Famous Last Words Week 13

By Berger & Föhr; Ello, Inc. (https://ello.co/wtf/post/ello-logo) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

So as I have said in one of other posts, I have finally left Facebook. I love the idea of social networks but Facebook is just not what it used to be. It used to be a place were you could network with people about jobs and other things. Then it became a place to keep up with your friends. Now it is a mix of things they want to sell to you and things they want you to buy. It got to the point that I couldn't see my friends updates. I guess I was not the only person that felt that way because a group of people created a social network site call Ello. When I first heard about this site I thought "wow that would be great to join, so that I could actually see my friends and not see ads constantly. So I sent a request to join. Well I am happy to announce that I have finally joined Ello and so far it looks like it is a pretty cool site. Much like Google+ but without the confusion of who is and isn't your friend. I love Google+, I really do except nobody uses it. I am hoping this doesn't become the case with Ello because it is such a great site. They don't collect any information from you and they are a non profit so absolutely no ads. All it is, well it is exactly like Facebook used to be. Just you and your friends updates. I really do like it better. If any of you wanna join it to check it out send me your email address and I will send you an invite.

Other than joining Ello the big highlight of my week was completely and LSAT prep test for fun. I'm taking it in December at OU so I figured I should at least crack open the book once and try it out just to see what a test is like. Wow, that was a crazy test. My brain hurt after taking it. It was like having a conversation with a crazy person on a three day drug bender. Seriously some of the questions seemed so far out there that I am not sure what they were about or how I got them right. The fact that I was able to answer these questions makes me a little worried about myself. I have always known I was and odd duck, but after getting some of these questions right I afraid I might be a really odd duck. LOL. Well other than that this was a pretty easy going week for me. Hope all of you have a great week. Do yourself a favor and make someone smile this week. Trust me it will make you feel great.

Famous Last Words Week 11

  All My life I was always told that I was a spitting image of my father.  As a child I always felt like this was some kind of insult. It was however completely true. I was a bull headed kid.  I was prone to doing things my way.  Doing things my way usually led to trouble.  A spitting image of my father at that age. When parents got divorced I was sent to live with my father. I dreaded the thought of being locked up in a house under his thumb. My father was extremely strict. I hated living with my father. We were so poor, we never went anywhere except to eat once a month. I never had anything new, all my clothes were second hand. As a kid I just hated living with my father.It wasn’t until my son was born that I could appreciate just how high of a compliment it was to be compared to my dad.

     My son being born is easily the happiest moment of my life.   The moment I saw my son I instantly believed in love at first sight.  It was like every cell in my body was yearning just to hold him in my arms.  After forty long weeks I was finally able to kiss his little lips and tell him “I love you,” over and over again.  This was truly a life changing event.  One minute I was one person and in the next minute I was a completely different person.  I even had a new name.  At the same time I was filled with fear about not being ready to be a father. This fear continued to build until the second happiest moment of my life which just so happens to have taken place minutes after the happiest moment of my life.  This second moment changed me because I realized I was an adult.  This gave my perspective on how selfish and immature I was a child.

    After kissing and telling my newborn son “I love you” for what must have been twenty minutes, I noticed the room was quiet and I felt the stares of everyone in the room on me.  These were not the stares of “Awe look at him what a cute daddy.”  Instead these were the angry stares of the doctor, the nurses, and the mother of my child.  As a man that had just spent the last nine months receiving angry stares for things like the way I was eating, the way I was breathing, the way I walked, and although she never would admit just the simple fact that I was the reason she was pregnant, I was not quite sure what I had done to draw the ire of every lady in the hospital room.  Still as any man will tell you, I know I did something to get in trouble.

Then the doctor spoke up, “Um daddy did a great job getting through the labor and childbirth but do you think mommy could hold him?”  I tell you this shamefully that I held him for another minute or so before handing him to mommy. I wiped the tears from my eyes and composed myself and by all accounts I was pretty sure I was not needed here anymore so I left the room to tell everyone the good news.

