It’s been a year since I shed my last tear. My actions now aren’t righteous, but a simple blend of loneliness and confusion. What can be claimed of a man with nothing? Slowly our roads extend further from their intersection and the landscapes change. While new scenes offer new views, there is a lingering nostalgia for what was. There is an undercurrent of feeling that yearns for the comfortable, which offered security from the malice of the world. Circumstances create change, and with any given set of circumstances multiple outcomes are produced. There is a struggle to understand what’s been done, and much more as to why. Suddenly self-doubt creeps through, while ego and emotion do their best to provide shelter.

There still is a yearning for the warm nights of solitude. There is no better feeling than to be accepted, and to garrison one’s secrets in the strength of another. When things end, that is the biggest loss. It becomes the focal point of betrayal. Suddenly the intelligence that was accredited turns to realization of ignorance. Big words don’t equal truth or maturity. Character reconciles all failures and shortcomings and when character is lacking the answer is written clearly. In the end, those who live by a path are those who are looked upon during tough times. The village that created me; sustains me. The beautiful trumpets of triumph don’t ring loudly, but instead melancholy melodies of memories saturate the space once taken up by laughter, beauty, and love.

Where does one end up? Where does the road end? One man’s pain is another man’s pleasure. The struggles of today lay the foundation for what’s possible tomorrow. It’s important to find joy in what’s good, and to remind yourself of the power of beauty and find it with emphasis. While the frustration of loneliness is erased with the satisfaction of haphazard company; fresh faces don’t hold lasting presence. There is subtle beauty in being vulnerable, and accepting its plan for you. Pain becomes a part of character as much as ego, beauty, or intelligence. The truth is there is no right and wrong; just sincere thanks for a clear conscious. There are no winners, just losers.

peace & love.

I was so down on luck, but now I’ve never been more certain. Yeah, you lose. That’s a part of life. Karma collects. Karma is scientific. For every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction.

I was lost.

I was gone.

Now I’m right where I need to be. These past few weeks have been like nothing I’ve ever seen.  I finally have the freedom to dream again. Creativity I love you. You’re the one from my lost trips; syncopated sugar mixed with fresh exposure. When we hold hands its as if fate and reality are fused to create some alternate harmony. I drive you crazy, but I always find my way back. I’m faithful. I’m loyal. You don’t have to worry about me.

At night you never leave me. Yeah, they’ve cheated, but I know you never will. I work out of spite. I hate those who deserve to be hated, and likewise they hate me. I work late and wake early. I’m on the streets bringing everyone in like a best friend. I find joy in the shots at midnight, and the hands that hold mine when I go home.

new position.

transition.

fruition.

ambition.

Beautiful dark olive skin contrasted by white sheets. That music  plays in the background. Sweet smells of sensibility.

peace.

I don’t brag. I don’t bite. I don’t hype.  I just write.

I keep it in my back pocket, and at times pull it out to read the words.

She spoke of so many things with authority and vision. She quoted a diversity of texts from libraries around the world.

The night I left for Barca was the night she handed it to me. I made my way onto the plane and that was the last time we saw each others’  faces. In Barcelona I walked for days with the letter burning in my pocket. I made my way through the forest of stone pillars and lounged with mosaic lizards in the park.

Occasionally I strolled through the old parts of town;  listening to strangers’ conversations and tipping musicians for their ability to fill the gaping space of silence. I walked to the beach where I wrote for hours about nothing. <My words have no sense these days.  Instead, they appear to be the ramblings of someone in a search of balance and promise.> But I kept the letter with me as a guide back to solitude.

Yet deep within decades of dreaming there exists a time and a place for everything.  During that time and place such struggles will seem meaningless and the rewards will be infinite. This speaks to the nature of our problems. There can’t be  sex without substance. The haze of liquor will never outlast the purity of reality. Structured time will always come up short to spontaneity. No matter how many warm souls take her place, the spot next to me won’t ever be filled. The letter won’t ever leave my side.

For as much as I know she is far from here; living her life the way it’s supposed to be with the things she needs and little more. There will come a time when karma will come to collect, but I hope it isn’t today or tomorrow. There will always be beauty in the simple words that give us meaning, and good memories will always hold better ground in the mind.

I sat on a porch once and stared at the street. I sat in stress while waiting for the sun to rise. Crickets kept the time while I listened to the deafening sounds of silence. Even in this moment of sheer tranquility —where problems were momentarily erased− I opted to open the front door silently and close it with care.  I made my way towards our room, and climbed into bed where I belonged.

Even in a haze of obscurity, this is the realest thing I ever wrote.

So now I wear these sentiments proudly because they have become a part of who I am, as much as my scars or name.

