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Bleeding

gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
edited January 2014 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
this is a thread where i am going to share some of my writing. the newer stuff, because i am not interested in looking back at my old stuff...

i normally sit down with a thought in my head and i just write what comes out. sometimes it makes sense. sometimes not. sometimes it is good, sometimes not. sometimes it is disturbing... well most times it is i think... it is just a form of therapy for a soul that feels dead on the inside. i call the process "bleeding", because when i get in the mood things just flow out of me.

this is one i wrote this morning. it is called Smile

Smile

i wear a fake smile.
i project confidence,
and happiness,
and sexiness,
while i secretly wallow
in the nothingness

sometimes i let people
see behind the facade.
to see the real me.
see the vulnerable me.
see the sensitive me.
see the anxious me.
see the wonderful me.
see the gentle me.
see the benevolent me.
see the malevolent me.
see the angry me.
see the hateful me....

all of this
lurks below the surface.
do you really want to see?
do you want to know the real me?

i am good at hiding.
i am good at faking.
because i have to be
to survive.

i'm too sensitive for humanity.
i'm too sensitive for people's games.
i'm too sensitive for people's deceptions.
i'm too sensitive for their cruelty.
i'm too sensitive for their greed.
i'm too sensitive for human nature.

i will go to bed a mess.
i will wake up again tomorrow.
i will put on my fake smile.
i will hide.
i will survive.
and i will thrive.
"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

"i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

If you have never failed, you have never lived.
Post edited by Unknown User on
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Comments

  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    I really relate to these words... there are plenty days I wear a "fake" smile just to survive.
    The truth is I will survive !!!


    my favorite part...

    i will go to bed a mess.
    i will wake up again tomorrow.
    i will put on my fake smile.
    i will hide.
    i will survive.
    and i will thrive.
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    mikalina wrote:
    I really relate to these words... there are plenty days I wear a "fake" smile just to survive.
    The truth is I will survive !!!


    my favorite part...

    i will go to bed a mess.
    i will wake up again tomorrow.
    i will put on my fake smile.
    i will hide.
    i will survive.
    and i will thrive.
    i think a lot of us wear a fake smile sometimes. mine is pretty standard at this point though lol..

    and yes, you will survive :)
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    Fight Night

    Well it is here.
    The time has come.
    All of the restless nights,
    All of the early mornings,
    All of the weights moved,
    All of the miles run,
    All of the sparring,
    All of the jiu jitsu,
    All of the muai thai,
    All of the footwork
    and agility drills,
    All of the bumps and bruises,
    and submissions.
    All of the rounds logged.
    All of the doctor’s visits.
    All of the dieting,
    All of the pep talks,
    All of the mental training
    and visualization,
    And all of the times I have wanted to quit,
    have come down to this.
    Two months of work,
    have come down to this night.

    I am in my locker room.
    Pacing with nervous energy.
    I can’t sit still.
    I am about to be in a fight.
    I peer through the curtains.
    “There must be a few hundred people here..”
    My hands are taped tight,
    four ounce gloves on my hands.
    Fingers exposed so that I can
    grapple and grasp and clench.
    I jump rope to burn off the nerves.
    I hit the target mitts.
    I don’t know much about my opponent,
    but I say over and over again,
    “I am going to finish this guy….”

    I am not scared.
    There is no time for that.
    The time for that is past.
    There is no place for that,
    in the mind of a warrior.
    If I were scared,
    I would not have agreed to this.
    I have been in a dozen fights before.
    But nobody as strong as this guy.
    Nobody as quick as this guy.
    Nobody as experienced as this guy.
    When I win I have to make the choice.
    “Do I get serious about this
    and turn pro? Do I move to California,
    or Iowa? Or maybe Arizona?
    Do I take a chance and go for something
    that nobody I know has experienced?
    Do I go for it?
    Or do I walk away and give it up??”

    I have my doubts.
    Doubts in my abilities.
    Holes in my game.
    Vulnerabilities
    that better fighters can exploit.
    Some have quietly said
    that I am in over my head this time.
    But it is those people
    that I have to prove myself to.
    It is those people who are negative.
    It is those people who are a drain on
    me and my confidence.
    I have no place for people like that.
    All I have are my team,
    my coaches, and my cutman.
    Those are the only people in my corner.
    Those are the ones who got me to this point.
    Sure I did the work,
    but they were the ones who kept me motivated.
    I will not let them down.
    They worked as hard for this as I have.
    They have my back.

    I hear the ring announcer
    announce the winner of the fight.
    Now it is my turn.
    Time to put this energy to use.
    Time to begin the chess match
    that is mixed martial arts.
    I hear the music over the PA.
    It is some hip hop song I don’t know.
    It plays for a few minutes.
    I hear the roar of the crowd.
    I look through the curtain again.
    I see my foe already in the cage.
    “He is bigger than I thought he was.
    Doesn’t matter. I’ve beaten bigger.”
    I hear my music over the PA.
    Mouth for War by Pantera.
    The song means nothing to me.
    It is just something I play
    to pump me up for a fight.
    I walk barefoot
    down the long concrete aisle,
    corner men in tow.

    Focused now,
    my mission on my mind.
    I do not even look at the crowd
    because it is a distraction.
    I don’t even notice my girlfriend
    blowing me a kiss.
    She is nervous.
    She reads me like a book.
    I don’t want her to see the
    anxiety in my eyes.
    Only my resolve, and
    determination that I am projecting.
    You have to be focused
    when a man bigger than you
    wants to switch your lights off.
    At cageside now.
    Music still on.
    Referee pats me down.
    Checks my fingernails,
    hands, and gloves.
    They are up to muster.
    I knock on my cup
    to prove it is there.
    Mouthpiece in.
    Vaseline on my brows,
    nose and cheeks.
    I am ready.
    There is no going back now.
    Nerves are at a fever pitch now,
    as I amble up the steps into the cage.
    The door closes behind me.
    Nowhere to run now,
    except right through the man across from me.

    I see my foe
    He is massive.
    His face is scarred.
    His nose is crooked.
    He looks to have had a rough life.
    And I begin to wonder
    “How the hell did I get here???”
    You can always tell a fighter.
    They always have a crooked nose.
    If someone says they are a fighter
    and their nose is straight,
    you know they are full of shit.
    It’s just him and I now.
    And another man
    to stop the fight if it gets out of hand,
    or if someone gets switched off,
    or if someone submits.
    All I know is,
    “It ain’t gonna be me….”
    We meet at the center of the cage.
    We are nose to nose,
    Him looking down on me
    from his 4 inch height advantage.
    Rules are read.
    We touch gloves
    and go back to our corners.
    Nowhere to run now.
    even though for the first time in my life,
    I wanted to.
    I feel fear for the first time.
    Fear is the enemy.
    Fear will defeat you before
    your opponent does.
    Anxiety is good.
    Anxiety is excitement.
    Fear is deadly.
    It distracts you, and if you are distracted
    for a single second. The fight can end.
    It is that fast.
    But I am ready.

