struggle

Write, but don’t

Don’t be a writer,

don’t hobble yourself.

Instead,

be a doer.

Make things happen.

Doing is where

the rubber

meets

the road.

Doers make the structures

where writers

craft

their reality.

Writers inspire,

but…

write while doing…

something.

Words have no value

if they carry

no weight.

Make weight,

write with a purpose

to challenge,

to contradict,

to insult

(if need-be).

Just

write.

Daddy is not in

It’s a chore…

and I try to do my best,

(thank god I love him).

The reward is often

a glance

at a precious photo

or a moment when

he says my name….

It doesn’t matter…

It makes the day

priceless.

These kids can only throttle us

with the rope we’ve given them…

this crazy helix of promise

that only bears fruit

if we don’t kill them

first.

Vices

I’m starting to think
that anger and frustration
aren’t real feelings
at all.
Because if they were,
I feel that I would work
to hide them.
Maybe,
when I felt them,
I would be surprised,
maybe it would take
another beer
to soften the edge,
to experience them
without fear or apprehension.
But I don’t.
I carry them around
all day long.
I revel in them,
I roll in them,
like a dog in a pile of shit.
Love, beauty, compassion…
empathy…
these
I keep
at arm’s length.
They are real feelings,
and I discourage them.
But, frustration and anger,
I hold on to them,
I hug them close.
They can’t be feelings
they must be vices.