They see me with hands on the wheel,
feet steady on the gas,
a woman who conquers,
who builds,
who signs papers with a name they say will mean something.
They speak of my future like prophecy,
a business to run, a world to own.
They dress me in ambition,
in power,
in a suit that doesn’t fit my skin.
The woman I was meant to be.
She stirs sugar into coffee,
presses her lips to a child’s warm forehead,
sits by a window and watches rain make poetry of the streets
Yet their voices are so loud,
so certain,
that I cannot even whisper what I want.
So I nod, I smile,
I let them build this version of me,
one brick at a time,
until I am buried beneath it.
And maybe one day,
I will forget the woman I could have been,
the mother, the homemaker,
the quiet kind of happy
and only remember the one
they never let me become.

I wanted to be a river,
carving my own way through stone,
but the world built dams,
redirected my course,
taught me that freedom has rules.
I wanted to be the artist,
to paint in colors only I could see,
but they handed me a template,
said, "Fill inside the lines."
Every day, I push against the shape
they force me into
and every day, I bend,
just a little
more,
until I wonder if I am still me

Most of knowing each other these days is acknowledgement
Smiling, waving, a head nod
We don’t talk as much as I’d like, but
I don’t have it in me to reach out in earnest
You’ve probably noticed the distance
Occasional texts and shared media make up
The meaningful moments we’ve shared
For a while - it’s been a bit more than a while now
But I still like you
I probably love you, I do, but y’know
We both work so much
And we don’t work together
We haven’t for years now
It’s crazy it’s years now
When you and I live
Not an hour apart
If it’s more - maybe walk faster
I don’t know - anyway

You should know what’s on my walls
I should know your new address
The way your monitor is angled
All the games that you’ve been playing
Your whole setup must be like
Y’know, the feng shui has to be just - yeah

I don’t invite you to much anything
These days you wouldn’t like it here
I do, of course, but it’s not us
And I love us y’know
You and I immersed in games or
Movies, shows, or something
Some expression of ourselves
Expressed by someone else
You point out which one’s me and
There you are engaging with me
We don’t even have to do whatever
We did on the screen
They did us for us

I gave up chronic alcoholism a few days back
as I got some severe pain on my left side just
below my rib cage. Strangely I still have that
pain but only if I poke the region with my finger.
The pain went away after 2 hours and came back
after eating a meal the next day but now I can only
feel the piercing pain if I poke the region.

I was drinking 3 liters of wine a day or a bottle
of Bullett Bourbon or 30 cans of strong beer for
the last couple of years.

I saw my doctor and got meds that make it impossible
for me to drink as it changes the taste to very ******.

Today I saw him again. He took my blood pressure and
said it was high. He's getting me to take a blood test
tomorrow first thing in the morning after fasting and a
***** test.

I believe the results are going to be bad but I deserve
the bad karma anyway. I really did hurt a-lot of people
when I got smashed over the 2 and a half years.
I could barely put my shoes on before seeing him. It made me exhausted and I've been breathing far more heavier and strained. I always have flume in my throat.

My eyes are yellowing  but not my skin. I do believe I'm in the early or mid stages of liver disease and possibly diabetes but that's on me for the path I chose. Early liver disease can be reversed as can Diabetes. My family has always been very heavy drinkers. My uncle used to drink a bottle of whiskey a day for 40 years and when he got asbestos poisoning, his liver was ironically perfect. His doctor said to him
" I bet you have never had a drink in your life" My Uncle replied " You are on the ball there"
Heart failure and attacks are what kills the men in my family.

I'm not scared of death, I'm scared of not being able to show in 6 months that I am a much better human being and I wish to build bridges again. I need forgive-ness but that will only come with action. My goal in life if I survive is to help elderly men. Drive them to the shops and appointments and just be a friend to them. I'm planning on taking the course soon to be qualified to do this.

I want to change from the demon to a selfless human and feel humanity, empathy & the way I was before I hit the bottle.

I need to survive long enough to answer to the terrible things I have said & apologize truthfully.
I won't accept a new liver though as I don't believe I deserve it. I would rather it goes to someone much more deserving.

Attempting to toss
into coordinates of comfort,
I fail to find a prime position
to support my heavy heart,
and to contain my racing mind.

A blanket–
always too stiff–
clings uncomfortably
to my spent body,
which I reluctantly trust
to wake up once more again.