     As I exited the room the first person I saw was my father.  He was waiting in the hall that was supposed to be restricted to anyone other than hospital workers and people that were in labor.  I imagine that someone told him that he could not be there but knowing my father he did not listen to them.  He was leaning against the wall directly across from the birthing room.  I realized he had been standing there listening to everything.  Every moment of my son’s delivery from the first push to the last he was listening.  When he heard the door open and close he looked up at me.  I did not then, nor do I now possess the vocabulary to justly describe the way he was looking at me, all I can say is that this was a look I had never seen from him before.  For my part I felt like I was seeing my father for the first time.  We instinctively walked towards each other and my daddy wrapped his arms around me and for the first time, I knew.  I knew what an idiot I had been my entire life.

My father grew up the only son of Sam and Rose Costa.  Sam thought it was his duty in life to teach my dad to be a man.  Part of being a man was not sucking your thumb.  Sam had an interesting approach to solving this problem.  He would duct tape my dad’s hands together as a so that he would not suck his thumb in his sleep.  When Sam would come home and see that my father had removed the tape in his sleep and was sucking his thumb, his father would beat him like my father was a full grown man.  These were not just slaps, but rather they were the closed fist hands of a golden gloves boxer.  I don’t mean that as a metaphor, I mean that his father was a golden gloves contender.  To look at my father’s nose it is easy to see the numerous times that my father’s nose was broken.  Even now as I think about it I cringe at what it must have been like for a five year old boy to be woken up to a full grown man punching him in the face.  Thumbsucking was not the only reason Sam used to beat my father.  If Sam was drunk my dad got beat.  If my aunts did something wrong my dad got beat.  If Sam and Rose got into an argument my dad got beat.  Sam did not believe in beating women, just my father.

     I found out later when I was going through the end of my relationship with my son’s mother, that when my parents split up it was hard on my dad, much in the same way as my break up was hard on me, but he never let it show. When I was sent to live with him, I was being sent to live with the only person that was able to stay on top of me.  My father took me in and gave me structure to ensure that I would get on the right path.  He witnessed his friends and family get involved in drugs and other various criminal activities and was determined to make sure I avoided that life.  When all the other kids were out drinking and bouncing around town causing whatever trouble they could, I was at home.  I guess it worked because I have never done drugs, I don’t have a drinking problem, and I’m not in jail. My dad was strict on me because he loved me and wanted me to have a better life than him.

Not only was my dad strict but the guy was also a ninja spy.  I could not do anything at school that he did not know about.  If I got sent to the office, he knew.  If I got a bad grade, he knew.  If I skipped school, yep you guessed it he knew.  I only saw my dad about forty five minutes a day, and for the most part my dad never had any free time, but he always had time to know what was going on with me at school.  He was involved enough to recognize that I had fallen through the cracks, and that in a small town school like the one I went to, the teachers were not too interested in making sure I got off to a good start to my scholastic future.  He sent me to Upward Bound because it placed me on a college campus and gave me the extra schooling I needed so that I could have a chance at being successful at life.  My dad did this because he knew what it was like to have a parent that did not care about their kids future.  His dad died after my dad turned ten.  For her part his mother was truly neglectful.  Yes she worked, but she made no attempt to involve herself in my dad’s life.  If he got bad grades or skipped school, it didn’t matter because she didn’t care.  There was nobody in my father’s life to instill the importance of an education to him.  It wasn’t until he was in his late thirties that my dad went back to school, and he was determined to make sure I didn’t wait that long to do the same.  Along with extra schooling Upward Bound gave me other tools that helped me build my confidence.  It was an environment that allowed a person like me to be surrounded by other like people so that I could make friends.

Yeah we didn’t have nice things.  Everything I owned was hand me downs.  It seemed so important then, but in the long run it didn’t matter.  All that matters is that my father did the best he could.  The man went to college full time.  When he wasn’t studying he was trying to sleep so he could go to work.  At work, my father, a grown man, spent his evening wiping other adult’s asses.  Literally that is what he did for a living.  My dad worked as a nurse’s aid while he was in college.  If the opportunity for him to work a double shift came up he worked it.  There were times he would go seventy two hours without sleep.  He never once complained.  He worked the extra shifts so that he could afford to take me out to dinner once a month.  He took me out on those dinners because he knew I did not have any friends and he was my friend.  He missed me and liked spending time with his son.  All he knew of his father was physical violence.  All I know of my father is emotional support.  He was always found time for me, no matter how busy he was, my father always had a way of knowing when I needed him.  Having nice things doesn’t matter now because I always had food in my belly, clothes on my back and a roof over my head.  My dad was one thing in my life that was never a hand me down.

