Here's to all the single moms
that ride the bus everyday,
to their minimum wage jobs
with sad lives not worth living,
who sacrifice themselves for
the sake of their children.

And here's to the kids who can't fit in,
who always get their ass beat
trying to find a way out
or just a place to belong.

Here's to the murderous cat
playing with a ball of string.

And here's to the man who lives on the street
with nothing in the world
but his dignity.

Here's to all of those poets,
artists, punkers, thinkers and lovers
who give it all away for free.

And here's to everyone
who has ever been told
they will never survive this way
and lived to extend a
middle finger.

Here's to everyone
so consumed by life,
they want
to die.

I would not want
to live in this world
without you.

blind believers
salt my wounds with
forced tears of mercy

and they tell me
there's a man above and
a beast below and
I am stuck somewhere
in between

these believers with their
fear drenched faith
warn me of an end
yet unseen

and I must choose
a place for my
soul bruised black
because tomorrow is
too late

and I tell them I've
gambled god's grace
and I drank whiskey
with the devil
in my living room

and I have chosen
to believe in
Myself

and just like the
bird in the sky
and the worm in
the ground
we all have our
place

and none of us
deserve anything
better
than death

I have brushed my teeth bloody
and I spit infection from my sinuses
into the sink, because
sleep didn't heal me and
no remedy is offered for things
so incurable and stubborn and

the bathroom mirror reflects
an image of a young man worn
senseless by years of struggle
and mistake and I am reminded
of why there is always a noose
and bucket, a bridge high enough
to soar from, a gun loaded in
the drawer with one final bullet
just in case

my swollen eyes forced to close
from the weight of a heavy
life viewed in one continuous loop
so many times, so contagious, I am sick
with the sight of it and I beg god
for a sleep that lasts forever
because I am tired and
I am empty and

I am beginning to understand
why people murder their lovers
and burn their houses
to the ground and why the cockroach
will never die

I spend approximately
one hour each day
driving my car
to and from
my job

and for one hour
each day
I am truly alone

with all those remaining
hours that frame a day
laid to waste for the desire
of others

and the others are always
fighting for and devouring
the scraps of the day
I am unable to claim
as my own

all those hours not mine
simple sand poured through glass
given away for free
to no one and everyone
but me

I suffocate from this and
I feel claustrophobic and
I need that precious hour
to breath, to think, to get back
to that thing that makes
me whole and makes
us all feel human

but if time could be
bought and sold
bottled and stolen
I would still go on
wanting

because that goddamn drive
will never be long
enough

my wife woke up this morning

• Read More »

I knew this guy once
who would shoot bottle rockets
out of his car window
and he would drive
on the wrong side of
the road

he would work all day
and drink all night
screaming at his reflection
in the bathroom mirror

he gave his heart

• Read More »

Every time I take a week off work, I tell myself I'm going to do all these wonderful, awesome things. I'll make declarations stating that I'll make those long overdue household repairs, I'll write 15 new poems and 10 new stories, I'll go see my friend I haven't seen in a year, I'll skate every day, I'll get some rest, I'll clean and repair my car, I'll create some art with my daughters, I'll watch that whole stack of videos I haven't watched, I'll read a few of those books I have stacked up in my bookcase, I'll shoot some photos, I'll volunteer at the food bank, I'll....

But the truth is, I don't do what I want to do, I do what I have to do.

I'm up at 6:30 AM every morning, I take and/or pick the girls up from school, I run errands, I do chores, I tell my friends I can't make it. I don't read, write, volunteer, or create any art with my daughters. I forget to take out the trash, I don't fix anything that is broken, I answer work calls. I smoke way too many cigarettes, I start drinking too early in the day, I tell myself that I should probably put down these bad habits, I swallow and shit out all of my fear and frustration, I lie to my wife and tell her everything is, and will be ok.

I stare at the wall and try to avoid those toxic thoughts that paint the mind black with tiny fists.

This week is no different than any other week.

• Read More »

I remove another beer
from the refrigerator
as a cold, flickering
light bulb
reminds me
I have done this
all too often
and I am
burning
it out.

