Young King.

What am I supposed to be when this chapter ends?
How am I supposed to live with memories turned to sediments?

Growing up, I was supposed to be the golden child.
Growing up, I had the mind of innocence on trial.
Growing up, I was berated to succeed by the troubles that affected me, mom, and dad and I took my place upon the stand to have answers of breaking through before I ever could say “I can”.

Now, I look upon golden locks slowly shading into brown.
Now, I’m a face that the family hasn’t seen in a long while.
Now, I look at my achievements as placeholders because they were never my intention, but they were other’s stepping stone to say “Don’t forget us when you make it!”

So, with greedy hands welcoming me back in, I struggle to keep constants in my life.

I have 2 consistent matters in my life: Depression and Love.
To Depression, I owe you my life because of what you have taken from me: my will, my wants, my desires, and my thoughts.
To Love, I owe you my life for giving me a reflected vision of the future with a loving wife because you give me strength to live with my shackled mind.

I’ve lost friendships.
I’ve lost successes.
I’ve lost family.
I’ve lost me.

As a young king, I’m scared for the next chapter.
As a young king, I know pain that hits harder than the tragedies of commonplace natural disasters.
As a young king, I know that I have a future to risk in order to find my true happiness.
And as a young king, I know I might find myself alone in a room with nothing but a mirror to see what therapy has brought to us.
A young king is a king that doesn’t know what his future holds.
A young king is a king that knows the future isn’t as long as others may hope.
A young king is a king who is always pushing, pushing to see another day come.

I have 2 constants in my life: depression and love.
I’ve told you this before we slept.
I saw a tear run short like the hike we have yet to take.
I saw pain as I spoke to you.
I heard your nightmares, and tried to wake you.
I know how fearful this future will be, so I don’t blame you if you’d care to leave.
I learned from you; joys and pains.
I taught you things; hurt and relief.
I’ll hold us both till my heart can’t heal, and on my last breath I’ll tell you truth and only truth of how glad I was to make you feel.

(Inspired by H.D. and the appreciation I have for the constant, troubling support.)

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Maybe it’s the gray clouds in the sky, but…

Maybe it’s the gray clouds in the sky, but a year ago, almost about this time, I wanted to die. I wanted to check out of this world and be free from this body bag of darkness because it was like I was the victim of an ongoing crime against life.

Maybe it’s the gray clouds in the sky, but I get that feeling from time to time like waves along the coastline. Side note: it’s weird how to me that I’ve never seen clear skies out of all of the times I went to the beach. We see crystal clear sun-kissed blue skies and clear ocean waters in videos and pictures. (I’m sure it’s puzzling because water is supposed to be clear, but tell that to the people from the lower financial brackets)

Maybe it’s the gray clouds in the sky, but I feel like I haven’t done enough. I have 5 self-published books, i graduated high school, received an associates degree from community college (I feel like I have to go back to pick up a couple more. (I did a lot of time at the CC)), received a bachelor’s degree in English with a focus in linguistics (I don’t even know linguistics), my family is doing by better, my friends are weird and amazing, and my heart is happy because of the special woman in my life. Yet, I feel like I haven’t done enough to be “successful”. Life is going aight.

Maybe it’s the gray clouds in the sky, but I’m remembering everything that led to me sitting in a therapist’s office. I remember the stories I told that led me to tears and breakdowns when my body couldn’t move from my bed to go. I remember cancelling appointments because the feeling wasn’t right. I remember wanting to cry, but nothing being wrong. I remember wanting to die and hiding that from my dad. I remember breaking down in front of him because my brother told him that I was going to therapy for depression and suicide. I remember telling a friend of mine while we were working. It started to rain and we went out to break, then I told him and like my brother he said, “Damn, Robert. We’re here for you, but you’ve gotta let us know. Ya know?” (There’s colorful language that I’m leaving out, but yeah)

Maybe it’s the gray clouds in the sky, but I don’t know why my mind loves to go back into the shackles of hurt. Brain stuff is complicated and extraordinary. There’s a lot of information that we’re finding out, but we don’t know jack about the mush beneath our hat.

Maybe it’s the gray clouds in the sky, but I’m reminded that depression and suicide are very much a part of me. It’s wild in a sad, funny way.

I’m in awe

of her selfless ways. She gives more than Latter Day Saints on a mission. She is the tree of life that I see in each light (bright, calm, and dim).

of her beauty. For Shakespeare could not compose a sonnet more beautifully than she could be. The sun kisses her and she brightens the orangish yellow we all see. The stars blush in the glittery night as she glistens under the moonlight. God could not paint a lifetime of faces more beautiful than hers.

of her work ethic. Her hands are as soft as they are hard at work. Her drive pushes faster than engines in a drag race. Her fire burns hotter than the core that moves the earth.

of her spirit. Her eyes scream in joy before her voice can reach her lips. She never seems to hold doubt in a smile, nor fear in the world of terror. She is the firework to a celebration, a candle to a birthday cake.

of her intelligence, above all else. Her mind is what draws me near, and keeps constant like a water droplet kissing Niagara Falls and flowing down river to the Atlantic and circling back. Her mind keeps me engaged; mentally and emotionally, I am a humble student at her feet as she teaches me in speech and words beyond the lips of a poet. Her mind keeps me questioning that which revolves around me; my past and unknown future, I am at ease with what I’ve done and where I’ve been with each disagreement hat our voices may carry us.

what i want.

