SS 12h
There are things people want from me but can you not see that some things cannot be. I just want to be me, I write poems decently fast. But its so hard to spit bars. I dont want fame or glory, but with these hands I'll tame the expressions within me. Read my words imagine my world, but never see me in it. I'll share a new point of view, but only the open minded few can understand the work of hand, pen and paper. Is it a talent to write such raw feelings, only you, the being reading this can judge. Judge my words, my flaws and my ideals. Do I hit you deep in the feels? Do you relate? Is this fate? Maybe you and I are looking for our inner selves. It feels like digging through a book shelf. But as we age we find our greatest collection of stories and just as many worries. A pile of imperfections but there are still perfect moments.
-SS
Day 22
It was a restless night when I couldnt sleep so I started writing and after reading it over many times I settled down and could finally sleep. Enjoy :)
In 30 second increments,
while standing under a ray of sun,
or in the rain,
or in the small chill that snow brings.
At 3 am, when I can’t sleep.
When I happy cry at TV shows,
and when I find a new favorite book.
When I feel insecure,
or when I feel confident.
During my alone time where I recharge,
or when I’m with others.
Self discovery is coming along,
one moment at a time.
wind brushed my neck,
and down my spine,
briefly with a kiss.

i fell.
New sights, state lines and new frames of mind
Buildings, kissing skylines like mother and child
Paintings of people I’ll never meet nor know
Their eyes speak of things they never said, never told  
I can see what they want
I want the same
Their humanity saturates the colours of the paint and their veins
They had their secrets, but now I have them too  
Polaroid cameras, toothy grins and breaking the rules
We’ve never been so far from home
But we’ve never felt so free
Dancing on cobblestone beaches
And staying up well past three
Board games and liquor
I can’t feel my face
Is it my smile or my cup?
Or the sweet velvet taste?
My lips chapped from the cold
Your lips waiting my return  
Life is good, life is wild
And I’m well ready to burn
draft
Blotted down on the plane.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me
Yes, it hurts me- a little bit, a lot a bit
but I understand.
You are yourself and I am myself-
You will do you, I guess I’ll be me

I still wonder though.
Who am I-
Why not,
What’s so wrong with being a part of me,
my life- who I am?
What’s so bad about me?

Is it because I’m not “pretty” enough
or “cool” enough
or good enough to you, to be a part of me? Associated with me?
Because I won’t just make you happy
I will make myself, my family, those I do- and don’t know happy
I will try and make you as well.

What counts as part of me?
Just that I’m nineteen, female, probably bi
born in Geneva, Illinois, raised in South Elgin, Illinois
but also raised in Westford, Massachusetts
both painfully boring towns; quiet, uneventful.
Does that make me as well? Is part of me South Elgin, Westford?
And then what else- what other parts of me?
That can’t be the only part-
So I’m also creative, loud, spontaneous
the part that makes me different
Is it so bad to be that part?

Part. Of. Me.

it sounds like a bad pop song. Is that why you don’t want to be
part of me-
Why is it that sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me?
Does that mean you won’t speak, look or think about me?
i don’t think that’s possible.
Am I really that much of a stranger?
I’ve known you for quite sometime -
You’ve known me
So can you even not be a part of me?
You can be yourself, as well as
Part of me.

so
yes
You are part of me.
As am I to you,
Just not all of me.
A single piece, maybe, a part,
that shouldn’t be too much to ask.
You can have alone time, but even then that doesn’t mean;
for the time alone, your part of me is gone.
What an illogical statement,

Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be part of me.
You already are.
I wrote this forever ago as an English assignment, much like *Murdering Icarus* this was a response to another poem called *Theme for English B* by Langston Hughes. Much like lots of poetry it was a self-discovery poem that I add to every time I read it.
Jeff Gaines Jul 10
“ ... One Love. One heart. Let’s get together and feel alright.”
                                     -Robert Nesta Marley


   Take a deep breath ...

  No, seriously ...
No breath you ever take will be like the one that you take when you look out over her azure and  aquamarine blue waters or her lush green hills ...

  Now, let it out.
No breath you ever let out will be like the one that you let out when you listen to one of her waterfalls or finally meet and make friends with just one of her incredible people.

  Unless you go there ...
Your lungs will never be filled with the air from that blessed place like mine have been.

  It’s sweeter ...
  Thicker ...
  Spicier ...

