Bleeding
gimmesometruth27
St. Fuckin Louis Posts: 23,303
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.
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.
"You can tell the greatness of a man by what makes him angry." - Lincoln
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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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.
and yes, you will survive
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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.
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
take a good look
this could be the day
hold my hand
lie beside me
i just need to say
thank you cate. i have a lot to say these days.
hopefully i can keep everyone entertained in some way
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
I always find you entertaining.. sarcasm???? :think:
:P
take a good look
this could be the day
hold my hand
lie beside me
i just need to say
:ugeek:
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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...
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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.
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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...
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
this reminds me SO much of someone dear to me. To a "T".
thx for sharing
Where I'm not ugly and you're lookin' at me
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...
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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..
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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.
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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..
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
http://youtu.be/IjmBPFPTq-g
for your entertainment... 'krav maga'
i like that you're writing in here these days
"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
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, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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...
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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
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
"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
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?
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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: "
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.
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
take a good look
this could be the day
hold my hand
lie beside me
i just need to say
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
"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
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
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.
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."
& from the heart
good luck
"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
yeah i am kinda spinning at the moment...
hopefully i am not spinning down the love drain again.
"Well, you tell him that I don't talk to suckas."