The mouth is
cracked,
and the contents
poured
over retained memories
and unborn thoughts,
removing the pulse
from all things
real and abstract.

I have reverently observed
this sacred ritual
on so many nights
that have abandoned
so many
relentless days
and it is here
that peace is found
and solitude embraced.

I am unmoved,
unused,
and free.

And as life outside
struggles
to simply maintain
after all the tragedies
both immense and tiny,
and another beer is removed,

• Read More »

I had a fish once
who played
dead
until the day he
died.

He would float
upside down
at the top
of his bowl,
motionless,
fooling everyone
into believing
his breathing had
stopped.

My friends would visit
and witness this spectacle.

They would inform me
of my fish's passing
and I would fill them in
on his well rehearsed joke.

He could do this
in such a convincing manner,
that there were even times
I almost believed it
myself.

There have been instances
in my own life
where I
could have been
or
should have been
dead,
but I was only playing
with a fragile toughness.
An inside joke
no one was allowed
in on.

I wasn't as clever
as my fish though.
He could die
and come back
to life
on a daily
basis.

My fish had talent
and he was sure
to be remembered
and revered
on the day
of his death.

And then one day
my fish did
indeed die
and I didn't believe it.

I found him
floating upside down
in his bowl,
motionless,
and his breathing
had stopped.

He had fooled me
one last time,
and for once,
the joke
wasn't
funny.

It seems we all suffer from something,
but few of us find that relief
from knowing there’s somebody out there
affording us faith and belief.

None of us have all the answers,
but some of us think if we try
we could arrive at a final solution,
returning our lives when we die.

I know I’m not fully embracing
the wonder or horror of this,
but morals don’t come out of bibles,
they come from our will to exist.

Why must we all keep on living?
Why can’t we simply just go?
Is there something that we’re not aware of?
One day, for sure, we will know.

But one thing we all can agree on,
this body will one day expire.
That’s nothing to be afraid of,
just one thing that life will require.

• Read More »

Christmas ain't for me anymore, it's a kid's game, and this is how it has changed for me since my childhood.

When I was a child, the month of December was lived in anticipation of "The Best Day of the Year". I loved Christmas. I loved listening to Christmas records on my family's cabinet stereo as we decorated the Christmas tree. I loved eating cookies fresh out of the oven, and I loved getting Christmas cards in the mail. The season was full of wonder and magic. These moments were priceless. When Christmas morning came around, I loved opening my gifts, the toys and the games and the socks and underwear I got from my grandmother each year. We would eat a big breakfast, a big lunch, and a big dinner. We laughed and hugged and we were truly joyful for a whole day. It was as close as I would ever come to perfect bliss. I stayed a child for as long as I could, but innocence doesn't last forever.

The magic had worn off by the time I neared teenhood. I could not believe in the spirit of Christmas like I had as a child. Christmas had become a chore; something to be endured. I had no Christ to believe in, no Santa to bring me toys, no desire to wake up early and run into the living room screaming. Christmas became something I didn't want to have any part of. But I didn't have a choice. It wasn't up to me, majority rules.

As I grew into early adulthood, I became jaded and very cynical about Christmas and all the stupid rituals and traditions associated with it. I became one of those people my wife calls "An old Scrooge".

It's true, I do not like Christmas. I honestly wish the whole holiday would cease to exist. Why? Do I not wish peace and joy to all mankind? Do I not enjoy watching my children delight in opening their gifts on Christmas morning? Is it really all that bad? Yes, it really is that bad and no, I am not a heartless asshole. I really do enjoy seeing my children smile, laugh, and play. I really do wish all the peace, joy, and luck to every man woman and child alive. But, my reasons for utter disdain for this holiday are far reaching and you are about to read an awful rant.