  The place I’m speaking of isn’t Heaven .  
And it isn’t Utopia ... Or even the Garden of Eden.
If you live anywhere in the United States ... It’s only a plane ride or two away. And if you’re really lucky, then you live in the southeastern U.S. and you can get there on a leisurely cruise ship.

  Hear me now ... Once you’ve been there, it stays with you ... inside you ... forever.
You never really leave it ... It never really leaves you. So even when you are away from her, all you have to do is close your eyes ... and Breathe.

  I’m talking about ... Jamaica!

  It’s my favorite place in the whole world ... Bar None.
I love living in west central Florida. The Tampa Bay area, without a doubt, is one of the coolest places to live in the country ... in the world possibly.

  I haven’t been everywhere, so I’m not qualified to decide thee coolest place to live in the world. I have however, been to every state in the continental U.S. as well as 3 Canadian Provinces and Europe. On top of that, I’ve been to the Bahamas, Saint Lucia, Aruba, Puerto Rico, Barbados, Turks and Caicos, Trinidad and well ... you get the picture. I have found wondrous beauty and fascinating people everywhere I’ve went.

  Each island and country ... each state even ... having it’s own unique people and characteristics that made them a joy to discover and explore. I’ve left a piece of myself in each of these destinations and they, in turn, have left a mark on me as well. All of these places and the people who inhabit them are in me forever. I can only hope that I’ve left such a mark in the spots I’ve visited and maybe in some of the souls that I’ve had the joy of meeting along the way.

  Only a few places in my travels have left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I’ll not name them here. I hate to throw stones. Besides ... This piece is about JOY!

  Remember that word ...

  JOY

  When you finally arrive in Jamaica, and I don’t mean the “Touristy-everything-you-see-in-the-travel-ads” Jamaica. I mean the “Leave-the-hotel-on-foot-and-walk-down-the-road-for-some-fresh-cu­t-sugarcane-and-cold-coconut-milk-at-the-roadside-vendor” Jamaica ... You will discover a joy that you’ve only dreamed of all your life.

  But that’s not all ... While you stand on the edge of that road ... Be it in Trelawny or Sav-La-Mar, Negril or Port Antonio and you listen to the tropical breeze in the trees over your head, chewing on your ‘cane, sipping your coconut milk ... Something wonderful will happen ...
It will discover you.

  Like the sun that gleams in the eyes of her people ...

  Like the soft, warm sand between your toes ...

  Like her hypnotic rhythms that echo through the air  ... Night and Day.

  You see here ... you make friends with these things ...
You have no choice. The people here learned it a century ago ...
  
  You’re here ... enjoy it.
  
  There’s nowhere you have to be ... right now.

  Nothing needs to be done ... right now.

  I think whomever coined the phrase “Wherever you go, there you are.” Did so in Jamaica.

  I’m rather fond of telling people that “ ... you can have fun with me in a cardboard box.” What I mean by that is that I know who I am. I have found myself and am very comfortable with what I’ve discovered.
  Of course, I aspire to have and do more ... But ... I’m not going to die while I wait.
  
  Someone once said, “No man is an island.”
I disagree ... we are, in our own way, each an island ...

  Our world an ocean ...

  Who we are is defined by the size and shape of our “island”. Some are large, with the ability to take on and handle many tasks and tests. While others are sleek and beautiful to behold so many “do” for them in return for being allowed to relish in their beauty. And still others are imposing and brutal, hiding a fear of what the others have ... know ... or are capable of doing. This ocean gives us the space we need to learn and grow, but some would like to consume it all up in a most awful game of “I, Me, Mine”.

  There is much to learn here on this magical isle ...
  About life ...
  About pain ...  
  About truth ...
  About politics ...
  About sorrow ...  
  About history ...
  About strength ...
  About passion ...
  About injustice ...
  About love ...
  About perseverance ...
  About the rest of the world ...

  But, more importantly than any of these things ...
If you don’t just come here to be a tourist ...
You will learn about yourself.

  You will discover each other ... You and this beautiful Island.

  Not that being a tourist is a bad thing ... Jamaica’s number one source of income is tourism. It’s just that when you do only “touristy” things, you are probably not alone. Nor are you likely to discover someone who could become a lifelong friend. Here, being a tourist is to learn about Jamaica, not being one is to learn about your self ...

  The people around your tour, more than likely, will be doing a job or being a tourist, just like you. There’s nothing spiritual about riding around on a bus with a bunch of people taking pictures and asking a lot of questions. One of the best ways to “discover” who you are, is to be alone ... not lonely ... Alone.

  Listen to your inner voice ... and breathe.