I hugged my father looking at my childhood in a new light, and something that had never happened before happened.  I heard my father begin to cry.  I had never heard or seen my dad exhibit much emotion let alone cry.  I didn’t realize it but I was crying too.  We must have looked silly standing there hugging each other while crying.  To be honest I don’t care how it looked because to me it was one of the most beautiful and tender moments I have ever felt.  I felt so safe, so happy, and I felt so loved.  This made me cry even harder.  I never felt loved growing up as a child.  I can’t explain why I just never really thought anyone loved me.  When my son was born I had never felt so much love for another human being.  This though was different.  This was the first time I have ever felt so completely and unconditionally loved by another person.  I know that no matter what I do or say my father will always love me and be proud of me.  I know this because I felt the same way the moment I saw my son, and I could finally understand what my father had always felt when he looked at me.    I wanted to be just like him.  Being told I was the spitting image of my father was something I finally took pride in being told.  Knowing how much he loved me made me happy. I did not think I could be any happier when my son was born but I had room in my heart.  I was so full of joy that my chest hurt, I could not control my tears and neither could my father.  We told each other that we loved one another.  I told my father that I hoped I would be as good of a father as him and then he told me something I will never forget.  He said,

“You’re gonna be better.”

Famous Last Words Week 9

Answering the Phone

"Friendship love and truth". Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Friendship_love_and_truth.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Friendship_love_and_truth.jpg

I really don't have much in common with people my age. I am 38, I am a server, I've never been married and I am a college student. Before you say "Plenty of older people are college students" please understand most of those people work there and I have literally been the oldest person in all of my classes since I started attending OU. Not to mention that I am in the English department and I am a man so I am a pretty small percentage of the pie. 

Most of the friends I used to have are drug dealers, alcoholics, prisoners, or married people with careers so I really don't have any friends my own age that I have anything in common.I looked at my Facebook page and thought to myself "I literally haven't seen or talked to any of these people in years" I actually deactivated it. It just seemed so impersonal by nature. The only people I do have anything in common with are my professors and fellow students which presents itself with all kinds of issues.
The professors and I share our age and love of Literature, but they are my mentors so by nature a friendship with them is a bit inappropriate. The male students and I have a barrier because of age. And the female students, well that is a crazy issue in itself. No one wants to look like the "Creepy Old Dude." Even though everything is completely honorable the appearance is inappropriate, so it's not a good look and best to be avoided.

Now don't get me wrong. I love my life. I really do, I have an amazing son and though I am a 38 year old college student I have had a ton of fun along the way. All I am saying is that the hardest part for me about going to college is the social issue. I hunger for friendship. I am a social person, I love meeting people and going to dinner with friends. I love chatting with em on the phone throughout the day, and I love having fun. So this college experience for me has been something that I would not change, but with all the stress that we as students face with grades, one thing we may not ever look at is the friendship aspect of it.

Life truly is about sacrifice. It is amazing how many people I have had to leave in my past so that I can have a future. Right now I am in this kind of Friendship Limbo. Though I would love to make friends with people and begin to build real meaningful bonds that will last the rest of my life, it is one more thing that I have had to put on hold until I graduate from law school.

If I could pass along one piece of advice it would be to answer the phone. Life is hard enough without having people there to share in the misery of failure, the frustration of the struggle, and the elation of success. People will disappoint you, trust me I have made one friend at college, though I have had a few temporary friendships, but you can't allow the let down keep you from putting yourself out there with people. A connection to one another is required to get through all this craziness. As I said earlier, life is about sacrifice but you should never sacrifice the bonds that connect us to this life, so when one of those connections call, answer the phone.