First, there's the money issue. It costs something (often a lot of money) to celebrate a holiday that revolves almost exclusively around Consumerism. We feel compelled to make a list and purchase disposable, material goods for each other in the name of tradition and folklore. We go further and further into debt to honor this tradition of "giving" on this "sacred" day of the year. We line up to "spend" because we have been made to believe we are "saving". But the best way to "save" money is to not "spend" it at all. Yes, your children, friends, and family, upon opening the gifts you have purchased for them, certainly look and act as if they really are happy to receive such fine things. But are they? For how long? Did they know in advance what gift they were getting? Did this gift come from your heart or your bank account? Will this bring them true happiness? Was it worth it? Do you feel any better about yourself or was this done out of the desperation of expectancy? The best things in life really are free. Love, kindness, gratitude, empathy, and joy are priceless and to try to physically manifest such things into a product that can be bought, sold, and destroyed is not just wrong, it is sacrilege. This goes against what most people believe is the true meaning of Christmas to begin with. And it is all bullshit. But yet that is what most people do, which brings me to my next issue.

The religious issue or, more specifically, the Christian belief issue. The true meaning of Christmas (according to many) is the celebration of Jesus' birth. It was a miracle! A virgin gave birth to a deity in human form and it was truly a gift from god. It was the gift of love. So according to the sacred myth, love is the true meaning of Christmas. The birth of Christ is to be celebrated, not Capitalism, not Consumerism, not reindeer on the lawn or Santa in the chimney. Again, love can not be bought, sold, stolen or destroyed in the way a product can. So who's the better salesman, Santa or baby Jesus? If Jesus' birth is the "reason for the season", then why bring a tree into your house at all? Why let your children believe there is a Santa Clause at all? How is your love best expressed? Is it best expressed through disposable electronics from China? Is this what the wise men had in mind? Why not make a vow, in the name of Jesus, to give all the money you were going to spend on Christmas gifts to a trusted charity? Which do you think would have the biggest impact on someone's life? Do you think Aunt Mary will appreciate the snowman sweater you gave her more than a child who has no place to sleep at night? What would Jesus do?

Call me an old Scrooge if you want, I don't care. There are many people like me out there who just simply can not put on a happy face this time of year. Christmas is a very sad time for many of us. Maybe we lost a friend, spouse or relative at Christmas time. There are those who never had a happy childhood and Christmas brings back some very painful memories for them. There are many people out there who take their own life during this joyous season. They are too sad, and there aren't enough pretty lights, or enough money, or enough of Christ's love to get them through. They are just like me; they want something real, something tangible in this season of phonies. Sometimes we don't get it.

My family and friends stopped exchanging gifts years ago, after our family's size grew to a number that would make gift giving a $3,000.00 endeavor. Now my family's gift giving revolves around my children only. My wife and I do not even exchange gifts with each other. After our children's gifts are bought, there is no money left over for anything else. We avoid paying bills in order to provide for them. I am like you; I don't want to let them down. And if you are like me, you don't want them to feel cheated and it makes me wonder what kind of financial gymnastics my parents had to perform in order to buy my brother and I Christmas gifts. I know they had to make sacrifices for us and they probably didn't always like Christmas either, but they never let me know it. My parents wanted me to be happy on Christmas day, so they sacrificed for my benefit, just as I am now for my own children.

Yes, I buy out of the desperation of expectancy. I am quite guilty of that. I become a faceless, soulless consumer and I hate it. But how do you tell your children that you think their most prized holiday is nothing but bullshit? How do you tell them that the only ones who really gain by this are the corporate whores of the retail industry? How do you tell them that even love has a dollar amount? How do you tell them that one day they will see, and they won't like it either?

You don't. You let them have that joy you lost so long ago when you were still their age. And you let them keep their innocence for as long as they can. Because you want them to be happy and to rob them of that would truly be a crime.

 

• Read More »

My daughter rides
her bike
as I follow
behind her
cautiously.

She pedals faster
and
her long, blonde
hair
blows behind her
head like a
flag.

Her smile is
wide.

I want to be
her
on that
bike.

And I want to
feel
what she
feels
as she rides
away, swollen with
life.

And I remember
a time
when I was
a child
riding my bike
with my father
close
behind.

A time when I
did not fear
life
more than
I did
death.

I am a husband and father, an employee of marriage.

I am the man who will tell you "god probably ain't real."

I am part of the mystery.

I am that weird kid that sat next to you in English class.

I am not the only one.

I am digging a hole to bury the past.

I am looking ahead with anticipation and fear.

I am more than nothing, but less than all.

I am, more than ever, aware.