  Sometimes couples, close friends or even families come undone because they fail to give each other the space each needs to grow. Eventually, their “inner self” regresses enough to lash out and make this space. Without understanding why, they have inadvertently driven themselves apart, all in the name of trying to be “who they are”. When I read history books, I theorize that this anomaly has destroyed races and nations ...

  Sometimes, we need to be alone. Like wolves or dolphins, we are, in essence, pack animals. We instinctively hate to be alone and will go to great lengths to be in another human’s company. Like some folk’s go to sleep with the radio or T.V. on, just the sound of another human voice can be comfort enough to send us blissfully into slumber. The irony here is that we will also go to great lengths to be alone. Sometimes the drone of cars, machines and yes, even other people, can overwhelm us ... clouding or even drowning out our all important inner voice.

  That voice being the entity that is who we are. It is all seeing ... All understanding ... All hearing ... All loving. We may not always hear or understand it, but it is what and who we are ... What we will always be ... Some might call it the inner child.

  And like all other living beings ... it gains knowledge and, more importantly, experiences ... So, like a child, it must grow.

   The knowledge ...

  The memories ... and the wisdom of life that they bring us, is tangible. These things have substance and mass. We may repress them ... forget them even. But ... they never go away. As they amass in our souls, they expand. That is how we grow. If you are looking for that child, I think you can find it in Jamaica. If you still know that child and would like a growth spurt or even a place to start that growth anew ...

  Come to Jamaica ...

  I promise you, if you let go of all you think and do at home, fall into the pace of “Island time” and, most importantly ... Let her in ... Jamaica will change you forever.

  When you come home from the trip where this happens to you, you will know. The only way I can describe it is to say that when you try to reintegrate into the world you’ve always known, it will be a bit of a task. Believe it or not, you will actually feel like you’re still there ... In Jamaica.

  Breathe ...

  From the other side of the fence, the experience is the same. When you first arrive on her shores, you are still back where you came from, so to speak. Don’t be ashamed. You don’t know the difference ... yet.
  In your world, you’ve been conditioned to be who and what it takes to survive. You have your accent and your slang terms, your favorite foods and your favorite corner store or pub. All these “learned behaviors” along with your odd idiosyncrasies and cute little habits make you “You”.

  This is exactly where I’ve been going here ... You are only “You“ when in “your” element ... “You can take the boy out the neighborhood, but you can’t take the neighborhood out of the boy” so to speak. But, just being “You” when you are at home ... in your element, doesn’t mean that you’ve discovered “You”. In fact, I think that being molded by a certain place or group of people, a “pack” if you will, pushes you away from being or knowing the real you and into a mold built by your surroundings.

  Tell me true ...
How many times have you snuck away to the rooftop ...
Or driven alone in the country with the radio off ...
Or just wandered off for a walk ... or a long shower ... alone? That is your inner-self doing it’s thing ... Growing.

  Breathe ...

  The solace you feel in those moments is your inner-self expanding. Relish in it. It is one of the healthiest things you can do for yourself. That’s where “Island Time” comes in. While you are used to making a call or driving up the block to get what you need “right now”; it doesn’t quite happen that way here. Even in their best resorts. The pace here is slower, MUCH slower.

  It should be ... it has to be. It’s not just a pace ... or a frame of mind ...
It’s a way of life. You aren’t at home any more. Nothing happens with the snap of your fingers ... it happens in three or four snaps ... o.k. , Maybe five or six. Keep snapping ... when it falls into the beat of the song in the background unnoticed ... you’re almost there.

  The people here learned long ago that slow perseverance will get you through anything ... and they have been through so much ... You will just never know ... until you go there. Go there. And while you’re waiting a little longer on your cocktail or your food, look around ... think ... and breathe.

  Think about how far away you are from what drove you to come here in the first place. Think about how far away you are from work, the kids, the farm, the traffic, the weather, the cell phone ... and above all ...  

  Breathe ...

  Oh, there’s your cocktail now ... See? That wasn’t so bad ... Was it?
As you linger here, you will get used to it. You will understand that the Jamaicans aren’t rude or lazy as some of your ignorant, less open-minded friends who came here before you have warned that you they are. It isn’t so. These people who speak badly of all Jamaicans couldn’t grasp the concept of “Island time” because they were still “at home”. I’ll bet anything you can name that they never discovered themselves or Jamaica on their trip. Not just a waste of money ... An even bigger waste of time. No disrespect to Walter Elias, but they may as well have went to Disney World ...