I spoke to an elder once. He treated me unlike anyone I had met before. He clung to every word I uttered and let them marinate before offering opinions. His responses were genuine and came from somewhere between his mind and soul. We spoke on many things for hours on end until the  sun climbed over the horizon and reminded us of the time. Even though he was my senior in years and his brain oozed wisdom I was an equal in conversation.

He asked many questions, not all easy to answer. I was asked about honesty, faith, beauty, love, infidelity and fidelity alike, decisions and regrets. My answers were heartfelt. I spoke of past loves in a beautiful way is if remembering a sincere moment in time. When he asked about resentment I replied I had none, but I did assure him that I worked late into nights to prove my worth to those who doubt.

I walked through the streets that night with destiny on the mind. The cabs raced by like a blur of yellow dogs; barking at each other with their horns. People went about their  routines, caught in the madness of the hustle. With headphones dictating my pace I made my way through the masses with a smile and a strut. During that moment I was free.

She echoed my dreams. We shared anecdotes of our pasts. She spoke of subjects I didn’t know. I listened with intent. I brought her back to my old neighborhood. She didn’t judge the poor and neglected. She reached out a hand to anyone in need. I painted the walls of her room to the best of my ability; mixing colors and strokes to create a portrait of creativity. She read books while I wrote in my journals. She played her grandfather’s piano while I spoke of travel abroad. We spoke of music as more than an art but a religion and an effective way of life.

She set me free.

But time flies, and with a couple more years we’ll get there. I’ll consolidate the buzz and ride it to the top. Forget stress. Forget rest. Forget those who doubt, hate, or cast me off as lame. I’ll gain ‘em all back with fame. They’ll be the first to call,  but they won’t see a dollar.

It’s a high that could take me away. It’s my beautiful day. Once it gets here then all these dark nights, lonely mornings, and rain will wash away. You gotta suffer to appreciate greatness. You gotta push yourself to see new things. Ambition over talent.

It will all make sense.

It’s my beautiful bliss.

No advil for the pain. Just some game, my name, and the throne to claim. They all know my destination. Sitting in the classroom alone with my head in the books. I’ll never forget where I came from. I won’t forget my guys on the corner making less than minimum wage. I promise I’ll make the most of opportunity and do everything they said I couldn’t.  I’ll never forget my love. I’ll never forget my front tooth, chubby cheeks, and scars. I’ll never forget you.

So when the sold out shows come to hear his flows … you’ll know. That’s when the girls I could never get to call me back will blow up my phone. (ignore) And the girls that loved me; with you I’ll share my soul. Soul propriety is how it goes … but who knows?

Shade doesn’t matter heart makes the lover.

This is my beautiful bliss.

Insecurities are masked by perfume and cologne. Pimples are covered while figures are flaunted. Assets are pushed out while egos are inflated. The truth is there’s no surviving here. No one is who they seem. That’s why they come out at night because daytime exposes their cracked facades. There’s no escaping the light. Seldom do roses grow from concrete.

People hate and say I’ve changed.

But you’re losing your balance. The room spins and you begin to think you’re happy, but there is no joy in this. Its the high that never lasts and requires constant attention and they give it. Your insecurities become evident to all. You’re dumb. You’re no one. The world is so ruthless and cold, but there’s warmth in originality. Every night I smile at the devil.

I don’t catch her  in the club.  She doesn’t mess with that. She rather rent a movie and chill. She doesn’t draw-on her beauty and likewise flaunts her form. I remember when he used to beat her, so she wears those scars but drapes them with pride. I don’t go around often, but she always treats me right. She listens when I speak, and whispers when I  sleep. She maintains my dreams, and offers solutions where problems exist.

(interlude)

One day she told me she was leaving. She was boarding the next flight. I took her to her terminal and watched her dissapear into the mass of strangers. I never called for her to stop. I knew she had to go. I went back to my pad and wrote like I never had. I structured my words with metaphors  in the hope she’d find them in another life.

She returned the next year and explained her departure. She was well rested and it turned out the time I’d invested was well tested. I became smarter and now could understand her better. She was so much stronger. We had chips on both shoulders, thus we understood each others’ limps. We looked at pictures of the world and the faces of its people.

Stars took the place of our ceiling. I spent that night in a constant  dreaming. Whenever I told her my plans she replied, “Not big enough.” That’s why I love her. Even though she comes and goes. When she’s here; she’s mine.  I never had to spend a dime to see what was inside. No secrets.

I wrote this for my friends on the corner.

I love you cause you’re my brother I felt I had to warn ya’.

For those who’ve passed a moment of silence.

Don’t lose your balance.

