"All of my stories
are true," I said.
"Even the lies?"
"Especially the lies."
She looked at the floor
in tortured disappointment
"Truth," I said, "is like treasure,
the value of which is in the eye
of the beholder."

All that really matters
in this short life
is how well we dance
through the fires in our paths.
That bitter taste in the morning
of waged servitude,
the dire consequences of *******
long and deep for simple pleasures,
and the eternal quest for imagined love,
these are the fires of our early deaths.
Warriors fight their enemies
to the point of exhaustion and collapse.
The dancers, the artists,
they use their nimble bodies
and creative minds to shuffle between
the hottest coals
with style and grace.

‪The bourbon we pour‬
‪after a hard day on the job‬
‪is our liquid salvation.‬
‪The workers who labor long hours‬
‪to grow the wealth of our betters,‬
‪we swallow this magic elixir‬
‪to help us cope, to forget‬
‪lost opportunities,‬
‪so many lost lovers,‬
‪and our daily sins.‬

A little boy at a local park
tried over and over again to scale
a child-sized rock climbing wall.
Over and over again he'd lose his grip
and fall into the grass
while his father watched on.

A random woman said to the father,
"Why don't you help him?"
"He's not making a sandwich,"
the man replied
without removing his eyes from the boy.
The woman pursed her lips
and walked away.

After what seemed to be about 97 attempts,
that little boy, his clothes and hair riddled with dirt,
finally scaled the wall.
Atop the playground equipment,
he raised his hands in triumph.
The look of delight and achievement
that formed on the boy’s face
was the reminder that
all things are possible.

Watching the planet thrash
in tortured pain
is akin to watching on helpless
as a friend loses weight,
their energy, their hair
while battling an aggressive cancer.
The cancer of this small blue world
is the most gluttonous enemy.
Blinded by its miserable conquest
to consume and exploit
everything in its path,
the cancer does not stop
until it murders its host
and destroys its only means
for survival.

The lack of ****** desire
for a woman kills any chance
at forming a romantic relationship.
Too much ****** desire
prematurely destroys
all romantic relationships.
Con artists write self-help books
and launch expensive dating sites
to convince us they possess
the magic formula for success in love.
In truth, if we **** and love each other
without the shackles of pre-defined
relationship statuses, political parties,
or other false marketing demographics,
happiness becomes a simple achievement.

As a child, I valued the loyalty
of friendships and family above all other
human endeavors.
That commitment led to consistent doses of disappointment.
In my adult years, those harsh lessons
have taught me the simple truth,
that comrades and cousins,
romantic partners and parents,
they carry the rich aroma of the best coffee.
Much like coffee, they help us
through our days, and give us a savory
expectation to greet each new morning.
Also much like coffee,
the mugs that contain those relationships
eventually run dry.
We can scramble to refill the meanings
behind each valued connection,
but we're often better off switching
to a lonely glass of whiskey.