  Entertainment ... at it’s best.
Self-discovery ... not on your best day.

  Here we have yet another irony. If someone you know speaks badly of the Jamaicans, or calls them rude or lazy, I’ll bet more of anything you can name that they were the ones who were crass or “Holier than thou” with the Jamaicans first ... Whining about how long it took to get something or how long it took for the waitress to take their order or bring their coffee refill. What they failed to learn is that that isn’t the way things work here ...
“Island Time” prevails.
“Soon come, Mon” ...  And soon it will come ... Mon.

  But while you wait ... Breathe.

  What’s your hurry anyway? The beach isn’t going anywhere ... nor is the waterfall up the road or the open-air market downtown. Now maybe the Reggae festival does start at sunset or maybe it’s even that very sunset that you’re trying to off rush to ... but remember, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.” So it’s your fault, not the Jamaican waitresses fault, that you are now waiting in “Island Time” for your drink or your food. Still more irony: More often than not, these people speak rudely to the Jamaicans first and then run home to tell it the other way around.
  
  Breathe ...

  Don’t rush anything here ... it defeats the purpose. Trust me, I’ve been here more than twenty times. I’ve been almost everywhere on the island. I drive when I come here. That is another story for another time. I’ve sat in the hills of cockpit country; I’ve eaten cherries, yes cherries, in a man’s yard in the high country near Savannah-Del-Mar with my friend John Swaby. The Jamaicans call it “Sav-la-mar”. I’ve driven the high road over the Blue Mountains from “Town” (Kingston) all the way to “Mobay” (Montego Bay). It was absolutely breathtaking.

  The first time I went to Jamaica, I went by myself. I’ve always been the adventurer. But I had no idea what I was in for. I stayed two days in Mobay at the Wexford Hotel on Gloucester Ave, and then I went out to Negril for four more days at Hedonism II. In Mobay, I wandered over to Walter’s Bar and Grill for a Red Stripe or a Dragon Stout and maybe a bowl of Pumpkin soup. During those two nights partying in the hot spots down by the water, I kept finding myself back at Walter’s trying to escape the loud goings-on.

   I had heard so much about Negril (and its even slower pace) that I woke up on the third morning, packed up my stuff and went down to the street to get a cab. Two hours and seventy-five bucks later, I was at Hedonism. I was so drunk by the time I got there that the desk clerk took my bags and told me to go hit the buffet so I could “ ... wake up a likle”. Well, I used to be somewhat of a professional drinker and I walked right past the food to the world famous “all-you-can-drink” bar and proceeded to drink some more ...

  When I woke up (read: came to) the next morning, I was in a hammock down by the beach of the hotel. There was a security guard asking me if I was all right. He’d noticed that I wasn’t wearing my room key around my neck or my wrist and he wondered if I was the “missing” gentleman from the night before ( I didn’t have one, as I’d not checked in yet!). I silently hoped I wasn’t in trouble ... I told him I was indeed the “missing” guy. The eight beer glasses (five empty, three full) in the sand around my hammock told him the rest of the story. He didn’t ask for an explanation. I tried to gather up the glasses to clean up my mess and he told me that I didn’t have to worry “ ... bout dem tings here.” He just smiled and showed me the way to the front desk.

  The Jamaicans are not rude. They are some of the most friendly, inviting people in the world. Now get this, not only was all my cash still intact in my pocket and my luggage safe behind the front desk ... they wouldn’t let me pay for my stay in the hammock or the free beer ... They said they loved taking care of me and that was that. He checked me into a room and the rest of my adventure began. (I wish I could remember what happened after I got there! The whole time I was at Hedonism, the staff smiled and whispered when they saw me coming.) Try that at the Times Square Marriott or the Los Angeles Four Season’s!

  In those next few days, I met a Rastafarian cabby outside the gate of the hotel; his name was Rasta Denny White. He was so cool; he took me to Rick’s Café and he almost died when he watched me jump from the cliffs there. (He didn’t think I would do it.) I could see the whites of his widened eyes forty feet below me as he watched me jump. Later, he took me to little food shops and roadside stands. The next day, he took me up into the hills of cockpit country to see ... Well, “Tings” (Read: illegal “Tings”).

  But the best part of it all was that he let me just “Hang”. I’d sit at the cabstand with him and try to understand the banter of Patois between him and some of the other locals.

