you are
priceless
capable of so much more
than just some being

being
mistreated

you are deserving of so much more
than what you are receiving
to witness the worst
is the worst
but continuing to inhabit
is robbing the
value
of life.

discomfort in fulfilling our hopes
hesitance in facing our fears
where do we draw the line
between living and being alive
if our actions speak louder than our words
how do we measure sound
in the face of death
why do we let her down
in knowing that we never settled
bets with our hearts
gambling our existence away
basing our worth in cards
dealt by someone else
concrete in our stubborn ways
when do we realize
changing habits has no price
yet the highest cost
but we still refuse to pay
for debts we acquire
and complain about the weather
until our bodies collapse

this title has begrudgingly waited for some loving kindness, fulfillment-needy, since October of Two Thousand and Seventeen

which is not quite as long as the decades I have been waiting to
accumulate the words to provide us both, an inspired solution

my days are numbered
in decades, decals, varying lengths of hair,
belts with notches that ain’t reachable,
suits various, both too big and too small to fit,
the who who used to own them,
begrudgingly, writes this

city born and bred, with the pale skin needed to prove my urbanity, each day came unto me begrudgingly,
even, especially, the good ones

when I was ten and rode my bike from freedom to mystery,
and back again in a city that was ok, if you stayed out of its way
and knew the city’s vocabulary and its erogenous zones

when nothing come easy, when even the easy, when it comes, comes begrudgingly

when you think of love, and the next immediate thought is:
how great the cost - recalling too well,
the pain of childbirth and child rearing
and the staining, paining fluid is in perm-attendence,
that doesn’t ever fully departs and
is not never entirely stain-stick-removable,
and the children come ‘n go according to their schedule,
someone else’s vast eternal plan

life in the same apartment  
where my parents died,
listening to the stories of joined lives,
listen to the sisters telling them
over and over to a stream of visitors
earned from and of a 98 year life,
given up willing but, begrudgingly as well.

the story-telling skill because of them,
my mist-matched parents who did ok
and their very best,
gifted us hyperbole innate genetic
and all of us now registered
tall tale tellers;

some write for a living,
some live to write,
some write to make themselves clearer,
after honestly confronting their subway reflection  

words acquired bot ‘n sold,
they too are stains unerasable,
very always handy,
the one thing we shared, word skill,
was never at loss, words never held a grudge
no matter how long they waited to serve

this fact, begrudgingly confess;
all my-word skill was freely inherited...
and I hope it satisfied the title
and you, those that waited patiently but,
begrudgingly

The Cost

“5 minutes to write, 5 minutes to edit and 10 more to cease weeping,”
when the inquiry arrives, how long/where from it comes,
gave this answer

more or less the response accurate
more or less the weeping really never ceases

I will return to it again, **** poem
random when, unreasoned why, wherefore
a stumble, a message, months from now, tomorrow,
even decades and I’ll remember the precise circumstances

for each poem has a Cost, that excises a piece of you, a new cut,
freshly salted, an antibiotic of loving may remove the
redness, but not the white line, so what you call a scar, I,
I call it an etched memory preserved

the sum of all These Costs, all these memories,
cumulative, additive, addictive - someone says:

stop being so sensitive, leave the telling to others,
or keep them in plastic bags, dated, retrievable,
in case an antiretroviral antidote is ever needed,
a fresh injection when you think you could even
cease to care

The Cost is always capitalized, for the Cost is called human capital,
the invisible financing that permits our existence till all spent,
when we’ve run out of drawer space, zipper bags,
breaths to be taken away and glass jars to store them,
if the mind says no more! then it will be ok,
for you are all spent

The Cost so great! this a double entendre,
for they are the stuff of me, whatever greatnesses
I ever possessed within them kept and believed,
happily paid for past and present, for the future,
will happily pay for it right now, again and again,
for the Costs are who I am, till, such time that
Costless arrives, eyes closed, nothing left to post,
to recall, no coin to give, my purposed all paid,

as if all paid could ever cause my weeping to cease


Mon May 4
10:48 am

Poor people have different perception than rich people

A big understanding of value of things
We are affected by the cost of things

Rich people pay for cable TV
HBO
TIVO
Etc.
Watch only three channels a couple times a week

Have pools maintained year-round so it can be swam in twice
Laid next to bikini-clad Barbies on the handful of days their social calendar falls empty
With a temperature range of 68°-72°F
Bragged about in casual conversations just enough
So that every ear in a five-mile radius knows the cute Puerto Rican pool boys name

A mistake to them nothing more than an apology with a price tag attached
No problem is too big to bribe away

But less privileged folk know all too well how cause and effect work
Because we face the consequences of our actions
Big
Small

We go to libraries for entertainment

We do not cook more than we can eat
Because groceries cost too much money to waste

Wealth does not necessarily make you an ignorant or bad person
I think poverty does help make you a more conscientious person

I seem to turn to be 20th century...
Shakespeare
My words cut through like a spear...
Tearing your heart apart...
I and my eye...
glanced to your eyes..
I saw fear...
Of losing you cause i knew the cost was losing my self...
So in your arms i stayed...
Forever.
#G-kay

Speak and say whatever you want
Lending ears to hear as a skill indeed
Let the tongue-shaped mouth declare itself
But watch also for these, for their actions to see
As the truth is often as shaped by the thought
So also the action reveals the belief

Time is the wrinkle
On my otherwise nice life
It keeps secrets
It places blame
It determines value
It comes with cost
It measures war
It holds out for love
It reminds me
To pick up the kids
From school at noon
Reel me in, tune me out
I'm at its every beck and call