She dreams in neon
And I know
I know –
They’d sell you a line
Just to make you believe
And I want to believe
I’ve tried to keep my faith
But I can’t interpret my dreams
And
All I have is words
All I have is this guitar
And
All we have are shooting stars
And
Maybe we can’t escape
But
She can make a melody
While watching the sky
And maybe I can write her a line
If it keeps our faith alive
Don’t let us become bitter things
Don’t let us fall away
She dreams in neon
And I try to keep my faith
Maybe
The morning picks up the pieces
You cast away in the night
Stitches them together with wind and bone
Maybe you don’t get the life you first believed
When you were young
You won’t age another year at the stroke of midnight in someone’s arms
You’re just an alcoholic poet
And you’re on your own
And maybe I just can’t silence
All the words in my head
And my thoughts are filled to full
Maybe I feel alone in crowds
Maybe her blue eyes
They help me stand up
Maybe they catch the silver sunlight
Maybe she’s the queen of all I’ve seen
Maybe
I figured out we don’t live forever
Maybe there’s a ghost that follows me
Reminding me
Of the view from the grain of sand
The salt in the water
Where did these weights come from
Who built this home?
Who put this sadness here ?
There are notes I cannot play
There is grief here
Maybe we are the same
Maybe someone has something worse
Maybe it’s the friend that’s sick
“I think I’m sick. Maybe I have what you have…” he said. Recently he found out he has cancer…
Maybe it’s the constant pressure to be and provide and succeed
Maybe it’s knowing we are not permanent and I may not have enough time to be all that I wanted to be
Maybe the morning will pick up the pieces I cast away at night…
Everything changes so fast, we are not what we once was…I hope you know…some days you are not what you want to be
I hope you know,
I hope you
I hope
I hope
You know
Fires burn out
You never know what’s coming for you
Things end
Friends die
Loss hurts
And there is a pain
That doesn’t go away
And maybe I’m running from poverty
I’m running for my dream
Like some people run from gluten
And body fat
But in 3 minutes I will be 31
And I remember 3 minutes of tornadoes
I remember 3 minute seizures
I remember there are lifetimes
There are empires built on sand
Inside three minutes
—/
Maybe you’re never what you thought you’d be
But there is still morning
And no one owes you anything
So write to her
About her eyes and the morning
And her beauty
Because all of this ?
This is fleeting
And you won’t be here…
Fight it
Hold on
It will not change it a jot
You can not change what has been
Write letters
They are textured
They are sacred …
I tell myself to get up
I tell myself to be as I was
But I don’t know how
I don’t know how
I have a scar from emergency surgery across my stomach that turns 13 next month. This photo turned 3 today…
Crohns sucks.
You present well, you look healthy,
But your heart clutches and your bones ache…
you can’t sleep
And sometimes you’re up and sometimes you’re down…
But isn’t that life?
1 resection
Countless scopes
3different medicines
3 NG tubes
Countless weeks in different hospitals
I’m not sure what to tell you…
It’s different for everyone
And that is part of your uniqueness
It’s still your story
After this photo a few months later, I spent a week in a hospital with an NG tube in Birmingham.
Hang in there
I know this year is difficult, especially mentally, we are broadcasting reminders everywhere that we are in a pandemic and people are dying and the world is burning and
and
and
in case you forgot
and
and
and …
And You
You matter
Your pain matters
Your love matters
You, your story
Your heartache
Your lonely
Your passion
Your health
I piece myself together bit by bit cuff links and ties
Bourbon and poetry
I write letters
I send flowers
I cook
I take 20 minute naps
And
I listen to jazz and Sinatra and the blues …
Take time for you…
You’re still here.
We make from the interior of sadness
Poetry
From the fires of life
We create art
I was inspired
To write this
After
Wanda Coleman’s poem “Wanda Why Aren’t You Dead”
It is not an attempt to replicate
It simply opened my eyes to bringing our demons to light
——
I am intrigued by you
I am curious about you
You make me nervous
I cannot put a label on you
Why do you dress the way you do
You always dress up
Why don’t you just relax
You’re not like anyone around here
Why are you still here
Why are you here, why haven’t you left yet …
You are not a writer
Don’t write about your pain
Write what you want to write
You don’t want to be a burden
Don’t whine
You stupid fuck
You’re not a real writer
You’re just like your father
You’re a failure
You’ll probably die young
You’re vomiting randomly
You’re probably dying
Crohns
Don’t be picky about your food
You ate potatoes growing up
You know, no one is really going to love you
No one is really going to be attracted to you
You’re too fucking weird
You’re probably even bad at sex
You’re a quitter
You quit your career
You left your marriage
You left your town
You’re running
You’re less than nothing
You will never be happy
Why are you still here?
You’re going to keep faking it
You’re too much for people
They are merely curious
Nothing else
Why haven’t you killed yourself yet?
You know, no one else will ever want to sleep with you…
You’re too awkward
Your stomach
Your scar
Why does your stomach growl so much ?
Can’t you make it stop?
You’re too thin
Omg I hate thin guys
Why don’t you just let yourself have a dad bod
You work too much
You should relax
Just take all of your sleeping pills
Then you can relax
You know I’m going to kill you right?