I am spilling my blood over the blank pages of my mind.

I am not always happy, but sometimes I smile.

I am drinking away my sorrow.

I am a dreamer that never sleeps.

I am still naïve enough to hope.

I am the success of my many failures.

I am a late bloomer with deep roots.

I am the profanity of my anger.

I am an optimist saturated with pessimism.

I am already who I will always be.

And I am stuck with me for the rest of my life.

And I am fine with this.

I wrote my father that letter I was telling you about. Well, it wasn't really a letter, it was an email. And it wasn't so much a letter in email form as much as it was an opening paragraph, 6,000 words of prose I had written about me, him, my childhood, my adulthood, and various other topics, then a closing paragraph. I sent this email 2 weeks ago.

My father came to visit me the next day. He is my insurance agent and he brought some paperwork for me to sign. When my father called to tell me he would stop by my house after work, he said "I read your email; I just need some time to digest it." I told him I understood. "Are we ok, me and you?" he asked. "Yeah, we're cool." I said.

I had just opened a beer and sat on the couch when my father pulled into the driveway that night. My daughter was playing in the floor with her Barbie dolls and she provided a comfortable distraction while my father entered my home and took a seat next to me. My father and I made small talk as I scribbled my name beside the designated X on several pieces of paper. My daughter occasionally interfered to show my father how well she can dance like a ballerina.

When all the papers were signed and my father announced he was leaving, I followed him to his car at his request. I knew he wanted to talk about the email. I grabbed a beer and a cigarette and followed behind him to the driveway.

"We really are ok, you and me?" He asked.
"Yes." I responded "I don't hate you."

He explained once again how it would take him some time to digest my words. I told him no response was necessary, I just wanted to unload it all. He told me he was sorry and asked me if I had truly forgiven him as I had stated in my writing. I told him that I had forgiven him long ago and although I felt it unnecessary, I now accepted his apology anyway. He told me he loved me and I knew he meant it. And I told him that I loved him and my eyes teared up. He knew I meant it too. He told me that I wrote very well and asked if I had considered doing it professionally. I thanked him and told him I wasn't ready to write for money just yet.

Then my father hugged me and said "I'll be in touch, ok? Take care."

I knew I had written that email for a good reason.

And now I had proof.

All those years of
never saying
all those words that we
kept praying
really made a difference
and a measurable distance
between us.

All those years of
expectance
I gave to you
without acceptance
of the debt
I paid with regret,
really left a hole
in the whole of how
things should have been.

All those years of hiding
the faith that I left sliding
along with all that shit
that spit me as I fell
further and further
away from you.

All those years are yours now
and I only wish I knew how
to tell you just exactly
what all those years are good for.

The words you will read below in italics, although written by me, are not my thoughts. These are the thoughts (at least from what I have observed) of my neighbors, coworkers, city officials, or just about anyone who lives within a 30 mile radius of my rural landscape.

I am intolerant of those who are tolerant and I have no tolerance for many of the people I share this planet with. I am self righteous and judgmental of those who do not share my beliefs. It's just no fun being wrong, and the word "zealot" accurately describes me.

Because I am so fixed in my convictions, when confronted with a point of view that differs from my own, I say to myself "If you believe that, you are a complete idiot!" And for that reason I only subject myself to the thoughts or opinions of those who can further propagate my worldview. This is because I don't much like arguing, ‘cause you can't argue with the truth, and I like a good sermon. I am of the converted, and we love to be preached to.

I know there are no victims in this world. I know that homosexuality is a choice; a bad one. There is only one true God and one true country. There is a very clear definition of right and wrong and it is defined in the Bible and the Constitution of the United States. This is the, infallible, undeniable Truth!

Although I have not personally interviewed every single person in my small society, I believe the opinions expressed above, as generalized as they are, are an accurate portrayal of the values of my community as a whole.