    Opening buzzer.
    Round one.
    We meet at the center of the cage.
    We circle.
    I hear the excited roar of the crowd.
    I try to block it out.
    Still circling, measuring distance.
    I hear my corner
    “Slip the jab!
    Watch the low kick!
    Move your feet!
    Hands up!
    Stick and move!
    Chin down!!”
    So many instructions to process.
    I throw a jab.
    Pops him in the cheek.
    I throw another,
    Same result.
    “I can do this!!”
    He backs me against the cage.
    We clench.
    We dirty box.
    He stomps my bare feet.
    “What a dick!!” I think.
    Referee separates us,
    but he did not break clean.
    Hard right hits my nose.
    I wasn’t expecting that.
    My hands were down at the break.
    “Protect yourself at all times”
    I remember the referee saying at the beginning.
    I should have heeded that.
    Eyes watering now.
    They always do
    when you take one in the nose.
    I fight to keep my hands up
    as I eat a few more hard shots.
    I back away from him
    to get a second to compose myself.
    I taste my blood mixed with snot.
    He jabs again, I slip and counter.
    My hand hurt when I hit him then.
    We clench again.
    I go for a single leg,
    Stuffed.
    His defense is outstanding.
    “I have to wear him down..”
    We clench against the cage.
    More dirty boxing.
    I am leaning on him to make him tired.
    He is talking to me but I can’t make it out,
    Mouthpiece makes it impossible.
    We break clean.
    He starts with the leg kicks.
    I hate those things.
    Shin bone across muscle.
    Soon muscle spasms,
    and then you can barely stand
    let alone generate any offense.
    A good leg kick
    sounds like a baseball bat
    hitting a raw steak.
    I avoid a kick,
    grab his leg, and I take him down,
    I am in his guard now.
    I am good at passing the guard.
    I am dangerous from the top,
    but his defense again is good.
    I struggle to pass the guard.
    I get by one of his legs.
    The buzzer sounds....
    End of round 1.
    I don’t know who won that one,
    But I think he might have.

    I am sitting in my corner.
    Water on my face.
    Ice on my neck.
    I taste blood still.
    I am frazzled.
    My hand hurts.
    I think it is broken.
    But I have to fight through that shit.
    Ice on my leg where the kicks
    Found their mark.
    Instructions from my cornermen.
    Adrenaline-soaked
    cotton applicators up my nostrils.
    It is so hard to focus.
    Bleeding stopped, eyes dry,
    cornermen out,
    Buzzer sounds.

    Round 2.
    Have to keep my hands up.
    Have to play defense
    while generating offense.
    It is hard to do. Normally you
    can only do one or the other.
    “I have to push the pace and take
    It to this guy!” I tell myself.
    I hate pushing the pace.
    I would rather let him come to me
    and let me counter. That is my strength.
    More leg kicks land.
    Hard to stand now.
    My punches are landing.
    Good combinations,
    jabs, hooks, uppercuts.
    But they are doing little damage.
    He is winning this fight.
    I hit him with a hard right and he is cut!!
    He is bleeding badly
    from the brow.
    It is running down his face.
    I got him where I want him.
    Time for a takedown.
    I go for a double leg
    And I get it.
    He is on his back, I am on top of him.
    The crowd roars.
    I go for hammerfists and elbows
    to the face.
    It is called “ground and pound”.
    I have won most of my fights this way.
    He is in trouble now.
    He grabs onto my left wrist
    with both hands.
    I was posting on the left hand
    to give myself balance for the
    ground and pound.
    Lazy move on my part…
    He pulls me on top of him
    And now I am in his guard.
    “FUCK!! What do I do now?
    That was my chance!! I had him!!!”
    I try to push away to create space
    so I could rain more shots on him.
    But he is too strong.
    His grip is too tight.
    I panic for a second.
    “What do I do?? What do I do??
    I can’t pass it!! I have been in the guard a million times.
    I can do this!”
    I am frazzled.
    I pause, and that is just enough time
    for him to hit me in the eye
    with an elbow….
    “HOLY SHIT! What just happened??”
    I can’t see. I saw a flash of light and
    then it sounded like my head was in a bucket.
    The cage is spinning, I am dizzy.
    I am rocked.
    I look down and there is a massive pool of blood.
    All over the mat, and all over his chest and neck.
    It is MY blood.
    I am cut.
    Badly.
    I still can’t see.
    “This is BAAAAAAD!!” I think.
    I lean on him to close space and play defense.
    I am bleeding worse than I ever have before.
    It is running out of my face and on to his.
    I have to do something.
    The doctor is gonna stop this one if I don’t.
    Out of desperation,
    I post up with my right arm,
    to try to rain left elbows onto a face that I can’t see.
    He grabbed my right wrist from the mat.
    In a flash he pulled it across my body just under my throat.
    I feel his leg go around by head
    and rest on the back of my neck.
    “I know what this is,” I think to myself….
    Triangle choke. It is in deep…
    I am fucked.
    “Just relax, dig the elbow into his gut and hold on…”
    I feel him squeeze tight.
    My head feels like it will explode,
    like my eyes will blast out of my skull.
    I can’t breathe.
    I can’t scream.
    I can’t tap.
    And just like that.
    Just that fast.
    I go to sleep.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • catefrancescatefrances Posts: 29,003
    its gonna be a real pleasure reading your words.
    hear my name
    take a good look
    this could be the day
    hold my hand
    lie beside me
    i just need to say
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    its gonna be a real pleasure reading your words.
    sarcasm maybe??


    :lol::lol::lol:

    thank you cate. i have a lot to say these days.

    hopefully i can keep everyone entertained in some way :D
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • catefrancescatefrances Posts: 29,003
    its gonna be a real pleasure reading your words.
    sarcasm maybe??


    :lol::lol::lol:

    thank you cate. i have a lot to say these days.

    hopefully i can keep everyone entertained in some way :D

    I always find you entertaining.. sarcasm???? :think:


    :P :lol::lol::lol:
    hear my name
    take a good look
    this could be the day
    hold my hand
    lie beside me
    i just need to say
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    its gonna be a real pleasure reading your words.
    sarcasm maybe??