¿Qué quiero?

Bien,

Quiero a alguien que me desafíe.

Quiero a alguien que pueda lidiar con mi mierda.

Quiero a alguien que pueda reírse de cualquier situación, y darle la vuelta para que puedan ser serias cuando el momento lo requiera.

Quiero a alguien inteligente; me hace trabajar para una conversación.

Quiero que alguien se cierre, así que cuando la confianza está allí, la confianza es real.

Quiero a alguien que sepa lo que quiere hacer con su vida, pero no sabe que saben lo que quieren con su vida.

En general, mi corazón está con alguien tan complicado, tan inteligente, tan inteligente y tan descortés como yo.

bebé de mayo.

ojos tristes un miércoles, lo veo. lo sé muy bien; así que como una luna de sangre a medianoche, lo veo. hablamos brevemente, como una llamada telefónica a través de visitas a la cárcel, y recordamos por qué los días de invierno son más fríos que sus noches. Le dije que la extrañaba; y como una víctima condenada a cadena perpetua, me mordí la lengua y me fui arrastrando los pies para soñar los sueños tranquilos que nunca van demasiado lejos. si ella solo lo supiera, y sintiera el dolor dentro de mí, sería una razón para siempre de que estaría herida de ver la vida.

ehs.

she is the sun to my dying rosebud; a bright light to my dull bulb. she’s the morning rain to my clouds of gray; giving me the rainbows to start my new day. she’s the cup of coffee on my morning drive; a splash of half and half to keep sweetness alive. she’s the wildflower over wild dreams; a calming new over the morning dew.

she’s the new same breath of air to my every stare; and she’s the greatest muse to a poet’s ear.

ella es.

ella es el sol para mi moribundo capullo de rosa; una luz brillante para mi bombilla opaca. ella es la lluvia de la mañana para mis nubes de gris; dándome los arco iris para comenzar mi nuevo día. ella es la taza de café en mi viaje matutino; un toque de medio y medio para mantener la dulzura viva. ella es la flor silvestre sobre sueños salvajes; una nueva calma sobre el rocío de la mañana.

ella es el nuevo aliento de aire en cada una de mis miradas; y ella es la musa más grande al oído de un poeta.

prime.

En raras ocasiones, sacamos todas las noches.

Prime horas de productividad es lo que ella llama el “aquí y ahora” para anotar y tachar todas sus metas.

Como un panadero con una tienda o un profesor que le asigna lecturas mucho, su mejor momento para leer, y lograr lo que la mayoría no puede en el 24, es justo antes de que el sol pueda alcanzar el horizonte.

Todas las voces guardan silencio y se dejan llevar por “lo que podría ser” mientras el mundo gira con tanta violencia.

Pacíficamente violento.

Deseo estar dormido, pero ella me llevó a un mayor avance.

The sun has yet to rise.

I’d look over with my eyes tightly shut so I don’t see her bright brown eyes staring back at me.

I feel the radiance from her glow.

Am I still dreaming or awake and this is all happening?

Every heart I’ve had a place in had windows of brown that let me peak into their soul.

She, whoever or how many ever there have been, have stared into mine and held it close to her, as to say I was always there for her.

Although right now is the prime time to be productive in every sense, I’m taken back to the mistakes I haven’t and won’t fix and that will tug at my heart strings till the day they snap like pick that slams through a too tight guitar riff.

I am productive and this new life would be proud of me, but I’m also lost in what the last life had never loved with me.

i said.

Toma la cosa más compleja del mundo, tú.

Puede representar los problemas u obstáculos más complejos para formas simples de barreras.

Con usted, incluso usted en su forma más complicada puede simplificarse (en este caso lo utilizaremos feliz) a través de acciones simples: acuerdos, tacos y otros alimentos, chistes malos, gaseamiento y pronombres o especificaciones adecuados en una conversación.

Pero cuando la vida es complicada más allá del control (clima), entonces solo podemos aceptarla tal como es y descubrir la simplicidad en lo que podemos controlar (nosotros mismos y nuestra felicidad) a través de unir lo complejo y lo simplista.

Orange Tulips.

Tulipanes naranjas en un domingo

Te escribo un lunes

Para decirte que estaré pensando en ti en mi viaje el martes

Lo leerás el miércoles

Y llámame raro el jueves

Pero sé que no significa nada cuando salgamos el viernes

Manténgase despierto más allá de la noche y acomódese en el perezoso sábado

Y en mi camino a casa, te contaré sobre las flores que amas en el día del Señor.