“You’re big and ugly enough,” he meant it kindly
as he passed me a wrench and continued to guide me.

“You’re big and ugly enough, to handle this truth.  
It’s now time that you learned that it’s just what we do.
We take the rough every day along with the smooth.
You will learn that the world will expect this of you.”

And so, each year upon year I took on rough truths,
until my battered strong hands were no longer smooth.
I grasped the sharp nettles, and I braced for disputes
until each opposition decided to move.

I ignored muscle pains and maintained my strong grip,
all the much tighter as life continued to shift.
Through my gritted cracked teeth, sometimes expletives slipped
as I beat mounting odds with dulled cries of relief.

Now a few decades on, I’m still big and I’m ugly,
but I’ve got a light touch for words that hold beauty.
There’s a time for raw strength but space for what’s lovely
and the lovely gifts strength to meet each day’s duties.

My dad did mean well when he passed on his insights,
but there’s much more to my strength than winning each fight.
I’m no longer a big, ugly stereotype -
The best part of me now can be found when I write.

It's a Shame
We bend and break ourselves
To level with bent and broken men.

We are desperately clinging to the past
We cannot let it go
We clutch on to it with sweaty palms
Our grasp is slipping
We cling hopelessly to the familiarity of the past
But it can't last

We have to sever the grasp
Against our will,
the hold slips
Lost in the abyss of the past.

We must take an axe to our Roots
Nature will run its course and plant our seeds where they need to be
in order to evolve into a stronger, greater species
After letting go, we let the wind carry our soles elsewhere
Soles sink into new healthy soil
We look behind us
Waiting to see the past chasing us, struggling to catch up
But our eyes behold a new unfamiliar landscape
that's ready to take us through a new adventure

We evolve
We yearn for new self discovery
Passion sizzling in our stems
It may feel like a storm, but it is a mere shower that all flowers need in order to grow and blossom.

We are only strength in ourselves,
for the tides of others will only
wash upon their shores.

Only the wind of their  reasoning
with blow our currents a certain way,
but we may not hear its gentle whispers.

I close my eyes in wait.

I’m waiting.
Waiting

Waiting for the hurt to give way to understanding
Waiting for dismay to give way to hope
Waiting for light to penetrate the dark
Waiting for gloom to pave way for glee

I’m still waiting.

I’m trying.
Trying not to feel. Not to think.
Trying to numb the pain that numbs my senses.
Trying to keep going. Believing. Loving.
Trying to overcome the contradictions that challenge everything I put my trust in.

Yes, I’m trying.

And then you come along.
Stare me in the eye, assuring.
You calm me, soothe, promise of a better land.
I believe you.

I feel no need to try anymore.
There’s no more waiting.

Who said death isn’t beautiful?