Someday

You can say that you love me and that I’m not alone. But everybody goes home eventually. And even when the gangs all here i know which of us doesn’t have a family to go home to.

It seems to me that all my ideas of maturity are falling apart. I recognize that our odds are slim and full of complications. so the “right” decision is to just be friends. Best friends. But then I love you. And I really do. And I realize that I don’t know how to stop.

It’s not in my nature.

So we tell each other to go out and fuck someone else so that we can start moving on…yet neither of us really want too. 

And I try to flirt and be friendly but every woman I meet instantly gets compared to you. And none of them are as smart or fun or talented or beautiful or kind…

And so every other day I look to book a flight to go see you. I long to be by your side. But I never purchase because that just delays us from moving on.

And then, why the fuck are we breaking up? I. Love. You. And isn’t that what matters most?

(Sigh)

It isn’t. Life matters as much as love. And children matter more. And I have to put my kids first and you should put your future in a place to have future children while I’m digging my heals in and saying “no more”.

And deep inside my soul screams to share the beauty of life with you…but I’ve loved and been burned before and will not bring in a child to be hurt by our shortcomings.

So we dream about maybes and someday…while reality gets in the way. 

Still…

we hope everything will change

But maybe you can find love and someday I can be happy as just a friend and really what’s important?

Holding you. Someday.

Someday

Not Your Presi…

Yes, he is your president. He’s my president. He’s the president of all Americans. The fact that he is misogynistic and narcissistic and racist and everything else does not change the fact that he is your president.

And you know why he is your president? Because we voted for him.

No. Not you. And certainly not I. But we. The people. So please, put down your Dump Trump signs and ask yourself? Is this pussy willing to grab back against all the Americans who voted for him?

Will this pussy grab back against a Democratic Party that put Hillary fucking Clinton as their nominee?

Will this pussy still be grabbing back if the economy improves? If that dick puts more money in your pussy pocket?

You don’t have to like him…hell, i’d judge you harshly if you did, but he is our president…and he deserves a chance to…

Oh who am I kidding.  Let’s burn this fucker down!

Not Your Presi…

rain

There’s something broken in me
Something small that hurts large
It barely takes a breath to knock me to my knees

I am broken.

It’s a hurt, a pain, and years of memories. 
The difference between “i love you” and “I’m in love with you”
has little to no meaning.

Love doesn’t matter. Love was meaningless.
all that remains is all that breaks
my heart. my soul. my life…

I hate this brokeness…caused by love…caused by your rejection. 

So i look back. to go back. to see the path and repair what remains
yet back looks black and
back is black and white

i can see clearly now
picture perfect rain is falling down
i look back and see nothing
i look forward but am blind
rain is the only direction i see

down.

rain

I got a voucher

I boarded the plane with a child
in my seat so I offer to exchange
window for middle
I’m a father myself, you know.

What do I care? It’s 2 hours to LAX
the attendant offers me the isle at 23c

but it’s closer to my boss and
i want a triple vodka and no worries as
that’s the best for drinking
too much, with out care

they say it’s suicidal to drink yourself to death
but i’m dying anyway

someday I’ll kick this habit
someday I’ll acknowledge my reality
and will never deny myself a drink again

for now though I’ll squeeze in
tucked between two strangers waiting
until my drunk arrives.

It’s just a carpet convention after all.

I got a voucher

Lies

“You believe a lot of lies about yourself”…

He grabbed his coat and notebook and walked away. His words, however, stayed.  Seated at the table with me.

“You believe a lot of lies about yourself”…

It wasn’t just the words but the way they were spoken. Matter of fact. A statement. Not a question of “do you?” or a suggestion of “you may” but simply a fact: “You believe”…

And lunch was over and the statement wasn’t made for me. No. It was a fact for him. As though he found the clarity that I was seeking. As though he could see there was nothing left to say until I could see…

I believe a lot of lies about myself.

I’ve often said, there is no reason to be offended. If someone says something about you that is true and you don’t like it, change it. If what they say isn’t true they’re a liar, and you should never listen to liars. But…

…what am I supposed to do when I’m lying to myself, about myself?

In 2014 I ran the Portland Marathon. All of it. I trained for months and months, each weekend pushing myself further and further. 12 miles, 14 miles, 18 miles…I don’t quit. I am not a quitter. I will not quit. 20 miles…

When race day came I knew it would be a challenge and I knew I would finish. For the first 18 miles my body felt great. I ran with a smile and clear mind and nothing was going to stop me. I don’t quit. I am not a quitter. I will not quit. 20 miles…my body starts to breakdown. On this gorgeous Sunday morning people were literally dropping out and literally falling to the ground, laying face down on strangers lawns and calling for me to join them.

By mile 24 I was broken. Not just physically but mentally and emotionally. I felt as though I could not take another step forward and I also knew I could not quit. I will not quit (I can not take another step). I am not a quitter (I want to die).

Mile 25 passes so slowly…and death does not come.

For the final 1.2 miles the streets are lined with people offering encouragement and I hate every single one of them. “You’re doing great“, “You can do this“, “Awesome job, Johnpaul“, but I just want this nightmare to end and I don’t believe a word they are saying. No…worse…I refuse to believe. They don’t know how I feel. They don’t know what I’m thinking. Great job? Not to me. I can do this? Not to the standards I have set. Awesome? Fuck off.

I realize that I’m nearing the 5 hour mark and I tell myself to keep moving. Make it under 5 hours and you won’t be embarrassed, I tell myself.

Downtown Portland.
The streets are packed.
1,000 of people cheering.
Yet I am alone.

I have one corner left to turn and I see my children standing there. I’m too broken to move any faster and still they bring me love…for one brief moment I feel a sense of pride. My children are watching me run. My children believe in me. My children will be proud…

I round the last corner  and see the race timer… 5 hours, 3 minutes…I start to cry. Head down staring straight at the street I cross the finish line. 5 hours, 3 minutes, 20 seconds…

A race volunteer tries to put a medal around my neck but I just grab it in my hands. I decide in that moment of brokenness that I failed and I will never wear this medal. I go home still holding what has instantly become a symbol of failure to me…I hang the medal with my others and fall asleep…

I have ran countless races and every other time I was given a medal I would wear it proudly and say, “They don’t give medals to losers” and then I would tell my kids that I won (for which category I’m not sure… No… probably not fastest time, son, but perhaps I was the fastest mid 30’s male wearing blue and black? The details aren’t important…I’m a winner).

And yet:

“You believe a lot of lies about yourself”.

Lunch is over so I grab my jacket and notebook, walk slowly to my car, drive home, and put my 2014 Portland Marathon Medal around my neck for the first time and I tell myself:

“Don’t believe the lies”

After all, they don’t give medals to losers…and that’s the truth!

Lies