i’ve learned this past year to just be yourself and embrace it. no point in fighting it if people are going to judge you no matter what. not that it’s that easily achieved to just be you. but just doing stuff you want to not because someone else wants you to is so liberating.

Yesterday and tomorrow
All in a memorable row
Happiness and sorrow
Always a few more to go.
Laughter and sadness
Marching through time.
Dealing out character
Each of us must find.

Lovers and some losers
Each kind had their say.
Whatever they did to us
Made us who we are today.
We all had to learn about
The liars and the thieves.
We taught ourselves not
To do what makes us grieve.

We learned to reward ourselves
For living and getting strong
Even when our history has
Gone quite suddenly wrong.
We are the ones who count
And must add up the score.
So, we are the wones who know
What our life has been for.

Whining does so little good
And makes others turn away.
It’s up to us to find the words
We need to hear and say.
So we do what we can in life
And deal with what we’re given
And learn we can't have it all
Wrapped up in a pretty ribbon.

Give in. Give in.
To blackness shrouding out hope.
It matters not my earnings nor blessings,
Let pain, let bitterness swallow me whole.

Give in. Give in. Give in.
To my darkest hours of sorrow.
The spark of flames offer none to the blind,
Let hurt, let emptiness swallow my soul.

The lies of guys I was unwise
To let between my thighs
Because their eyes beguiled
Every time they smiled and I
Could not prematurely say goodbye.
Instead I took the guy to bed
Despite the murmurs in my head
And said stupid things in his ear
That I regretted that year and still
And yes, I probably always will.

Some guys tell lies with their eyes
In a kind of non-verbal disguise,
Of bigger and sadder untruths
That a green youth suspect exist
So that I didn’t resist temptation
To ignore deceit and exaggeration
For a moment’s hope for romance
And an afternoon’s hopeful chance
At something profound and legendary
That I forgot I needed to be wary.

Then the surprises in my eyes
As I realized I was unwise
But still thought I loved the guys,
Time and time again, trying,
Forgetting the crying and chagrin,
Then brave enough to try again
Taking time to learn to swim
In the river of romantic dreams
That starts in a tiny little stream
Going on until I sink or scream
Love is not something from a magazine.

Then one day I wake and say
No more! I finally know the score.
The whole game is a sick bore
And I know what it is all for.
It is for the wises route to wisdom.
To know I am finally through with them,
To know which ones are bad for me
And which to welcome gratefully;
To set the table and make dinner
And know for sure, he’s a winner.

I share the concept happily,
For those who ask me seriously,
That dating can be successful
Can even be fun and restful
If you ignore the glittery butterflies
That cavort and lie with their eyes
And want only that momentary thing
But are deathly afraid of the ring
And the promise that comes with you.
Don’t applaud those who gig you.
And choose from those who dig you.

My backyard fence was probably the most traversed place in my whole yard. To get to the fence, I had to squeeze through a narrow gap between a sharp evergreen and a pungent forsythia bush. As a child, this fence seemed like a great wall with an unknown force drawing me to the other side.
        Before my parents allowed me to climb over  my fence, I would sit under the yellow canopy of drooping forsythia branches and enjoy the sweet smelling flowers. I’d gaze through the chain link and imagine what great adventures I could have with the neighbor kids, if I could go over that fence. After school, both my neighbor and I would run home to our backyards to talk and pass sticks through the fence. To pass the time, we would spend hours trying to disentangle grape vines from the fence, stopping to snack on a few when they were ripe. We would weave crowns with the broken vines or wilted branches from the forsythia, and we would craft swords from fallen branches out of their maple tree. With these effects, we would wage grand battles through the fence until we were separated by the call for dinner. When I found a baseball in the school field, I could not wait to take it home to share with my neighbor. Together we wore the skin off that baseball playing catch, seeing who could throw it the highest or farthest, and trying to throw it through the diamonds between each link. The fence drew us together.
        My parents finally gave in to my ample requests and decided that I was officially "old enough to climb the fence." I rushed out of my house and darted between the evergreen and forsythia to tell my friend the great news. After getting consent from his parents, I clambered up the fence for the first time. The first time was a struggle. It was hard to get foot holds in the small openings. It seemed dizzyingly tall. Although it was one small step, I was thrilled when I set foot in the foreign land because I would finally be able to explore what I had observed through the fence and dreamed about for so long.
        His yard was full of wonders that mine did not have. He had a play set with two swings and a slide, a large plastic log cabin play house, and a deck, which was a novelty compared to the concrete slab my house had. I quickly looked past these things; why would I waste my time on a swing when I could run around and play games without a fence impeding me. When we played baseball, the section of the fence where our yards met was always home plate. At school all my other friends only talked about video games and television shows.  I tried the video games they talked about, but when I tried them I never understood the thrill of sitting on a couch and controlling an image. Being outside under my forsythia bush or running around with my neighbor appealed to me. It was where I felt the most natural and where I felt I could be myself.
        That section of fence behind the forsythia bush and evergreen tree impacts me still, even though I have moved away and have not laid eyes upon those yellow flowers in years. Whenever I am presented the option between watching a movie or going outside to walk or play catch, I will always opt for the latter. Something about a light breeze or a rustle of leaves or the song of a bird as it flies over helps relax me and ease away the day's tensions. I attribute this to the freedom I felt under the forsythia. Free from judging eyes, free from problems of the world, free from expectations.

There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object that he look'd upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him of the day, a part of the day
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.

Climbing trees became a part of this child,
And playing catch, splashing in puddles, racing bikes down the block,
And tormenting neighbor kids,
And the falling down and the scraping of knees
Became a part of this child.
Nap time, time outs, smelling thyme and rosemary and lavender,
Digging through the crisp verdant garden
All became a part of this child.
Boy Scouts, dinosaur hunting, star searching, pencil drawing,
Became a part of him.

His own parents,
Reading aloud, arranging play dates, preparing snacks,
Supplying toys only to be forgotten about
for a stick or perhaps a box.
Mother off working, leaving by dawn, returning for dinner
And father, strict, the warden, always teaching responsibility,
Both becoming part of this child.
Vacations and swimming and visiting the grandparent and getting spoiled
Going to the zoo and seeing so many terrifying and exciting creatures.
His parents, always feeding and inspiring imagination
Becoming a part of him.

Walking to middle school became a part of him.
Lockers, combinations, IDs, pungent locker rooms, the labyrinth of halls
crowded and loud
The anticipation for lunch, the sweet sound of the three o'clock bell
The flurry toward the doors all became a part of him.
Pushups and crunches and laps and blown whistles
Loving every moment of the cool fresh air
Newfound freedom, licenses, cars, jobs
This responsibility became a part of him.
Plucking, scratching, squeaking, struggling, playing
Sounds of an unproven orchestra growing together,
All became a part of this boy.

Surviving the first day freshman year
So small, so young, so innocent
Growing, maturing, learning, all became a part of him.
School dances and football games and musicals and stress
Cool clay carefully sculpted, melodic rhythms played in tune, rubber ***** quickly dodged
AP class after AP class, notebook after notebook filled meticulously
New friendships formed, old friendships strengthened.
All this became a part of this child.
These became a part of that child who went forth every day
And who now goes, and will always go forth every day.