Famous Last Words Week 8

How I was Healed in this World



I fell asleep from a nightmare of,
Kool 100 menthol smoke filled lungs,
Dim lights,
Jazz music,
a Crown Royal filled rocks glass splashing the tongue
that’s garnished with lust to cloud decisions, ushering a seed into this world.

The lesser of two, not needed as much, as the first of this pair,
Loved by a knuckle filled heart that left purple stains on this olive skin,
Another generational link in a chain of sorrow, created a man in this world.

Thirty-six wolves chew at self-confidence till only scraps remain on the floor,
Educational vultures feast on those scraps for their owns popularities gain but,
Potential’s value when un-nurtured has no room to stand in this world.

She was a knock up chick, with a bathtub full of depression and razor blades,
The Homecoming queen, only taught that her beauty belonged in a wallet,
A dime piece split ten ways, and spent in this world.

They suffered her love, for lines of ambrosia laid out on a table,
Violent bud light bottles, flicked lit cigarettes, and a headlight to a hip screamed,
They would never be enough for her! In this world.

Being unwanted again and again, each time enforces the belief,
That the mirrors reflection doesn’t reflect what everyone else seems to see,
So you begin to feel stupid, ugly, pathetic, and worthless to this world,

And now I,
lying crippled, lonely, and scared of passing shadows in this bed,
I,
notice, ten fingers, ten toes, a tiny heart budum dumming against my own
and I know,
I finally know.
That chains can break, I can heal, time to wake up and dream in this world…

Bryce Vine - Sour Patch Kids

Famous Last Words Week 7

Tough Young Man

"John Wayne portrait" by Howard_Hawks'Rio_Bravo_trailer_(26).jpg: Trailer screenshotderivative work: Liorek (talk) - Howard_Hawks'Rio_Bravo_trailer_(26).jpg. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:John_Wayne_portrait.jpg#mediaviewer/File:John_Wayne_portrait.jpg

You tough young man,
Rough and tumble grass stained jeans,
You play your games,
“I’m the Cowboy, you be the Indian,”
You run, you jump, you fight, and you fall,
Dry those eyes because men don’t cry,
Rub some dirt in it and dust yourself off,
Be a man,
Be a man,
Be the man that we’ve been told to be,
Drink your milk and grow up strong,
Being a man,
Being a man,
Being the man that you are supposed to be is for you to decide,
It’s ok to cry when it hurts,
Some pains hurt in places you create,
And it is ok to cry,
Shhhhhh keep those things to yourself,
Bundle em up and hide them away,
Throw away the key,
I said bottle em up and watch them shake,
Shake, shake, and shake,
Until they explode on whoever wishes to take a drink,
On the woman you love sips your insecurities,
But you don’t care,
All you know is how to be a man,
Be a man,
How to be a man that has never been taught how to care,
What does it mean to be a man?
On your throne with your crown you’re a king,
Your queen subject submitted,
Object objectified walking ten steps behind,
And it’s ok because that is what they advertise,
A sexualized identity you must dominate,
Absent of thoughts, wants, and needs,
You damage them one, then two, then three, and so many more,
A cycle of daughters for generations to destroy,
Is this what it means to be a man?
Of this I am unsure for sure,
I do know I cry,
I think about my son,
Don’t be as insecure as the men they want you to be,
Tell me your thoughts, your hopes, and your dreams,
Leave those tears alone, it’s better to let them fall,
Let me dust you off and give you a hug,
Be a man,
Be a man,
Be a man and tell me what is wrong,
I can help you if you share why you’re feeling this way,
Unravel, unlock, and open up,
Being a man that knows how to be a man,
A man that posseses only himself,
Knowing it’s okay to walk behind,
Falls in love with,
Her heart,
Her mind,
And not his eyes,
Tough young man with your grass stained jeans,
To be strong you must hurt learning to cry leaving others unharmed,
Because this is what it means to be a man.