They’d constantly reassure me that they weren’t talking about me and I’d reassure them I wasn’t paranoid. (This filled them with laughter. You see? Jamaican people are not rude!) We ran errands for his wife, fixed his car, he even took me around to meet some of his family ... All for no charge. He could see that I wasn’t trying to be a tourist. He truly appreciated my being “real”, but more importantly, he respected it. I even rode along with some of his fares. I didn’t care; the guy needed to feed six kids!

  I guess growing up in a tourist mecca like Florida; you get used to not being a tourist. Life in Florida is pretty laid back, so just hanging around in Jamaica seemed pretty natural to me. I wanted to eat her food, know her people, her customs, her language and her culture ... I wanted to know her.  

While I was there I did just that, I found all those things ... and they found me ... I also found myself ... I was comfortable to just “be” there ... And, I learned ... anywhere else for that matter.

  Evryting Cris’ ...
  
  Evryting Irie ...
  
  No problem Mon ...

  She had found me ...

  When I came back from that trip I was different. My friends said so. My family said so. My girlfriend said so. I had a little trouble keeping up with things because, like I said before, I was still there ... in Jamaica.

  It wasn’t until seven years later that I could go back. I would hear the commercials or listen to some reggae and long to be back there, but fate had dealt me some blows ... I had neither the time nor the wherewithal to go back. It was bearable though ... all I had to do was close my eyes and ... breathe.

  If the Island, for some reason, doesn’t sink into your soul like it has mine, then I promise you her people surely will. The Jamaican motto is “Out of many, One people.” I think this should be the motto for the whole planet. But, leave it to the Jamaicans to come up with it first. This tiny island, one-hundred and twenty-two miles long, fifty-two miles wide has changed and educated many people and things on this huge planet ... Think not? Try some of these things out and then tell me what you think ...

  Reggae Music ... A style recognized and adored the world over.

  Jamaica Blue Mountain Coffee ... Arguably the finest, definitely one of the rarest coffee’s in the world.

  James Bond ... Ian Fleming drew this invincible spy’s name from a Jamaican book and penned all these stories at his home in Jamaica!

  Getting the idea?

  Good, because I could fill this page with people and things that are everyday words in the rest of the world that have somehow emanated out of this tiny little island nation in one way or another ... What an energy!
  
  The first time I wandered into the square in downtown Mobay, I will never forget the first thing I noticed. Now, I don’t have to tell you that times are tough here. More people here are “have-not’s” than there are “do-have’s”. But when you go there, sit down while you’re waiting for a drink and watch the “pickny’s” (children). They play and laugh on every street. You’ll see them on the side of the road and at the seaside. A lot of them have never owned a pair of shoes or a matching outfit in their whole lives. Most of them have never owned a bicycle, or woke up on Christmas morning to a tree with tons of presents under it. It’s not that they miss these things per se’ ... it’s that they are children ... And like the inner child inside of you, it doesn’t really matter to them. Coveting things is a learned behavior.

  From their youth they learn to discover themselves ... without the trappings of western “civilization”.

  This is something that the Jamaicans and a lot of other less “blessed” nations have up on all of us supposedly “more prosperous” nations ... We merely assume that they are ignorant ... they know that we are! Most of us are so arrogant that we miss this entirely ... Thinking that because they are not as “well off” as we are, that some how they are inferior and we are superior.

  HA!
  
  I’ll tell you what ... In a battle scenario where all combatants were unarmed and had to survive the fight through wit, ingenuity, perseverance and intuition, I’d take an army of Jamaicans over the best trained soldiers in the world ... Any time ... Every time.  
  
  And we would win that battle.

  The thing that struck me so hard in the square that day was the pickny’s smiles. No matter where you see them, no matter what you see them up to, you will almost always see them doing one thing ... Smiling. They are content. I’m sure they aspire to do and have more like everyone else ... But as I said before ... they know they are not going to die while they wait.

  That is the biggest lesson that Jamaica has to share with many of us. It is a badly needed lesson, indeed. We take so much for granted. We take each other for granted. Come to Jamaica and see what it’s like to have a “tough life” and then go home and see if it doesn’t make you appreciate all the comforts that we so readily have right here at our disposal ...

  Like shoes ...
  Running water  ...
  Telephones, TVs, dishwasher’s, microwaves  ...
  Air conditioning ...

Not that there aren’t many who do have some, most or all of these things here in Jamaica but ... There are far too many who do not ...

  Tell you what ...
  How ‘bout you let me and my buds come by your house and take all these things away from you for a week ... o.k. ? Then, let us drop back by and rudely whine and complain when you don’t bring our cocktail or our second cup of coffee when we thought you should bring it!
  
