To thine own self


I read somewhere on the internet that posting poetry was a surefire way of losing friends on social media. It's hilarious because I must have lost quite a few friends to poetry over the years. Still, I firmly believe that one should always be true to oneself. Through this daily ritual, I am looking for a road that will lead me somewhere. I have no idea where that is yet. On this particular journey, I still have 293 days to get there.


I know that I would probably get many more readers if I posted something that was “cooler”. It reminds me of when I was at a party a few summers back. The woman I was talking to couldn't seem to hear or see me until I mentioned the word DJ. I was a volunteer DJ for the party that night. Her eyes lit up and suddenly she saw me, “are you a DJ!” She shouted. I walked away. There was also the time in Paris when I made my pilgrimage to the famous bookstore, Shakespeare and Co. My plan was to stand in the place where many great poets once stood and nervously read my own poem. I met two young women at a bar who were about my age. They asked what I was doing in Paris. Their eyes were full of sensual longing until I told them I was there to read a poem. They were interested at first because they expected some sort of hip-hop performance. “Let's hear it” they said. When I read the actual poem one of them responded, “that's too deep for me” and they vanished into the night. I know their ghosting me wasn’t because my poem was bad, it was because it was outside the notion of who I should have been to them in that moment. Law 32 of Robert Greene’s 48 Laws of Power is “Fulfill Others’ Fantasies”. I've already been through that phase. I can tell you now, following that path will only lead to suffocation as you hide away your true self in order to be the person that someone else wants you to be. Life is way too short for that. I believe, on the last second of my existence here on earth, everything will boil down to how I answer my last question, “Did I stay true to myself?” There's no way I can answer yes if I'm always trying to be the guy that someone else wants me to be.


So fuck an intenet statistic. Part of my internal dialogue includes poetry. It always has. Ever since I was a nerdy young boy of about 8 years old and I saw that first pink and azure sunset over my crumbling ghetto neighborhood in Cleveland Ohio. There was a spark, a kind of awakening. Perhaps the fruits of that awakening may seem pale in comparison to some of the greatest minds of our time. That's OK. It really is.


My picture made me think of the following short poem.


A shield above a young boy’s eyes

Illusion feint with a thin veneer

To hide the growing pains of now

Before a moustache swallows him

Whole enough to pay the rent

And wish against common sense

For his lottery numbers to hit

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