A pillow–
always too flat–
smothers the thickening air
as my lungs try to
swallow reality once more.

I plea to the pause
fragmenting awareness
to rise and resume,
as the void encroaches
and consciousness escapes me.

I “borrowed,”
a customer’s purple shirt
“okay, I stole that shirt”

It looked too good,
with an ironic phrase in white words

“dreams do come true”

Do I feel guilty
about “borrowing,” that purple shirt

“I don’t really know”

But I’ll let you know
later on tomorrow, as I’ve hung it out
with an outfit, ready to go to church.

Now the real challenge,
Creating a balance,
A routine in which I can only grow from.
Sow a seed into the ash,
Watch the seedling flourish
More resilient —
The soul finally taking root in the earth.

A hero may wear a cape,
But that doesn’t mean they’re Superman,
They all pale in comparison,
Just another human,
Whether a man or a woman,
Their motives hidden behind their ribbons
Trying to make the world a better place.

A hero may preach peace,
But that doesn’t mean they believe it,
Often it’s just about their image.
The war must go on,
Never will everyone be happy,
There’s too much to complain about,
To be ungrateful about,
To not see the beauty of the planet we call home.
The hero may say they are against this complaining,
Yet, you see them in the streets doing the exact same thing.

Never meet your heroes,
You realize how much you inflated their heroics,
When you meet them in person,
You see how, perhaps, they weren’t a hero at all.
They aren’t a villain,
Just not a hero,
Not what you originally believe,
Yet you convinced yourself they were perfect.
Perfection is a losing game.

What makes a hero?
What makes someone noble?
Or have honor?
Or courage?
People love to play these roles,
Put them on like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,
You can always spot a fake,
They just feel disingenuous.
How can you have honor,
And preach your mantra,
Yet cut in the lunch line,
Like you’re better than all of the rest behind you?
That’s not honor!
That’s being a two-faced dishonorable fraud!
Like so many people,
Who wear the “honorable” facade.

I wouldn’t call myself honorable,
I’ve done things I’m not proud of,
Made mistakes I regret,
Have demons in my heart,
Who remind me where I misstep.
I refuse to identify,
As something I’m not,
It makes me feel icky,
Dishonest, and like a fraud.
Who relishes this feeling,
Of lying for qualities they don’t have?
What do you gain?
Recognition?
Fame?
All temporary in the grand scheme of the game.

A hero isn’t pure,
They’ve done things they despise themselves for,
Yet they try their best,
To not make the same mistake again.
They try to make a change,
Instead of complaining!

A hero isn’t good,
Or great,
And certainly not extraordinary,
They’re decent,
Down to earth,
Understanding of their faults,
Yet they push forward anyway.
They try to please people,
Not worth their time,
All in an effort,
To see them smile.
They try to save people,
To far gone to save,
Yet, they try anyway,
For they can’t accept,
That some people can’t be saved,
And are lost in the darkness.

Nobility,
Not kings or queens,
But high standards and ideas,
Yet to be expressed,
They haven’t found the words.
A hero has morals,
One’s that won’t change,
Based on who they talk to,
Their code remains the same.
That’s what takes honor,
That’s what takes strength,
Being yourself despite the gremlins,
And the goblins,
And the orcs,
Being yourself,
No matter who’s watching.
“With integrity and honor,
For people to see.”
Words long forgotten,
In our memories.

Integrity requires honor,
Which requires being noble,
Which goes hand in hand with courage and bravery.
A hero is all of these things,
Combined into a pie,
And though we humans try to replicate the recipe,
We end up exploding the kitchen,
Leaving fallout in our wake.

To me the idea of a hero,
Is more reliable than seeing it in reality,
Someone so honest,
So kind,
Understanding,
And always fighting for what they believe is right.

A villain is a hero,
Just for the other side,
With other motives,
And ways of working things out,
And the hero is the villain to the villain.
Who is right and who is wrong?
The common question.
Often times it’s not so black and white,
Nuances aplenty,
If you open your eyes.
Some are just cruel,
But some have a reason for the heinous actions they do,
Occasionally,
I root for the villain.

We may come close,
But we will never see the perfect hero,
He’s already left.
While we wait,
We can dream,
And aspire to be,
Like Superman.
As the old pledge went,
“When no one else is watching,
It is up to me!”
And so it always will be,
For each of us is the hero in our own story…