  Would you feel a little rude ... or dare I say it ... angry?

  An old Native American saying dictates: “Do not judge a brave until you have walked for a day in his moccasins.” I have never walked in the shoes of a Jamaican. But I have met, worked and hung around with enough of them to know that I love and respect them with all my heart. They don’t need your pity. Trust me, they don’t want it. They are as proud a people as any.

  But, they are also very misunderstood by so many people. People who probably will never make friends with their own inner child ...

  Or understand “Island Time”  ...

  Or Joy ...

  Or for that matter ... Themselves.

  Now close your eyes ... and breathe.
Come ... and find Joy ...
Come ... and find that inner child ...
Come ... and find yourself ...
Come to Jamaica ...

  Let her discover you.


                                              ~Jeff Gaines
                                    October 14th & 15th, 2002
                                       Port Richey, Florida.
                      (Wishing he was up on Richmond Hill!)
Being a Lighting Designer/Director, I was blessed with landing an ongoing gig with a Producer from Jamaica that put on several large Festivals in Jamaica, The Bahamas and several other Caribbean Islands. For 5 or 6 years, I found myself going to Jamaica 5 times a year or more and several other islands the rest of the year.

Mostly we did huge, multi-day festivals Like Sumfest, or Sting or the Air Jamaica Jazz/Blues Fest. But we also did The Bahaman Jazz/Blues Fest and several Comedians, like Sinbad, on other Islands.

I was also the first guy to do "Rock-n-Roll-type" lighting for Carnival in Trinidad. Prior to my friend Scott and I, they had only used what we call "Flat White Television Light". We brought all the tricks and Moving Lights and Strobes and Fog and well ... that's yet aanother story for another time. The people LOVED it ... and to this day, THAT is how it's done there every year. It makes me SO proud.

This story is about how Jamaica touched me. It helped me find myself in a way I never saw coming. You see, I had gone there on vacation several times before I started going there for work. This essay is mostly about what happened to me in those first trips, before I was going for work. It really is a mystical place and and is very dear to me, as you just read.
Ben K Jul 10
wrap yourself in cold October wind
I know I can't bring you home again

so I walk beyond these empty streets
looking back at my Eurydice

you threw the rope
and I let go
with no one there to catch us
and nothing left to hold
and so we fell

moonlight casts a heavy, frozen pall
covering the bruises of the fall

sunlight comes and all is memory
but does the day hold all that's to be seen?

I followed your footsteps
til the sun revealed the path beneath
where you and I - wandering, reeling
found each other - broken and bleeding
and saw we were two halves of the same whole

now back in your arms
with one mended heart
we can feel the gravity
the power and energy
that once tore us apart
it was in us from the start
that's why we fell so hard

lay your head here among the stars
know the day is longer than the dark
Aa Harvey Jul 6
Here is the enlightenment you are searching for.


Enlightenment is a continuous journey of discovery,
Taken by all people willingly or otherwise.

The amount of time dedicated to enlightenment,
Shows the value of the enlightenment one has gained.

Once you have discovered enlightenment,
You shall discover that it is a continuous journey of discovery,
For the rest of your life and into eternity.

Forever more becoming more enlightened.
Forever searching for further enlightenment.

Ergo – you are never fully enlightened…
But you shall forever find enlightenment.


(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Fe Coffey Jun 29
She was a stranger.
Cute, freckled, one of the most beautiful smiles.
And when she looked at me it felt right.

He was a stranger.
Nice eyes, a full beard, tall and burly.
His eyes glanced my way one too many times to be coincidental.

With her I felt comfortable, at ease.
It felt right to smile at her and laugh with her,
and even though I knew it would go nowhere it made me happy.

With him I felt a dull excitement, a small thrill.
It felt good knowing that there was a man around that wanted me,
even though I was sure that I didn't want him.


And that is how I know.
Because laughing and smiling at a new girl felt closer to love
than the lingering lustful looks of an unknown man I was told already wanted me.

I used to grasp onto the smallest bit of attention from a man,
falling over myself with feelings at the mere possibility of being loved by one. Its been years since I've felt that way, I've outgrown the falsehoods about what I thought I knew.

I belong with a woman, I just know I do.
when a thursday afternoon bbq solidifies a question i ask myself everyday. "am i really gay?"
This war I wage.
A new chapter.

I fought my battles,
I bled my blood.
I followed my orders and by God I marched,

Little did I know,
In this war I wage...
I fight on both sides...
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