Whereas

Whereas

I am not mad at God

I simply am

Unsure what else could possibly be done

That has not been done ?

And whereas

They look at you like you’re beneath them

Forever

Unheard and unseen

And whereas

The odds are bet against you

And you are fading

——

Whereas

Another breakdown

Before the storm

Another shutdown

Another hick town

Another resolution

Just before sunset

Whereas

Another tough decision

No more food

Not even a pension

Whereas God

Do you ever think about us ?

Do you ever come through

We are just dust

And we fooled ourselves thinking we were more

And our strength is fading

Whereas

All we have is less

And this empty room

Without enough language

For the pain

And the muscles broken and wore

Fading

Living With Crohns

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.

Interior blue

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

The Refuge of the heart

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.

Death, God, and Coffee

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?

Winter

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