Author's Notes
I wrote this as the other part of my last poem because I think we have a real problem with how we force young children into gender roles. I think it is ok to be a tough guy as long as that is just one part of who you are, and not your complete identity. I think that as young men we are never taught how to deal with our emotions and that we are shown images of what it means to be a man, along with negative images of those men and the way they treat women. This is terrible thing and I would like to see a more well rounded approach in the way we teach children to handle their gender roles in society because by doing this we will be able to create a society in which people can be equals.

Famous Last Words Week 6

I know I am supposed to be writing a poem and I have one that I will post next week, but for now I wanna tell you about something today that broke my heart and made me smile all in the same moment.

For some reason today when I woke up I just knew it was going to be a great day. I don't know why but I just felt like today was going to be a great day. I work as a server, and today was a Sunday shift, which most weeks is the worst shift because of the volume of business. Dealing with the public has its ups and downs, and for some reason Sundays are usually downs. I don't know what it is, but church brings out the evil in people it seems. I don't know why, whenever I go to church I feel amazing afterwards, but for some reason when the church crowd hits the doors and get sat down to eat their manners seem to disappear. I'm used to being treated like a servant because let's face it that is what I am, but some of the things I see on Sundays takes it too far. The complaining about this and that just makes me wanna tell people to shut up and stay home. The way people talk to me makes me think that they don't realize that I get paid 2.13 an hour and that I am a pretty big guy that is more than capable of finding another job. It just seems like on Sunday Guests will treat you and speak to you in ways they would not do if you were in some other public setting. Today however was different, people were amazing to me and truly having the Guests that I had today is the reason why I love doing what I do. Work went by in a flash.

When I got home I turned on the t.v. and watched my Niners win, so that is always a huge uplifting feeling for me. After the game I went out to our sun room/deck to sit down and watch my brother's daughters play in the backyard. Holly, my brothers wife was putting the shish ka bobs on the grill and my brother was on the lawnmower mowing the lawn. I looked over and watched Emma running.

Emma was diagnosed with a rare sarcoma ( I hope that is how it is spelled) on her first birthday. It was a very hard time in our lives. I have been with Emma since the day she was born. My Brother and his wife had just moved back to Oklahoma from Texas so he could open up a new store. He worked long hours and his wife did too. On the day Emma was born I was sitting outside the delivery room and my brother walked out and we hugged each other and shared some tears. It was an amazing moment. Holding Emma for the first time was a feeling I had only experienced once before when my son was born. My brother and I are twins and to say that we are close doesn't really do our relationship justice.

So much of our younger years were spent fighting over stupid things. I look back now and think, "man I wish I had those years back" because one thing a new life reminds you of is an old life. I love my brother more than I can express, I just think he is a great man, in every sense of the word "GREAT." He works hard, he is a great dad, amazing husband, and my biggest fan. When I have any kind of success he is the first one to call me tell me that he is proud of me, but what really makes me feel good is when other people talk to me about the things he says about me. My brother is always bragging on me. I hope everyone of you has someone in your corner that is always showering people you don't know with positive and proud words about you. It is a great feeling to have.

Like I said when Emma was born my brother was working long hours and Holly was back at work soon after we brought Emma home. I was the owner of a bar at the time so most days I wouldn't get home till the early mornings. Most days when Holly went to work I would be the one to take care of Emma. I would just place her little body on my chest why I lied on the couch and feel her little heartbeat against mine. I'd kiss her forehead and whisper "I love you" to her while she would just sleep on my chest. I loved being there with, even though I was exhausted, I wouldn't have had it any other way.

So when Emma was diagnosed I felt the pain of a father along with my brother. I was scared, I had only gotten a year with babygirl and I'm sorry, but I'm greedy and wanted many more years. Babygirl went through surgery after surgery and so many Chemo treatments before she was able to ring the bell at the OU Medical Center. One of the surgeries that she had to have was the removal of her thigh muscle.

Today as I watched her running around in the yard I noticed how much she limped and it broke my heart. My heart was broken because my babygirl would forever be scared and different. Whether your a parent or an uncle the one thing you never want is for your loved one to be different from the "Normal" kids because kids can be cruel. I started thinking about her as she played with her pom pom that she got from her cheerleader camp and realized that it was a real possibility that she wouldn't be able to be a cheerleader. Then I started thinking about all the limitations she would have and I choked back tears, even now as I type this post and I start to think about it I am choking back tears. Life is hard enough without having to grow up different. "It's just not fair" I thought to myself. Then I stopped looking at her run around and starting listening to her.