I was lost once on a beach with no sand. I walked in the shallows and was pulled in by the tide. I struggled against the waves for hours until I ran out of strength and let myself go. The churning tide pushed me and pulled. Eventually my lifeless corpse was thrown agains the rocks.

This was a new beach. One where the sand was an endless bed of white crystals. I spent that summer speaking to lobster about their color, and dolphins about their smiles. The winter came and the water froze. I walked barefoot across the ocean until I reached another beach.

This one was littered with dreams that never materialized. There lay all my past loves scattered like confetti across the brown sand. I made my way into the jungle where I met an old sage. We smoked and spoke about life and other things to that nature. He claimed he was me, to which I became afraid and headed deeper into the jungle.

I walked till my feet blistered and came across her. There she sat by a clearing under a waterfall. I asked her name but she didn’t respond. We spoke of eternity and the significance of living in the moment. Her feet were bare and her hair was the color of wheat. She took me up the side of the cliff where we proceeded to walk to the edge. She jumped without hesitation. I stepped to the edge some 45 feet above the small pond at the bottom of the fall. I felt a breeze at my back and jumped.

The fall must have been mere seconds but it seemed as though I lived a whole other life.

As my foot hit the water I sat up in my bed, in my studio above the bodega in the Bronx. A tiny bead of sweat ran from my temple to the crisp, white sheet bellow. I turned over and looked out the window and saw a girl crossing the street with no shoes and wheat colored hair.

The faces are different.

The conversations are forced.

The beauty is gone.

Each night becomes a pattern of routine: the same lines, the same results ensue, the world begins again the next morning, and ways are parted. There’s no future in this, it’s merely a distraction for those trying to avoid what’s reality. How can you find substance in emptiness?

Do you think?

I remember being young, when my bones didn’t hurt. The city was cleaner. The contamination of outside influence hadn’t arrived yet. The intruders. Networks of young people gathered on the main roads to protest modernity and violence. We spoke our minds in circles where opinion was absorbed like the air we breath.

Faces were prettier. Moments had a way lingering longer than their lifespan. The doors were always open. I was feeling the same. There were hot days in summer, but they were always accompanied by a soft breeze. Now its become a cat and mouse game. I remember climbing to the roof so we could see the whole city. Connecting with the lights as our witnesses. It was when I became an adult. That summer was when I realized everything that’s at stake.

Turn us back into beginners.

Its amazing now to see what has become of me. I tried for years to be the latest and greatest. I place no stock in that anymore. Its apparent everything is changing, but I welcome the difference of a new place, new life, new struggle.

I struggle silently but brag out loud. Did you ever feel alone in a room full of friends? No matter, cause dreams are my drug. Pain is my motivator, and you’ve always been my support. You showed me how to walk. Taught me how to express myself in the cyphers of your soul.

I learned so much in so little time. The people that are here now don’t understand you. They don’t know the pain we’ve shared. Violence runs rampant on hearts and souls. The Northside might be your face but the Southside is your soul. No one knows how your body works. I do.

I used to love you; now I just admire your bravery. You’ve stood up to every type of abuse and you grew from it…. higher into the sky. You’re the model for a fighter.

They’ll never know your love. They’ll never appreciate your beauty. Their trash will flood your curves. Haters will stand on your nerves claiming you are wasted, broke, ugly, but I know the real you – I never cheated on you.

I remember when I was 16 and you kept me safe. I remember when you lost your temper and cried for days. I know you’ll keep my secrets safe, and for that I could never love another place.

my-chi.

Charge it to the bar. Looking through shot infused glasses at the brighter side of life. I can’t do it, but I have to. It’s the only way to move. The subtleties of her gaze are what amaze me. She smiles. I smile. She winks, I follow. What can you say to a man whose heart is hollow?

From istanbul to luxembourg, the dreams of two dreamers fuse into one meld of beautiful colors and rhymes. She skips to my beats. My heart skips a beat. This is my soul. These are my words. Whether you agree or not, dreams belong to the individual. But this isn’t a figment of imagination. This is sweat, blood, and tears.

The car peaks. Brakes get pressed. Tires squeak. Its only been a week. No its been a year … maybe three. Walking through woods of endless limits. Holding hands to all while she listens to my plans. The world is all I want, and everything in it. This is where I am. I wait within the purgatory of haze.

Put that on the bullet that will break the peace of night. The one that’ll draw the end of my story.  No glory, no shame. Time will heal the pain. In in the years to come my name will be brought up by those who recognized truth … recognized sincerity in the beauty of language intertwined with feeling.

But now I work out of spite. I work in the dark because my mind’s bright.

Fog wraps over the glasses. Steam covers the sole window in her studio on Willow Ave. She rests her head on my chest like a pillow. Her white sheets stained with a rainbow because I dream in color.

Live Fast. Die Young.