    :lol::lol::lol:

    thank you cate. i have a lot to say these days.

    hopefully i can keep everyone entertained in some way :D

    I always find you entertaining.. sarcasm???? :think:


    :P :lol::lol::lol:
    :lol::lol: :nono:


    :ugeek:
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    What i've learned of love


    love is easy.
    "love" is tough.

    love is strong.
    "love" is delicate.

    love is white.
    "love" is black.

    love is peace.
    "love" is war.

    love is truth.
    "love" is lies.

    love is honesty.
    "love" is deception.

    love is giving.
    "love" is taking.

    love is forever.
    "love" is fleeting.

    love is tranquility.
    "love" is anxiety.

    love is yearning.
    "love" is indifference.

    love is proximity.
    "love" is distance.

    love is bliss.
    "love" is pain.

    love is selfless.
    "love" is selfish.

    love is passive.
    "love" is aggressive.

    love is unassuming.
    "love" is manipulation.

    love is pure.
    "love" is vague.

    love is joy.
    "love" is anguish.

    love is support.
    "love" is abandonment.

    love is unconditional.
    "love" is equivocal.

    love has been all of these to me.

    i have felt plenty of "love".
    but i have never been loved.

    in the simplest sense,
    love it trust.

    it is surrender.
    it is giving someone else,
    the power to crush you,
    the power to
    absolutely destroy you,
    but trusting that they won't...
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    And No Code's on,
    the turntable.
    It doesn't sound as good,
    as when you were here in my bed.

    I stared in your eyes,
    as Sometimes played in the back.
    I caressed your face,
    as we sang Who You Are.

    Didn't it make you Smile,
    to have lived in that Present Tense?
    And Off He Goes,
    is now called
    Off You Went.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    there are five things i know i will do every single day for the rest of my life:

    1. wake up

    2. inhale

    3. exhale

    4. make a mistake

    5. write something new


    i guess all of the above,

    are contingent on number one...
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • LizardLizard So CalPosts: 11,982
    this is a thread where i am going to share some of my writing. the newer stuff, because i am not interested in looking back at my old stuff...

    i normally sit down with a thought in my head and i just write what comes out. sometimes it makes sense. sometimes not. sometimes it is good, sometimes not. sometimes it is disturbing... well most times it is i think... it is just a form of therapy for a soul that feels dead on the inside. i call the process "bleeding", because when i get in the mood things just flow out of me.

    this is one i wrote this morning. it is called Smile

    Smile

    i wear a fake smile.
    i project confidence,
    and happiness,
    and sexiness,
    while i secretly wallow
    in the nothingness

    sometimes i let people
    see behind the facade.
    to see the real me.
    see the vulnerable me.
    see the sensitive me.
    see the anxious me.
    see the wonderful me.
    see the gentle me.
    see the benevolent me.
    see the malevolent me.
    see the angry me.
    see the hateful me....

    all of this
    lurks below the surface.
    do you really want to see?
    do you want to know the real me?

    i am good at hiding.
    i am good at faking.
    because i have to be
    to survive.

    i'm too sensitive for humanity.
    i'm too sensitive for people's games.
    i'm too sensitive for people's deceptions.
    i'm too sensitive for their cruelty.
    i'm too sensitive for their greed.
    i'm too sensitive for human nature.

    i will go to bed a mess.
    i will wake up again tomorrow.
    i will put on my fake smile.
    i will hide.
    i will survive.
    and i will thrive.

    this reminds me SO much of someone dear to me. To a "T".
    thx for sharing
    Is it over yet? #ITMFA  #ETTD
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    he's been down,
    for longer than he cares to remember.
    he's wanted to go to sleep
    and not wake up for months now.
    he is long overdue for something,
    something good.

    he'd been told
    that bad things come in threes.
    by his last count,
    it has been 7 or 8, at least.
    all in a row.

    he wonders,
    "when does it end?"
    the deaths,
    the illnesses,
    the heart ache,
    the heart break,
    the death of friendships
    that were cherished.
    the abandonment,
    the regret...
    the loneliness...
    it all takes a toll.

    he has prayed a thousand nights,
    that he could go to sleep,
    and call it a life.
    he's bargained with a god
    that he knows does not exist.
    his once handsome face,
    now an atlas of lines and wrinkles.
    ashamed, he hides it behind
    a graying beard.

    he's weathered storms before,
    but not this long.
    not this bad.
    the pain is his companion now.
    like a tattoo, it is always there,
    and will always remain.

    he never thought he would consider,
    the fortune of good health,
    to be a burden,
    or a cross to bear,
    but he does.
    he feels like he is doing time,
    a prisoner in his mind,
    even though he is free.

    he has hope.
    but at the end of the day,
    what does hope really get you?
    it is like spending all of the money
    that you never had.
    he knows that life doesn't always go,
    the way we plan it,
    the way we want it to go.
    the way we hope it goes.

    he knows life is a gamble.
    you can not win every hand.
    all you can do is ante up,
    and see what happens.
    he goes it alone,
    into the unknown,
    into the eye of the storm.
    it is calm for now.
    he waits.
    he hopes...
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    that "oh shit!!" moment
    where you run into an ex
    that you loved...
    things ended in an ugly manner.
    you forgive her, but you are not sure
    if she forgives you?

    the moment where you see her,
    recognize her,
    and your sphincter puckers up
    as you duck your head and
    walk the other way
    hoping she did not see you...

    yeah that moment
    just happened..
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    people make this mistake often.
    they confuse vulnerability
    with weakness.

    vulnerability is rooted
    in honesty.
    it is rooted in truth.
    it is rooted in trust.
    it is being naked
    for everyone to see.
    it is letting someone see
    exactly what it takes
    to break you.
    it is opening a door
    for them to take advantage of you.
    it is letting them see the real you.
    it is letting them into
    your own little world.
    where you live.
    where you feel safe.
    what your interests are.
    what your dreams
    and desires are.
    what your needs are.
    what you need emotionally
    to make the relationship work.
    what your fears are.
    what makes you cower
    and become weak.

    being able to be vulnerable
    is a sign of incredible strength.
    and to do it repeatedly
    makes you even stronger.
    those who take advantage
    of you are the weak ones.
    because it is easy.
    it is easy to grab
    the low hanging fruit.
    it is easy to rip
    it from the tree.
    it is easy to
    chew it up and swallow it,
    or even spit it out.
    there is little effort in that.
    while trusting someone enough
    to be vulnerable in front of them
    is where the real effort lies.

    in my life experience,
    people are predatory by nature.
    i have had my share
    of selfish, of opportunistic,
    of ambitious people
    who have done their best
    to break me and make me feel weak.
    i am vulnerable
    because it is who i am.
    i am a true open book.
    i let people in.
    some would say i am stupid,
    or too trusting, or too naive
    because it has resulted
    in disaster countless times.
    but i can not be
    anybody but who i am.
    and that is where
    my strength lies.
    from within.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    10/26/13- Jennifer


    i don't know where i'm going.
    i'm adrift.
    adrift in lonliness.
    since you left.
    you never even said
    that you were going,
    or why.
    i thought i deserved at least that...