She was laughing. I looked at her face and she had a big smile. My babygirl wasn't upset about the things she wouldn't be able to do. She never even thought about it. She is just happy as can be. I hear her yell at her dad, so he turns off the mower and she crawls in his lap and tells him she loves him. Then Josh turned the mower back on and started mowing with her driving. She laughed even louder. I was filled with so much pride because I knew right then that she was going to be an amazing, strong, beautiful, and unique woman. My niece is not "different", she is "UNIQUE," and that is something every parent hopes their child is, unique.

Then I looked at Babygirl's little sister B&E (I call her that because she is always breaking into my room to steal my guitar picks, it stands for Breaking and Entering) and B&E was laughing and have a good time. I looked at my brother and look of joy he had on his face while driving his daughter around, and saw Holly look at him and smile as she watched him play with the girls, and I thought to myself that I really do have an amazing life.

There are so many things that happen in a day that can bring you down. People will say and do things that will anger you or hurt your feelings, but when that happens I hope that all of you have something unique in your life that you can think about that makes you realize how Awesome your life is and that the little annoying things in your day that you have to deal with are just that; Little. I am so blessed to have a life that is Unique.

"LOVE sculpture NY" by Hu Totya - Own work. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:LOVE_sculpture_NY.JPG#mediaviewer/File:LOVE_sculpture_NY.JPG

Famous Last Words Week 5

Beautiful Young Lady

You beautiful young lady,
Why do they advertise to you this image of attraction to sell you,
The lipstick,
The jewelry,
The fashionable clothes that make up the foundation of what they want you to believe will bring you popularity, beauty, and womanhood,
That foundation that sits on sand and pebbles resting on the grave of true womanly strength,
Their image of beauty is a,
Lie,

Lie,
Lie,
That they want you to believe so that they can sell you the fantasy through products,
And yet by millions you,
Lie,
Lie,
Lie,
Down on the operating table to augment what god has created,
Hoping to attain that dream of beauty that man has created,
Younger and younger each year you try to reach that false image of what it means to be beautiful,
I say don’t do it,
Because I think you are beautiful,
Do you hear me,
I say you are beautiful and I have never seen you,
Faithfully still I say you are beautiful because that is how you were born,
It is not you that needs to be changed, but rather it is our society that needs to be placed on the operating table,
Forced to augment itself to become beautiful again,
Because it is not your makeup,
Your mini skirts,
Your high heels,
The size of your breasts,
Or how willing you are to allow yourself to be objectified that makes you beautiful,
That is just what they want you to believe,
That is a perversion they sell you in hopes of getting you to prostitute your soul for their financial gain,
Trust my words young woman,
Your beauty lies in the person you were born to be,
Your beauty lies in the life you can create,
Your beauty lies in the hopes and dreams you created for yourself and not the dreams they sold to you,
Because your Prada purse is full, yet you feel empty,
Real beauty is not a name brand it is a name,
It’s your name,
And there is no need to buy what you already have…..

Author's Notes
I hate that young women are shown at a young age images of the "Ideal woman." I think young women are shown images of beauty that are an impossible fantasy. These images are altered to make these women look the way they do. This put women at a very young age under a huge amount of stress to try to achieve this image and I think that advertisers should stop flooding young women on a constant basis. I have three young nieces and I am appalled at the goals set for them by advertisers. Kids should be allowed to be kids and given time to develop their identities so that they can decide what they want in life. I am not saying that wanting these clothes,jewelery,makeup,and ect. is a bad thing. It is ok for a woman to want those things. It is not ok for women to be pressured to feel that they need those things or else they are somehow less of a human being than other women or worse yet somehow ugly because they don't have them.
















