency allows him to view the contents from afar without disturbing them. He says he uses them so all of the contents don't spill out when he doesn't want them to, but his blurred vision reminds him that he chose the waterproof variety for a reason.

It would only take an hour or two to unpack everything at each new location he moved to, but he knows that the next time he unpacks he will not be doing it alone. It becomes more difficult for him each time he has to condense everyone and everything of import into totes light enough to carry to the next location.

Some would say mysterious

I say dark and devious

from experience previous

He loathes strong women

doesn’t value their opinion

treats them as minions

He hides from my presence

doesn’t like my essence

petrified I guess

I find this hilarious

I’m just gregarious

and think he’s precarious

I should take it as a compliment

he finds me a worthy opponent

thought fills me with merriment

"Cameo Theater South Beach"
Bump,thump,bump,thump.... the bass cases shake and quake  
Secreting heat, my skin blushes, that rush of a new secret crush.
She passes and her scent renders all around helpless.  
The DJ's plush talons tow and myre you soul's wires.  
Seeping through, the beak crushing your conscience,  
falling, sleep down, the sound grounds you.  
Sowing the seeds of desire on the stone below.  
Called by the thumping, bumping beat,  
You jump from your seat into a market of meat, a sea of shifting feet.  
10,000 lights spin like sugar bright.  
Blood fuels your feet,  
feats of flight,  
blurs of sight.  
Spinning like cotton candy with all your might.  
Body overheating, heart overbeating, grains of lust over seeding.  
Your scars begin to heal as glassy eyes not blue appeal to your "at first sight" senses.  
Senses slow there motion to primal, tingling too much,  
not too much to touch, no sting as such.  
Such a blissful kiss t'would be from she before thee.  
Snip the wire.  
Feed the desire.  
The need grows to fan passion fire.  
The potent scent of dripping skin steams up like the devotional incline of nine combined love potions.  
Love, as real love, survives as only a notion in this moving motion of lust's contrived plot...  
But to feel alive, even for a moment,  
love's emotion fails... drawing bust to the ever opulent opponent of lust;  
a proponent to disguise the potent demise of the heart's conscious component.  
Gas and smoke blows.  
Beats high and low.  
The dancing mass of suppressed woes ebbs and flows,  
capturing the seconds, snatching your essence, rapturing your ethics.  
Feeding the peak you seek, heart weak, roaring soul silenced to squeak.  
Waning away your stay with the sweating sea of swing and sway leaves you adrift.  
The waves of the DJ begin to hammer you into enamerment  
Did this quaking wake the sober state of your forsakenness?  
That complaicent stained vacant place aching to be filled.  
A painful, dizzying blood rush floods your mind and muck the feeling first struck secret love crush  
Were the judgment-blurring thoughts occurring so alluring? They fought off pure thoughts sought before she heart-stopped me.  
In light of a moment caught, wrought with knots of naughty thoughts.  
Light and sound and the thumping, bumping ground drown your bounds. 
No more, no more. 
"Now I remember" internally sounds, profound rebounds. 
Lore from before when the last passing blue-eyed leggy lass tore the door off your soul's core.  
No more, no more.  
The crush becomes dust. You become stone.  
Cut to the bone. No seed will be sewn.
You face the floor and breathe. alone.
  
    
R. Craig David-Copyright 1995