When I first set out to write the italicized section above, I wrote from my own point of view. And as I wrote, I started noticing something; I am in many ways all I claim to hate. I even asked myself "Why can't more people think and behave the way I do?" Well, they do, in a sense. I am judgmental and self righteous. I have my own personal prejudices, my mind can only open so far before I will not tolerate certain people, and I don't generally listen to the opinions of others if they differ from my own. It really is no fun being wrong, so I adamantly defend my beliefs in hopes to prove that I am right, not just to others, but to myself. And in that sense, I am very much like the people I criticize. We all feel as though we are right and we can justify any sort of bad behavior by falling back on our own individual idealism, despite its flaws. But for me, this goes much deeper than that.

It's hard for some people to imagine what a southern town such as mine is really like. Unless you have lived in an environment such as this, you might never really understand it. It is like an alternate universe. I have strongly considered making a short documentary of my town with my home video camera and I still might.

This is the Bible belt, over populated by fundamentalist Christians. There are 12, yes, 12 churches in a 7 mile radius of my house. Bible history is taught at my daughter's public middle school as an elective, and at the elementary school down the street, they have what is known as a "Prayer Walk" on designated Sunday afternoons. This is where members of the local churches, as well as school administration, walk through the halls of the school praying for the students, the school, etc. It is not at all uncommon to see restaurant marquees that read "Jesus loves you steak biscuit $.99". Where I work, before our weekly operations meetings start, we sit around the conference table, hold hands, and a prayer is said. I look down at my shoes. Christianity permeates every aspect of the lives of many of the rural folks where I live and work.

They eat it, sleep it, breathe it, and force it. Damn near everyone in my town goes to church 3 times a week. They always have. If you come out publicly and say that you do not believe in their god, they will act as if you just punched them in the face. It is not socially acceptable to not believe as the majority does and they have made me well aware of that fact.

Here is how the demographic breaks down for my town of Hixson, TN.
Total Population: 37,202
White Population: 34,622
Black Population: 1,137
Hispanic Population: 567
Asian Population: 764
Hawaiian Population: 10
Indian Population: 78
Male Population: 17,993
Female Population: 19,209
Median Age: 38.4
Median Age of Males: 37.4
Median Age of Females: 39.4

Yes, we have 10 Hawaiian people in my town. 10. As you can clearly see, the minorities are really a minority here. Most of the Black kids go to one school and I imagine the Hispanics and Asians do too, because I can't find them at the school my daughter attends.

Although I have lived in this area for many years, I am still shocked at how much blatant racism and intolerance still exists here. This is still mostly the Old South. It is not uncommon to be standing in line somewhere and have the person standing in front of you turn around and tell you a "nigger joke" or a "gay joke" in which the gay person is referred to as "sissy" or "faggot" or "dike". I never know how to react to this, so I don't say anything. I ignore it and take the awkward silence and odd stares. This is coming from complete strangers. I take it personally though. I am not gay or Black, but I am very insulted by it as if I were a gay Black man. I have had people tell those jokes before or make racial comments to me as I stand next to them wearing a Miles Davis or James Brown t-shirt. They only notice the color of my skin and assume I share their same view of anyone who isn't White or straight. I always come away thinking "What the fuck is wrong with you people!?"

Because I work in the inner city, a stones throw from a housing project with a bad reputation, I am constantly reminded by coworkers that the people who reside in those projects are nothing more than "crack head niggers" or if they are a woman, a "crack whore". I am told that "these people are lazy. They are a drain on the system." This is just a way to dehumanize someone else so they are easier to hate. Many of the people I work with think of the residents of this housing project, and African Americans in general as nothing more than animals. And these people are not animal lovers. They only see the color of their skin. I work in downtown Chattanooga, 30 miles from Hixson, but the ideals of the people are generally the same.

I had a conversation with a co-worker yesterday on the topic of racism, particularly how it relates to African Americans. My co-worker seems to think that the African American race is overly sensitive.

He said something like "They hate the White race for slavery. They hate me for something I didn't even do! My grandfather didn't even do it! They think everything they see is racism"

I replied with something like "Think about this. My father, my mother, my grandmothers and my grandfathers all played a part in segregation. It wasn't that long ago that we had "colored" restrooms, water fountains, restaurants, etc. My family simply claims that they didn't know any better and that's just the way things were. That doesn't make the shit right though and they all did know better, they just let it happen! I honestly think if that type of thing were happening now, I'd be calling people out on that shit! Oh wait, I do. I am now! We have no idea what it's like to be Black, coming from a history like that."