Picture attribution
"MICHALSKY StyleNite SS13 Stage" by LakeviewEN - Own work. Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:MICHALSKY_StyleNite_SS13_Stage.jpg#mediaviewer/File:MICHALSKY_StyleNite_SS13_Stage.jpg

Famous Last Words Part 2

Growth.....A poem for Emma (Revised 2014)


I wish this was a monster in the closet or goblin under her bed,
Or a dragon I could slay for my princess instead,
I’d be her knight in shining armor, Uncle Joe to the rescue,
I’d tell her not to worry, and then I’d know just what to do,

But those are the fairy tales we teach to our kids,
I am not prepared to discover the real monsters do exist,
The truth is,

It’s been a little over a year since she came into my life,
Everyday a blessing,
Now I watch her fight for more years to add to that life,
Everyday a real blessing,

The misery of a parent’s sorrow flows though my veins,
Multiplying, cell upon cell, as it eats away,
Poison that kills its only cure,
As the locks of sunny hair fall murdered to the floor,

Her father, my brother, the better half of me,
I watch. He holds back a dam of sadness,
God is good; God is great, praise the lord!
For he has saved me from the ability to intervene,

She smiles, she giggles, as I hold back my rage,
Miracles grin, they laugh, as they escape my grip,
These hands that can crush earth are of no use to me,

When I am alone, I sit at home, and remember,
Her second day at school, her second dance, her second this, her second that,
Seconds that will never happen without her firsts,

So I cry, I do, I cry, I shed the memories from my eyes,

Losing her is........ like losing my very own,
Since her first breath I’ve seen her grow,
Now I can’t look at her face because I’m too weak,
To her parents, I can’t speak the warm embrace that words can bring,

There is nothing I can do; I’m as useless as wishing on a star
Yet faithfully I still pray,
“Let me pay for my sins, take me instead, PLEASE! just let her stay,”

I’d gladly let the poison enter my body if it would set her free,
Vomit in buckets happily for her even if it put me in a box,
Lose all my hair and smile if she could keep her locks....have her first class, dance, this, that,
Beat this cancer for her; I’d do it for us both,
All for a princess without a growth….

Famous Last Words Part 1

I have always liked writing.

At the end of last semester I received an email from my Poetry Professor. This was one of the most horrible emails I had ever received. In the email the professor lobbed personal attacks towards me, and the worst part of all is that it was done under the guise of being an attempt to give me feedback. After reading the letter I have to be quite honest in saying that I almost decided to bring this professor to the board for her hate filled letter but, after conversations with other professors and students I decided to just let it go because sometimes it is best to turn the other cheek and move on. I don't wanna speak ill of anyone so that is all I will say about the letter.

The reason I brought it up was because the letter was not the first time someone in life has made cruel remarks towards me. My entire life I have always been the type of person that people either loved or hated. People that love me, really love me, and people that hate me, really hate me. There is no middle ground, and for some reason people always feel the need to express their dislike of me, to me in some form or another. Most times the hate is irrational and I actually understand it. I'm a big guy, with a loud voice, that talks with his hands, and is willing to argue a point, but I am not a malicious person. In fact I'm the type of person that when I do hurt someone's feelings, or anger someone it bothers me. At the same time even though these people do hate me I myself have no ill will to anyone. The reason I feel the need to express all this is because I know what it is like to be judged by people that have no idea about who I truly am and no nothing of my character.

I have always liked writing. It is the one place where I feel that I am given the fair chance to express myself without being judged on how I look, or the loudness of my voice. I love seeing people who know me read something I have put on paper and watching the look on their faces when they realize that I am a person with a warm heart, and that even though I walk like I own the world and am completely unaware of the plight of my fellow man, that in fact that is just a facade I put up. When I write I get to put my heart on to paper in poetry, show my empathy in my stories, and just finally be myself, which is the most crazy thing of all. It is in my writing where people can finally find me and discover who I am and yet they couldn't pick me out of a crowd.

So for the remainder of the semester my Famous last words will be some of my writing starting here in week 2 in part 2 of the famous last words with a poem....most weeks I will do a two part post, one will be the writing and part two will be a kind of chicken noodle soup for your soul type of thing about the writing. Enjoy part two.