    i care about you.
    i care about your girls.
    i'm invested in us.
    i'm invested in them.
    i was the dad they never had.
    i care about their future.
    now it is them
    who call, and not you.
    it says way more about you
    than it does me
    for you to end things that way.
    we are adults.
    we have been through the shit together.
    at least a "goodbye" was in order.
    not the bullshit silence you gave.
    no reason.
    no justification.
    i'm sure you have your reasons,
    whatever the fuck they are this week.

    i'm a man.
    i have honor.
    i have integrity.
    when things go bad,
    these are all i have.
    i have things i believe in.
    i have things i will tolerate,
    and things that i won't.
    i wish i could say
    the same things for you.

    turns out i never knew you at all Jen.
    i knew what you allowed me to know.
    nothing more than that.
    fuck you for that.

    there is a lesson
    in our failure.
    somewhere.
    i can't find it.
    no matter how i search.
    maybe i will one day.
    then again, maybe i won't.
    i just hope that i am
    alert enough to recognize it,
    when and if
    it shows itself..
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    10/27/13

    Matthew "Bruno" Clarke, Jan 1972-Nov 1987- An Unfinished Life

    Dear Matt,
    it's been a long time.
    Twenty six years next month.
    yeah, i called you Matt.
    i know you hated that name,
    but had you lived
    you would be 41 now,
    and no doubt would have dropped
    your nickname Bruno long ago,
    just like the rest of us
    dropped our nicknames as we aged.

    You were 15, we were 12.
    you were our idol.
    you were the rebel,
    you were the kid who screamed
    "fuck you!" to the authority figures in our lives.
    you were a skater.
    you had a mohawk.
    you were into bands
    like the cure, and
    dead kennedys.
    you played guitar.
    you were athletic.
    girls loved you.
    you took no shit from cops,
    and we all thought that was
    the coolest thing ever.

    you rode our bus.
    you were the leader of our crew.
    for some reason,
    you were only a year ahead of us in school.
    none of us ever bothered to ask why
    you were so much older.
    did you fail a grade or two?
    did you start school late?
    did your shitty home life have a bearing on that?
    i guess it didn't matter in the scheme of things.
    you organized the pickup football games,
    the baseball games, and the hockey games
    at the church after school.
    you were the commissioner of
    the Obnoxious Hockey League...
    those were the days.
    the carefree days when we would get off the bus,
    run home, change clothes,
    grab our stuff and meet at the church field
    for whatever game we were playing that day.
    it was not like today, where kids play their xbox
    when the get home and do their homework
    on electronic tablets.
    you were the leader.
    you were the peacekeeper.
    if two of us got in a fight,
    you beat the shit out of both of us.
    you would not stand for bullying.
    you would not let anyone pick on
    or belittle someone else.
    bullying was rampant in those days.
    i was bullied, and you protected me
    several times.
    when you spoke, people listened.
    you would say,
    "meet at the field at 4:30, baseball today."
    and we all showed up.
    i think we were all scared to no-show on you
    because we would have to face you
    on the bus the following morning.
    you had a great sense of fair play.
    i see a lot of myself in how you were.
    as i grew up, i took after you in many ways.

    i will never forget the very last thing
    you ever said to me.
    "we are playing football today.
    it is starting to get dark early,
    so be there as close to 4 as possible.
    bring your football, mine is flat..."
    you had a deeper voice than all of us.
    you had changed, we hadn't yet.
    you had the deep voice of a man.
    we had the squeaky voices of young boys.
    i said "ok, see ya there..."
    you exited the bus,
    and that was the last time i saw you alive.

    i got to the field and you weren't there.
    we waited for an hour. then another.
    it was strange you not being there.
    you were always the first one there,
    and the last one to leave.
    i know now why that was.
    you had a terrible home life,
    and you had to be out of the house as much as possible
    to avoid it.
    we had heard rumors.
    we heard about
    the arguments,
    the abuse,
    the beatings.
    we saw the bruises.
    we saw the cuts.
    you said you fell off of your board.
    i had seen you skate,
    and you were good.
    how could you fall so often
    when we were not around to witness it??

    as we waited for you,
    we saw the cops,
    we saw the firetruck,
    and we saw the ambulance
    speed by us headed toward your house.
    we thought nothing of it.
    we saw your mom leave the church.
    she had been there at choir practice.
    she was crying.
    she drove in the same direction as the
    emergency vehicles.
    it never registered to us
    that something might be wrong at your house.

    it got dark.
    you never showed.
    we kinda could not wait
    to give you shit for no-showing us
    the next morning.
    i went home. it was wednesday
    and i had ice hockey practice
    on wednesday evenings.
    i grabbed my stuff and went to practice.
    as far as i knew, nothing was amiss.
    i got home about 9:30 that night.
    i was carrying my stuff into the house,
    and the phone rang.
    my dad answered.
    your neighbor tina, who was in my grade
    called and talked to my dad.
    she did not want to talk to me.
    i was standing there and i heard my dad say
    "oh god, no. when? how? do you know why??"
    i knew something was terribly wrong
    because my dad was always so calm and laid back.
    he said "i'm so sorry tina. i will let him know..."
    and he hung up the phone.
    i said "what was that all about."
    my mom was looking on with concern.
    dad said,
    "sit down son."
    he had never called me son before that moment.
    "that was tina from your bus calling.
    i don't know how to tell you this,
    but Bruno's dead.....
    he shot himself this afternoon...
    i'm so, so sorry son.."
    i was numb. i asked
    "did he do it on purpose??"
    he said "yes son. he shot himself in the head."
    that was the first time i ever saw my dad cry.
    the second time i saw my mom cry.
    i did not cry right away.
    i was in shock.
    i could not grasp what you had done.
    i could not grasp the finality of it.
    i could not grasp that i was never
    going to see my idol again...
    i was not sad. i was not angry.
    i was numb. i could not understand...

    the next day at school
    was so surreal.
    it was somber on the bus.
    word had already spread,
    and every kid seemed to know
    about the night before.
    school was quiet.
    they had counselors there
    to talk to us if we needed it.
    i did not talk to them.
    i was taught to never show emotion.
    pretty ironic that i became the
    most emotional person i know...
    i remember i was wearing
    that orange and white
    tampa bay buccaneers jersey
    that you used to haze me about.
    the lack of your presence in the cafeteria
    was palpable.

    your funeral was a couple of days later.
    i will never forget the way you looked
    lying there in your casket.
    they had you in this
    dress shirt and tie,
    with a blue sweater over it.
    your mohawk had been combed over
    and it was cut into a more normal looking
    hairstyle.
    they had placed a rosary in your hands.
    we knew you.
    you would have been angry
    about the haircut, but
    you would have been irate about the rosary.
    they did not know you.
    we did. and we were offended by what we saw.
    whoever did the makeup
    did the best they could,
    but it did not look like you one bit.
    i will always remember the way you were,
    and then the bastardization of it in your casket.