My coworker replied with some shit like "And they don't know what it's like to be White. What's your point? The White race has been enslaved too, but you don't hear us bitching about it."

"We were never enslaved in this country!" I said. "How do you think it feels to know people of your race, your parents or grandparents, were treated like animals for obvious, arbitrary, disgusting reasons? They couldn't drink out of the same water fountains because of the color of their skin. How fucked up is that? Segregation is another form of slavery. You and I have no idea what that can do to you as a person, but I know the effects aren't good. To keep your dignity after something like that is no small feat. Of course there is resentment as a result of something like that, you and I harbor resentment for far, far less. I don't think anyone is being overly sensitive about it."

And the conversation was left at that. My coworker is one out of the hundreds of thousands(if not millions) in the South who still think this way. They have learned nothing from the past. And they will continue to live with the same bigotries and hatreds that have dehumanized people for centuries.

Me, my wife, and our 2 daughters make up a unique group of people. When out in public, it is sometimes obvious to others that we just aren't like most people by comparison. I have just recently become aware of just how much we stand out from others in physical appearance alone. We look as though we all came from separate families, but for unknown reasons, we are out in public together performing mundane tasks. This is because, in my family, the expression of individuality is encouraged. By comparison, we are polar opposites of the vast majority of our community. We don't go to church, our friends are made up of gay people, straight people, black people, white people, Christians, Jews, and Atheists. In terms of our beliefs and convictions, we are the minority. Of course, we are the minority by choice. But what choice do we have? Do we accept all the shit we've been handed from our ignorant ancestors without question? Do we stand by and continue the tradition of racism, sexism, and intolerance that is still thriving in our community today? We choose to follow our hearts and act accordingly. This behavior was not taught, but nourished by the knowledge that we are all human beings who, at the very least, deserve to be treated in a humane way.

Let me go back to where I started. Everyone thinks they are right, right? But we can't all be right, so some of us have to be wrong. All of those words above are just an expression of my own self righteousness. I am obviously passing judgment on many people in my community because they are not like me, because I have found faults in how they choose to live their lives. And I don't like them and I never will, because they are all wrong. And the only difference between me and them is:

I am right.

There will come a day when I shake Death's cold hand and thank him for waiting so long to come for me.

And I will say to him "I should have lived better. I can't believe I did this to myself."

And he will tell me there is no right or wrong and that it happens to the best of us and the worst of us too. He will tell me how he almost came for me many times in the past, but I always found a way to outsmart him.

"I lived the only way I knew how." I will tell him. "I did the best I could."

My life will flash before my eyes giving me clarity and a new understanding of what I was and what I now am as I prepare to breathe my last breath. All of those years of my life now reduced to never being able to say goodbye.

And Death will tell me that I have been saying goodbye since the day I was born. And he will say that he has been walking slowly toward me all along and that life is nothing more than the time it takes for him to finally encounter me again as I walk his path.

And I will ask Death "Where was all of this truth when I needed it?"

And he will tell me that I had enormous luck and a steady endurance, and I never needed truth.

Well, my luck and endurance will finally run out on this day and truth will be all I'm left with. And none of this will save me as I look Death in the face. And he will know this, but I will have no fear.

And I will ask Death "Where do I go from here? Is there an after life?"

And Death will tell me that I will simply go where I belong and that there is nothing more than that.

And that thought will bring me peace.

And I will say to him "I had a beautiful life, but I have endured long enough and I am ready to stop living now." And I will give him all I have left.

And we will shake hands like old friends, finally closing the deal.

And I will close my eyes.

And I will go to that place where I belong.

And I will rest.

I am a war with no hero and suicide at midnight
the feeling of desperation
I am rotten teeth and the weight of loss
the space between Sun and Earth
I am the ignored prayer and the vacant mind
the mourning of the sunset
I am the absence of light
the color of Sunday
I am what you ruined and what I stole
the smile of the devil
I am the beautiful secret and the sorrow of knowing
the shallow grave of innocence
I am two parts lie and one part truth
the formula of poison

I am cold
and immense
and forever Black