You will probably die alone
Like your dad
Why are you even still here
Didn’t you go to college?
Oh my god, I feel so bad that you didn’t go to real school
You must be so dumb
There is nothing here for me
There’s no reason for me to be here
I hate everyone here
I feel like you’re suddenly your own person
You want your secrets and your life
You walked out
Quitter
You gave up
I thought you were different but you ended up being just like the rest of them, selfish trash.
You will never have a marriage like your grandparents
It’s not your fault
It’s not your fault
Love doesn’t have to hurt
You can let yourself have a flare up
You don’t have to write it funny
You can vomit as soon as you get home
And it just be a flare up
You can eat cheesecake
You can write how you feel
You are still you
You’re going towards something good
You are ok
You don’t have to be perfect
You don’t have to be perfect
You can be good
You can be good
You are enough
You tried your best
Your best was more than enough
Because it was still – you
You
Are
Someone’s
Something
Make someone’s day easier
Let them know when you think about them
You never know who you will lose
Let it go
You never know what’s coming for you
You are broken but still whole
Be here now
Touch her
Like you’re writing music
Slow
Kiss her
Like her lips are made of wine
Undress her like you’re reading Braille
But most of all
Be present
Right there
Read her body
Breathe her in
-E
We were a small gang of nobodies, attempting to become somebodies.
We all had this in common. We had left relationships and careers. Trying to start again. Attempting to find our footing and start climbing again.
They would pat me on the back with understanding and say to just hang in there. It would be worth it in the end.
Everyone had taken a pay cut just to get in.
I was living on rice and bourbon and coffee.
Sometimes I would be asked if I had a girl. I would smile and say, no.
The older I got the more relaxed I got. I didn’t try to rush things. I didn’t try to force things. I had my drive, my goals, yes.
But if there was a girl, that sometimes wanted to talk or send a beautiful picture, that was fine and in turn, I would send a line of poetry if late at night I found I couldn’t sleep.
And I would sit in bars and listen to conversations. And I understood. Finally.
We all hold on to something. And we all need something. It’s much easier if we accept people where they are at when they meet us. If they need good conversation. Acceptance. Arms to hold them. Or just someone to drink with.
And even those who dismantle and repair beliefs still hold to a certain idea and way of seeing things that they secretly hope, will never be dismantled.
I was about to be 31 and I was finally ok with seeing these things.
And I hoped everything would turn out ok for all of us in the end.
Connections take time. Careers take time. Discipline takes time.
You could be so angry about the things a year took from you, or you could let it go. I looked back over some years I spent angry about politics and realized, those years turn to ash. They become useless.
I chose to simply get up and do my best with whatever days I had left. And no matter what, to try and make my art.
It was cooling off, it was September, I poured my coffee. I thought about how many people we meet and how many people do we really know?
There was a motorcycle that drove between all of us, passing by us on the interstate .
I thought about the rush and the haste to get somewhere, anywhere.
I thought about her eyes. And how beautiful she was. And how rare, truly rare it is. To meet someone that can just pull poetry out of you. I hoped she was happy. Wherever she was.
I was old enough to understand, some years you write everyday and night and some years you write once a month.
For now, I was writing. I was drinking, I was laughing, and I was struggling.
And there would be other days ahead.
There in the corner
My stack of journals
And notes
Is the bourbon
The perfect line I just wrote
—-
I wonder if you will ever understand
You wonder if I could ever hold you
Like I hold words
—-
How do you separate
All of the salt from the sea?
How do you separate our two hearts
From the beats
——
And wake up alone
In the heat of the night
Out of the darkness
I talk to Death and to God
We drink our coffee
And write notes
But it’s nothing to see
Death is too tired anymore
And God is just a war vet with a broke heart used to the pain …
——
And I’m doing time in these mountains
Afraid I’ll never be happy
Wondering what’s left of me?
Is there anything left to see?
It’s ok to feel what you feel
It’s ok to be right here
I’m not going to tell you
About some positive quote
I don’t want to do that
You know,
Sometimes
All I know
Is we feel low
And we feel overwhelmed
And sometimes
We just don’t feel like enough
We feel like we are not worthy
And that’s ok too
If all the leaves tried so hard to hold on to the trees
We would never have seasons
So all I know
Is right here
But I’m hoping for a better tomorrow
And I’m doing my best to plan for it too
-Regardingsamuel.com
Damn these words
They’re never bullet proof
I’m in my head
Start writing from a certain point of view
The world is filled with memory
Take back your certainty
I never know just what I need to know
I feel out of place
Inside the echo
Damn these words
They’re never foolproof
And I’ve been the fool
Too many times before
The world is burning down
Hear our Excuses in the background
We’re busy healing
Killing ego
Checking eachother
60 billion of us
There’s plenty to choose
But careful child
You’ll end up on your own
You need some kind of love
That chooses you too
Your odds just got smaller
Oh damn these words
Damn this heart
What good am I
What good am I
I feel out of place
Starting over
Do I say what I want to say
Do I say, what do I say….