    things were never the same after you died.
    the games at the church never continued.
    we had lost our protector
    and had fallen victim to bullies
    because you were not there to protect us.
    after you died the truth began to trickle out.
    we heard real stories of beatings
    and abuse. we hated your dad.
    i do not think i have ever
    had more contempt for a human
    before that or since that
    than i have for your dad.
    your mom's jet black hair
    became gray in less than a year.

    we lost more than a friend when you died.
    we all, every one of us,
    lost our collective innocence that day.
    and you took it from us.
    young people don't die.
    old people die.
    that is what they do.
    up until then,
    the worst thing that could happen in our world
    was to get grounded for some reason,
    or to get an atomic wedgie or something.
    but the way you died,
    by your own hand,
    and without a note or anything,
    it fucked all of us up.
    we could not get closure.
    we could not process it.
    we had no idea what was going through
    your mind at that time.
    you left us nothing.
    you left us to pick up the shattered pieces of
    our lives.
    which we slowly did.

    i think about the things i have gotten to do
    that you never did.
    i went to high school.
    i had a sweetheart.
    you never got to drive a car.
    you never got to drink a beer with us.
    you never got to go to school.
    you never had sex.
    you never grew up.
    you are a perpetual 8th grader.
    your problems were bad ones.
    i know that now.
    i held on to a lot of anger and resentment
    against you. for years.
    to this day,
    when my relationships end,
    i have to have closure.
    i struggle with the breakup, until i get that closure.
    it is all because i never got it from you when you died.
    open wounds never heal.
    they just hurt a little less with time.
    i never forgave you for what you did.
    but now i see.
    now i see that the signs were there.
    you gave away your skateboard the week before.
    you gave away your prized remote control car.
    you said you were getting another one and that
    you no longer needed that stuff.
    you offered me your hockey stick,
    but it was a right handed one.
    i shoot lefty.
    i might have taken it had i known
    what you were about to do...
    looking back,
    if i knew then what i know now
    i would have asked you about your home life.
    i regret like hell that i never did back then.

    i did learn something from you though.
    no less than 40 times in my 38 years
    i thought about joining you on the other side.
    like honestly considered it.
    i had written letters,
    i had planned how to do it.
    i had looked in my life insurance policy
    to see if suicide was covered.
    shockingly enough, it is...
    but then i remember how i felt.
    i remember how we all felt
    the day you died, and the years following.
    you had an unfinished life.
    if i died, mine would be unfinished too.
    and i can't have that.
    i can not leave all of the people i love
    here to pick up the pieces.
    i have to power through.
    i have the tools in place to do that.
    you didn't.
    and i am so, so very sorry
    that things happened the way they did.
    i miss you all the time.
    every time i see a skater.
    every time i see a kid with a mohawk.
    every time i see an older kid looking out for younger ones.
    every time i hear the cure,
    every time the fall comes,
    i think of you.
    i think of the times we shared.
    i wonder how things might have been different had you lived.
    i wonder if you are proud of who i became.
    i wonder if you think that i am wasting my life that i have.
    am i wasting the years that i have that you never had?
    your opinion of me mattered more than anybody else's back then.
    i grew up to emulate you.
    i never bullied others.
    i never took advantage of others.
    if i saw injustice i tried to right it.
    i developed the integrity and the sense of right and wrong
    that you instilled in us.
    i stood up for what was right.
    i defended those who could not defend themselves.
    i acted in a way that you would have wanted me to act.
    i did my best, to make sure that your legacy lived on
    through me.

    i heard your dad died a month ago.
    i hope that you never run across him
    on the other side.
    i hope that that night,
    you were able to give yourself the peace that you never had here.
    i want you to know that you are not forgotten.
    every time we sit around a campfire with a beer
    your name comes up.
    something like...
    "man, bruno would have loved this..."
    or
    "remember that time when bruno
    fell in the dogshit playing football??"
    we remember the good times, and speculate
    about the times that never happened.
    we imagine you being married
    with 3 or 4 little hellions just like their dad.
    and we laugh.
    i think you would have been happy with life
    had you lived.

    i am 38 now.
    that was a long time ago.
    and your death has had a more profound
    impact on my life than i ever realized.
    as i write this, i realized i never mourned
    the way i was supposed to.
    i tried to bury it, instead of embrace it and let it go.
    i am sorry that i never visited your grave.
    for the longest time
    it felt like us kids were not wanted there.
    as we got older,
    i think visiting you became less of a priority
    because i think we knew you could see us.

    we all turned out ok. for the most part.
    except for those dumbasses Jason, Jeff,
    and Eugene. they went to jail for some stupid things.
    we all knew that they had no chance though. even at
    12 and 15, we knew that.
    the rest of us escaped.
    the rest of us got out of
    that shithole neighborhood.
    i only wish you had made it too.
    and that you made it out alive,
    instead of making it out dead....

    this letter is so much longer than i wanted it to be
    when i sat down to write it.
    26 years is a lot of time to have things build up,
    and it comes out like a flood.
    if you were here you would have probably been
    mad at me for wasting your time with this long letter...
    i guess i just wanted to say that
    i love you Matt.
    I always have.
    i will never forget you.
    i forgive you for what you did.
    sometimes we have to do whatever it is
    that we have to do.
    i let go of the anger, and i let go of the pain.
    but it is still there.
    some days worse than others, but it never completely went away.
    maybe one day it will.
    i am waiting for that day.

    take care, my friend.

    Rod
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • chadwickchadwick up my assPosts: 21,157
    Fight Night

    Well it is here.
    The time has come.
    All of the restless nights,
    All of the early mornings,
    All of the weights moved,
    All of the miles run,
    All of the sparring,
    All of the jiu jitsu,
    All of the muai thai,
    All of the footwork
    and agility drills,
    All of the bumps and bruises,
    and submissions.
    All of the rounds logged.
    All of the doctor’s visits.
    All of the dieting,
    All of the pep talks,
    All of the mental training
    and visualization,
    And all of the times I have wanted to quit,
    have come down to this.
    Two months of work,
    have come down to this night.

    I am in my locker room.
    Pacing with nervous energy.
    I can’t sit still.
    I am about to be in a fight.
    I peer through the curtains.
    “There must be a few hundred people here..”
    My hands are taped tight,
    four ounce gloves on my hands.
    Fingers exposed so that I can
    grapple and grasp and clench.
    I jump rope to burn off the nerves.
    I hit the target mitts.
    I don’t know much about my opponent,
    but I say over and over again,
    “I am going to finish this guy….”

