“I’m not much of a sharer, I much rather listen”-Says the guy who wants to be an honest writer and has an entire platform that is dedicated to his thoughts and life experiences.
Says the man who is me, the one who in a crowded room doesn’t like to reflect on the past tense.
Welcome to my gift and my curse. Welcome to this curse that I embrace as if it’s a gift.
Welcome to heartbreak.
Welcome to my church. Ask anyone who knows me beyond my words. Anyone who has been close to see my eyes in a intimate way. They’ll tell you I’ve known pain. And while in my everyday life I’m surrounded by friends and family I see as angels. Internally my soul is constantly be picked at by demons who move like vultures. It’s hard to find religion when your thought process is that of sinning.
I have a great memory, there a few things I forget. My past stays with me in the present tense. This is handy when I’m working a serving job and I want to make a repeat customer feel special, during test when I only have to read the chapter once, when my friends can’t remember what spring break we got kicked out the hotel, or when a girl I only met once drunkingly doesn’t think I’ll remember her name.
It doesn’t work in my favor when I can remember my sister saying “hide under the bed tae,it’ll be alright”. Casper the friendly ghost cartoon playing in the background. Her voice trembling holding back fear in order to make me brave. I remember my mothers scream as she begged for her life. Pitch reflected, pitch corrected. The highs and the lows blend. Echoes from these things I should let go but never hit send.
Echoes from these things I should let go but never hit send.
Them cold nights when we was homeless and breaking and entering was a form of survival. Stealing water from the neighbors because utilities don’t run on love and hope. I remember a young lady I would only call an associate at best. Contacting me saying she needed to talk cause her life was at its worst. She doesn’t know why but she thinks I’m the only one safe to confide in. We sit and she pours her heart out about how she was recently raped. It’s an ugly word but the ugly words sometimes makes us. If we don’t acknowledge the ugly words they’ll surely break us. I remember her not wanting to tell her parents or the authorities because she was drinking underage and felt she was the one to blame. I remember not being able to convince her to give me a name because I wanted to make the type of visit that inflicted pain. I remember being able to control words in the way that I feel only I can but couldn’t get this women to speak up. I remember her tears and my emotions couldn’t keep up. So I listened. All I wanted to do is hold her but she couldn’t stand to be touched by a man. So I didn’t extend my hands. Her trust in me was as if all her feelings were villagers and I was the leader of this turmoiled clan. ( I feel inclined to say. This was a few years back the young lady graduated college and is doing very well).
I remember the officer who put my face to the ground and told me I fit the description of someone “that didn’t belong here,”. Not someone who committed a crime, someone who by just existing created an irrational fear.
I remember it all.
The good things that bring me light and the things so dark I’m not ready to bring them out the shadows yet
Often times when I’m having a bad day, when the demons come and test me and I didn’t study. I don’t tell anyone. I never feel the need to. People don’t understand how much they do for me just by being themselves. You being you is everything I need from you. As I sit with my friends or experience all these things for the first time. When I say Prospèr it’s not the gloat of a man who wants you to be jealous. It’s the wish you were here postcard from another human who is enjoying life. I truly revel seeing the people I care about win. Because I come from a place where a lot of individuals don’t make it and statistics are what you learn to live by.
Because I come from a place where a lot of individuals don’t make it and statistics are what you learn to live by.
Living life is my therapy.
Writing these words this way because of these messages I get from strangers and loved ones alike saying “you don’t know how much you are helping me”.
I’m not perfect, I do human things and apologize for my mistakes. I hope people never get sick of me saying I appreciate them. Because I remember everything. So you having one bad day won’t take away everything you’ve meant to me.
These bad memories aren’t going away and this life is going to have more horrific days. But the beauty of it all is these good memories are festered in my mind also. Planting seeds so I can climb bean stalks and get views by being on the shoulders of giants. And my good days bring me a light that can rival any past Hell. I don’t go to church. Nothing against it, just not for me. I think religion is a beautiful thing, we need faith. I crawled through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. I would have died numerous times if there was not something in which I believed.
Traveling is my temple, friends are my scripture, and my family now and in the future will be my religion. I put my faith in energy and the universe. And right now my energy is supreme. Maybe some day we can do this again. Thanks for being my therapy. Thanks for remembering with me.
(Featured Photo by Dylan Mooney)