    I am not scared.
    There is no time for that.
    The time for that is past.
    There is no place for that,
    in the mind of a warrior.
    If I were scared,
    I would not have agreed to this.
    I have been in a dozen fights before.
    But nobody as strong as this guy.
    Nobody as quick as this guy.
    Nobody as experienced as this guy.
    When I win I have to make the choice.
    “Do I get serious about this
    and turn pro? Do I move to California,
    or Iowa? Or maybe Arizona?
    Do I take a chance and go for something
    that nobody I know has experienced?
    Do I go for it?
    Or do I walk away and give it up??”

    I have my doubts.
    Doubts in my abilities.
    Holes in my game.
    Vulnerabilities
    that better fighters can exploit.
    Some have quietly said
    that I am in over my head this time.
    But it is those people
    that I have to prove myself to.
    It is those people who are negative.
    It is those people who are a drain on
    me and my confidence.
    I have no place for people like that.
    All I have are my team,
    my coaches, and my cutman.
    Those are the only people in my corner.
    Those are the ones who got me to this point.
    Sure I did the work,
    but they were the ones who kept me motivated.
    I will not let them down.
    They worked as hard for this as I have.
    They have my back.

    I hear the ring announcer
    announce the winner of the fight.
    Now it is my turn.
    Time to put this energy to use.
    Time to begin the chess match
    that is mixed martial arts.
    I hear the music over the PA.
    It is some hip hop song I don’t know.
    It plays for a few minutes.
    I hear the roar of the crowd.
    I look through the curtain again.
    I see my foe already in the cage.
    “He is bigger than I thought he was.
    Doesn’t matter. I’ve beaten bigger.”
    I hear my music over the PA.
    Mouth for War by Pantera.
    The song means nothing to me.
    It is just something I play
    to pump me up for a fight.
    I walk barefoot
    down the long concrete aisle,
    corner men in tow.

    Focused now,
    my mission on my mind.
    I do not even look at the crowd
    because it is a distraction.
    I don’t even notice my girlfriend
    blowing me a kiss.
    She is nervous.
    She reads me like a book.
    I don’t want her to see the
    anxiety in my eyes.
    Only my resolve, and
    determination that I am projecting.
    You have to be focused
    when a man bigger than you
    wants to switch your lights off.
    At cageside now.
    Music still on.
    Referee pats me down.
    Checks my fingernails,
    hands, and gloves.
    They are up to muster.
    I knock on my cup
    to prove it is there.
    Mouthpiece in.
    Vaseline on my brows,
    nose and cheeks.
    I am ready.
    There is no going back now.
    Nerves are at a fever pitch now,
    as I amble up the steps into the cage.
    The door closes behind me.
    Nowhere to run now,
    except right through the man across from me.

    I see my foe
    He is massive.
    His face is scarred.
    His nose is crooked.
    He looks to have had a rough life.
    And I begin to wonder
    “How the hell did I get here???”
    You can always tell a fighter.
    They always have a crooked nose.
    If someone says they are a fighter
    and their nose is straight,
    you know they are full of shit.
    It’s just him and I now.
    And another man
    to stop the fight if it gets out of hand,
    or if someone gets switched off,
    or if someone submits.
    All I know is,
    “It ain’t gonna be me….”
    We meet at the center of the cage.
    We are nose to nose,
    Him looking down on me
    from his 4 inch height advantage.
    Rules are read.
    We touch gloves
    and go back to our corners.
    Nowhere to run now.
    even though for the first time in my life,
    I wanted to.
    I feel fear for the first time.
    Fear is the enemy.
    Fear will defeat you before
    your opponent does.
    Anxiety is good.
    Anxiety is excitement.
    Fear is deadly.
    It distracts you, and if you are distracted
    for a single second. The fight can end.
    It is that fast.
    But I am ready.

    Opening buzzer.
    Round one.
    We meet at the center of the cage.
    We circle.
    I hear the excited roar of the crowd.
    I try to block it out.
    Still circling, measuring distance.
    I hear my corner
    “Slip the jab!
    Watch the low kick!
    Move your feet!
    Hands up!
    Stick and move!
    Chin down!!”
    So many instructions to process.
    I throw a jab.
    Pops him in the cheek.
    I throw another,
    Same result.
    “I can do this!!”
    He backs me against the cage.
    We clench.
    We dirty box.
    He stomps my bare feet.
    “What a dick!!” I think.
    Referee separates us,
    but he did not break clean.
    Hard right hits my nose.
    I wasn’t expecting that.
    My hands were down at the break.
    “Protect yourself at all times”
    I remember the referee saying at the beginning.
    I should have heeded that.
    Eyes watering now.
    They always do
    when you take one in the nose.
    I fight to keep my hands up
    as I eat a few more hard shots.
    I back away from him
    to get a second to compose myself.
    I taste my blood mixed with snot.
    He jabs again, I slip and counter.
    My hand hurt when I hit him then.
    We clench again.
    I go for a single leg,
    Stuffed.
    His defense is outstanding.
    “I have to wear him down..”
    We clench against the cage.
    More dirty boxing.
    I am leaning on him to make him tired.
    He is talking to me but I can’t make it out,
    Mouthpiece makes it impossible.
    We break clean.
    He starts with the leg kicks.
    I hate those things.
    Shin bone across muscle.
    Soon muscle spasms,
    and then you can barely stand
    let alone generate any offense.
    A good leg kick
    sounds like a baseball bat
    hitting a raw steak.
    I avoid a kick,
    grab his leg, and I take him down,
    I am in his guard now.
    I am good at passing the guard.
    I am dangerous from the top,
    but his defense again is good.
    I struggle to pass the guard.
    I get by one of his legs.
    The buzzer sounds....
    End of round 1.
    I don’t know who won that one,
    But I think he might have.

    I am sitting in my corner.
    Water on my face.
    Ice on my neck.
    I taste blood still.
    I am frazzled.
    My hand hurts.
    I think it is broken.
    But I have to fight through that shit.
    Ice on my leg where the kicks
    Found their mark.
    Instructions from my cornermen.
    Adrenaline-soaked
    cotton applicators up my nostrils.
    It is so hard to focus.
    Bleeding stopped, eyes dry,
    cornermen out,
    Buzzer sounds.

    Round 2.
    Have to keep my hands up.
    Have to play defense
    while generating offense.
    It is hard to do. Normally you
    can only do one or the other.
    “I have to push the pace and take
    It to this guy!” I tell myself.
    I hate pushing the pace.
    I would rather let him come to me
    and let me counter. That is my strength.
    More leg kicks land.
    Hard to stand now.
    My punches are landing.
    Good combinations,
    jabs, hooks, uppercuts.
    But they are doing little damage.
    He is winning this fight.
    I hit him with a hard right and he is cut!!
    He is bleeding badly
    from the brow.
    It is running down his face.
    I got him where I want him.
    Time for a takedown.
    I go for a double leg
    And I get it.
    He is on his back, I am on top of him.
    The crowd roars.
    I go for hammerfists and elbows
    to the face.
    It is called “ground and pound”.
    I have won most of my fights this way.
    He is in trouble now.
    He grabs onto my left wrist
    with both hands.
    I was posting on the left hand
    to give myself balance for the
    ground and pound.
    Lazy move on my part…
    He pulls me on top of him
    And now I am in his guard.
    “FUCK!! What do I do now?
    That was my chance!! I had him!!!”
    I try to push away to create space
    so I could rain more shots on him.
    But he is too strong.
    His grip is too tight.
    I panic for a second.
    “What do I do?? What do I do??
    I can’t pass it!! I have been in the guard a million times.
    I can do this!”
    I am frazzled.
    I pause, and that is just enough time
    for him to hit me in the eye
    with an elbow….
    “HOLY SHIT! What just happened??”
    I can’t see. I saw a flash of light and
    then it sounded like my head was in a bucket.
    The cage is spinning, I am dizzy.
    I am rocked.
    I look down and there is a massive pool of blood.
    All over the mat, and all over his chest and neck.
    It is MY blood.
    I am cut.
    Badly.
    I still can’t see.
    “This is BAAAAAAD!!” I think.
    I lean on him to close space and play defense.
    I am bleeding worse than I ever have before.
    It is running out of my face and on to his.
    I have to do something.
    The doctor is gonna stop this one if I don’t.
    Out of desperation,
    I post up with my right arm,
    to try to rain left elbows onto a face that I can’t see.
    He grabbed my right wrist from the mat.
    In a flash he pulled it across my body just under my throat.
    I feel his leg go around by head
    and rest on the back of my neck.
    “I know what this is,” I think to myself….
    Triangle choke. It is in deep…
    I am fucked.
    “Just relax, dig the elbow into his gut and hold on…”
    I feel him squeeze tight.
    My head feels like it will explode,
    like my eyes will blast out of my skull.
    I can’t breathe.
    I can’t scream.
    I can’t tap.
    And just like that.
    Just that fast.
    I go to sleep.

    http://youtu.be/IjmBPFPTq-g
    for your entertainment... 'krav maga'



    i like that you're writing in here these days
    for poetry through the ceiling. ISBN: 1 4241 8840 7

    "Hear me, my chiefs!
    I am tired; my heart is
    sick and sad. From where
    the sun stands I will fight
    no more forever."

    Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    chadwick wrote:
    http://youtu.be/IjmBPFPTq-g
    for your entertainment... 'krav maga'



    i like that you're writing in here these days
    yeah man i have heard about that. that is the israeli special forces stuff. i can handle myself ok, but i would get killed by any one of those guys. thanks for posting that. it is a good reminder that there is always someone out there who is a better fighter than you. that uncertainty is what has kept me out of most bar fights in my lifetime. thankfully.

    thanks for the encouragement chad. it means a lot to me to hear you say that.

    my style is kind of screwed up, but it is just free flow. i never edit anything, and i leave it as i write it, in first draft form. most of my songs are like that too. it is just art. it is not supposed to be perfect or follow any rules. it is just catharsis for me. a form of therapy. my stuff is nowhere near as good as some of the stuff i have seen you post. it took me a long time, like 9 years, to get around to posting here because i was scared. now i figure if all of you people can do it, and be vulnerable and open to other peoples' criticisms, i can be too. :)
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    10/28/2013

    i heard from you tonight.
    out of the blue.
    i was not expecting that,
    but i welcomed the advance.
    we talked for awhile.
    the swords were down.
    i kept waiting
    for you to raise yours,
    but you didn't.
    it's the first time
    we were able to talk
    without fighting
    in i don't know how long.

    you said that you were sorry,
    and i forgave you.
    i apologized to you,
    and you forgave me too.
    i can't tell you how long
    i had been waiting for that talk.
    years maybe?
    that is how it felt anyway.
    it felt good to say
    what needed to be said.
    it felt good to hear,
    whatever it was,
    that i needed to hear.

    so what now?
    what becomes of "us"?
    is there an "us" to speak of?
    will there ever be,
    an "us" again?
    is an "us" even possible,
    considering all that's happened?
    at this point,
    i don't know.

    betrayal is a killer.
    a murderer of relationships.
    there is nothing that
    is worse than that.
    it undermines the entire trust
    on which we built our lives.
    it turns the concrete foundation,
    into a pit of quicksand.
    where everything is swallowed,
    and nothing can stand.

    if i am forgiven,
    then why do i feel so bad?
    i bared my conscience
    to you tonight.
    i held nothing back.
    perhaps it is because
    the reckoning,
    it came and it went
    quietly.
    no explosions.
    no casualties.
    just quiet.
    it was peaceful,
    while i had been expecting a fight.

    you never really know someone,
    until you know what they
    are capable of.
    you can see it in the way
    that they treat others.
    i thought i needed you.
    and then i think of what you did.
    suddenly, i am reminded that,
    as miserable as i am now,
    i am better off alone.
    i can't go back now.
    i can't go back and risk it.
    i can't give my heart back to you
    because i can no longer
    trust you with it.

    behavior past,
    is the best indication
    of what's in store.
    based on that,
    you will do it again.
    i know that, now.
    maybe there is a gift in all of this.
    a lesson to be learned.
    and that lesson learned
    is the growth i needed,
    to go forward.
    to move beyond all of this.
    alone.
    now, on to the next phase...
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • I commend you on how vunerable you are, it takes a lot of balls to spill your guts !


    I love how raw and vunerable Bleeding is.
    I can really relate to What I learned about love, the constant battles back and forth is so true but it is why we all crave love as well I think

    great job :)
  • chadwickchadwick up my assPosts: 21,157
    chadwick wrote:
    http://youtu.be/IjmBPFPTq-g
    for your entertainment... 'krav maga'



    i like that you're writing in here these days
    yeah man i have heard about that. that is the israeli special forces stuff. i can handle myself ok, but i would get killed by any one of those guys. thanks for posting that. it is a good reminder that there is always someone out there who is a better fighter than you. that uncertainty is what has kept me out of most bar fights in my lifetime. thankfully.

    thanks for the encouragement chad. it means a lot to me to hear you say that.

    my style is kind of screwed up, but it is just free flow. i never edit anything, and i leave it as i write it, in first draft form. most of my songs are like that too. it is just art. it is not supposed to be perfect or follow any rules. it is just catharsis for me. a form of therapy. my stuff is nowhere near as good as some of the stuff i have seen you post. it took me a long time, like 9 years, to get around to posting here because i was scared. now i figure if all of you people can do it, and be vulnerable and open to other peoples' criticisms, i can be too. :)

    well, sir

    not many would ever even wanna tangle with a krav maga specialist; we like our arms & legs & necks unbroken. those dudes are way badass. they're possibly more badass than a navy seal or the two are about as even as it comes. israeli commandos do train seals over there in israel. i watched a video on it yesterday. ruthless

    you, me, anyone, can & should write poetry & put some of it here. let me give you a suggestion on overcoming fears of ppl reading your stuff.

    write a love/romantic poem for some hot ass broad you like & then read it to your mom. after a few times ..... easy breezy.. way back when, i read almost all my writings to my mom as i wanted a judge. i think it worked great & she was a good judge. was it shit? was it decent? was it killer?

    we're all different & we each have our strengths. this here is mine as it is my pleasure, my medicines, my torturous self & so on. i am pleased writing has drove me mad

    now... let's discuss book lice, yes/no? little fuckers are all over
    for poetry through the ceiling. ISBN: 1 4241 8840 7

    "Hear me, my chiefs!
    I am tired; my heart is
    sick and sad. From where
    the sun stands I will fight
    no more forever."

    Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    I commend you on how vunerable you are, it takes a lot of balls to spill your guts !


    I love how raw and vunerable Bleeding is.
    I can really relate to What I learned about love, the constant battles back and forth is so true but it is why we all crave love as well I think

    great job :)
    thanks for your feedback and encouragement :D

    yeah, writing this stuff is just like writing songs and posting them on facebook or playing them in front of an audience. i just write about what i know. my experiences and my feelings. everything i have written about in this thread is honest and it is all true. the way i see it, if you stick with the truth, you will never have to remember the bullshit later. just tell it like it happened and tell what you really feel about something or someone, ya know? if people can't handle it that is not the problem of the writer. the writer is just throwing things out there and if people read it and like it all the better.

    people can tell honesty when they read it. they can tell passion when they read it. they can tell bullshit when they see it. base things on truth and you can embellish with BS later if you need to. turns out my reality i have posted about has not needed a whole lot of embellishment to this point.

    that one about love vs "love" is one that i like too. the one without the quotes is the real one, and the one in quotes is the one that is not real, or it is figurative, ya know?
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    yeah you can say that again, i would never want to tangle with one of those guys. those special forces guys are a different breed. they can do things that normal guys like you and i can never do. me, i had a hard enough time punching people in the face, or cranking on a choke when i was fighting. it is really not in my nature to do those things, but when someone is trying to kick your ass, your fight instinct kicks in, so then i don't feel so bad. i have elbowed people and cut them pretty bad and i always feel very bad after that because elbows leave scars. bad ones.

    i think posting on here is somethng i have been needing to do for awhile. i feel better the last week or so since i have been putting stuff out there. it is helping me address shit that i had avoided addressing for awhile now. it is empowering i think.

    i will try that suggestion of writing a poem about a hotass woman that i like. at this point though, i don't know any. i have written some very powerful things about women in my life, but i am not looking at my past work here. i am wanting to write all new things. i will read one to my mom, but she thinks i am nuts as it is, so imagine me calling and say "hey mom, i want to read you this thing i wrote!" and she would be like "i thought you gave up on that 10 years ago :fp: :fp: " :lol: i would not want my mom reading what i have posted here. i might give her that letter i wrote to my friend bruno, but i do not want to peel off any old scabs for her at this point. she is almost 70 now, don't want to depress her with old stuff..

    i am glad that you love writing, chad. you have given me plenty to think about these last few years. i am just afraid that i am exposing too much of myself on here. but i don't know anyone on here really, so i guess it doesn't really matter. i view us all as peers here.

    sorry man, i can't discuss book lice, i don't know anything about them. :lol::lol:


    chadwick wrote:
    well, sir

    not many would ever even wanna tangle with a krav maga specialist; we like our arms & legs & necks unbroken. those dudes are way badass. they're possibly more badass than a navy seal or the two are about as even as it comes. israeli commandos do train seals over there in israel. i watched a video on it yesterday. ruthless

    you, me, anyone, can & should write poetry & put some of it here. let me give you a suggestion on overcoming fears of ppl reading your stuff.

    write a love/romantic poem for some hot ass broad you like & then read it to your mom. after a few times ..... easy breezy.. way back when, i read almost all my writings to my mom as i wanted a judge. i think it worked great & she was a good judge. was it shit? was it decent? was it killer?

    we're all different & we each have our strengths. this here is mine as it is my pleasure, my medicines, my torturous self & so on. i am pleased writing has drove me mad

    now... let's discuss book lice, yes/no? little fuckers are all over
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • catefrancescatefrances Posts: 29,003
    stronger and stronger my friend.... ;)8-)
    hear my name
    take a good look
    this could be the day
    hold my hand
    lie beside me
    i just need to say
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    stronger and stronger my friend.... ;)8-)
    we shall see what tomorrow brings. i got nothin today....
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • chadwickchadwick up my assPosts: 21,157
    well i don't wanna hijack your thread. i'll look up the topic 'booklice' & if not found i'll start one.
    for poetry through the ceiling. ISBN: 1 4241 8840 7

    "Hear me, my chiefs!
    I am tired; my heart is
    sick and sad. From where
    the sun stands I will fight
    no more forever."

    Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    chadwick wrote:
    well i don't wanna hijack your thread. i'll look up the topic 'booklice' & if not found i'll start one.
    no worries chad :lol::lol:
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    tell me everything.
    i won't judge.
    chances are i have done worse
    than you ever have...
    i want to know
    everything about you.
    your whole story.
    all of it.
    your past.
    your hopes.
    your dreams.
    your secrets.
    the things you are proud of.
    the things you are ashamed of.
    the risks that you took.
    and the risks you didn't.
    your regrets.
    the things you are scared of.
    what makes you tick.
    what makes you get out of bed every day.
    tell me
    what you want to be.
    what you want from life.
    what your interests are.
    what your intentions are.
    what you want from me...

    i don't know if i can measure up.
    i don't know if i can meet your needs.
    i don't know if i am your perfect guy.
    i don't know if any of that even matters yet.
    i don't know if i can make you happy.
    but i am gonna try.
    i will give it everything i've got.
    that much,
    i can promise you.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
  • chadwickchadwick up my assPosts: 21,157
    that's nice right there
    & from the heart

    good luck
    for poetry through the ceiling. ISBN: 1 4241 8840 7

    "Hear me, my chiefs!
    I am tired; my heart is
    sick and sad. From where
    the sun stands I will fight
    no more forever."

    Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
  • gimmesometruth27gimmesometruth27 St. Fuckin LouisPosts: 17,744
    chadwick wrote:
    that's nice right there
    & from the heart

    good luck
    thanks man.

    yeah i am kinda spinning at the moment...

    hopefully i am not spinning down the love drain again.
    "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."- Hemingway

    "i'm not here to start the fire. i am here to fan the flames..."

    If you have never failed, you have never lived.
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