New shoes

I miss being a kid sometimes. The saying "Ignorance is bliss" didn't come from nowhere. When you don't know the true results, doing many things seems like so much fun. Having a rock fight as a kid was always fun until Tommy goes home crying with a lump on his forehead and bleeding. I remember me and my friends would always want to race after we got some new sneakers. It didn't matter if they were running shoes or not. We just knew our new sneakers made us run just that much faster. If I got some new Jordans or Reebok pumps, you didn't wanna see me on the basketball court. Even though it only took a few dribbles and missed shots to realize I was the same scrub who was playing the day before with some Diadoras on. But we didn't know any better.

From childhood it starts. Every year of elementary school, I couldn't wait to get to the next grade. Not knowing it just lead to harder and more work. Going from being the top grade at each level (5th & 8th) to the bottom of the bucket the next in middle and high school took a minute to get adjusted to. But for me the experience was part of the fun. I was an Army brat growing up. One of the best times of my life was 1st through 5th grade, always being the new kid in school. Between my mother being stationed in different parts of the country and me going to my hometown for a short period, I constantly stayed on the move and got to be the mysterious new kid that nobody knew. I lived my early life as a pair of new shoes.

In high school, driving was the next activity every kid looked forward to. Now half the people I know hate driving. We never knew that the anticipation was half the journey. We never knew that having something to look forward to was half the fun, not knowing what challenges were awaiting us. We looked forward to staying up as late as we wanted, drinking out of those weird shaped bottles, or smoking that stuff that smelled like a skunk had died in the room. Not knowing that there would be a time that all those things would eventually become old and regular for us (some of us), meanwhile loosing that same sense of newness. Even if we didn't do it early, we all have at one time or another we thought about sex. We saw some of the movie scenes that our parents didn't want us watching and we couldn't wait to make those sounds of enjoyment ourselves. That was until we learned about pregnancy, sexually transmitted diseases, and some of the emotional feelings that came with such a basic animal instinct. To many of us back then, sex was a new pair of sneakers.

Some of those same things we looked forward to were just like getting a new pair of shoes. We just knew that we could fly the length of the court if only we could do what we had our minds set on. We dreamed and imagined what it would be like doing what seemed to linger in the cortex of our mind, no matter how many other things we shoved in our head, trying to level out our thinking.

Some of us had good and prosperous thoughts that we looked forward to fulfilling. We thought things like finishing high school, graduating college, getting a good and dependable job. Many others of us just wanted to be free. Finally be free to do whatever it was that popped in our head on that day anyway. Maybe we'd think of something else the next day, but it didn't matter. Each day was a new adventure. Each day was like lacing up a new pair of kicks.

Then, like most things do, each activity gets old. The alcohol we wanted to drink, we either abuse it or throw up enough times that we learn a lesson and slow it down some. That same sex we waited for our freedom to be able to get whenever we wanted or were at least able to, we often forgot those feelings are paired with feelings like leaves to a tree.

The same things that we waited so long to be able to get on the regular are the exact same things we later on start to take for granted. We take for granted the good sex we get from the love of our lives. We forget about the hard work many of us put in to be able to get that good loving.

We take for granted the alcohol we can now drink whenever we want to. We take for granted the fact that we couldn't wait until we were old enough to buy it whenever we wanted to. We got use to getting drunk every weekend and passing out on the same couch it took us a while to save up and buy. We now have to get use to the fact that drinking is nothing more than smoking or having sex, we can have it whenever we want.

Things get old eventually. I wish they didn't sometimes. I wish that the things we chased and waited patiently for would always have the same excitement as when we sought being able to have them anytime we wanted. I wish we remembered the struggle and anticipation we had for the things we take for granted.
Don't take things for granted. Don't take the things we waited so long to get for granted. Don't take the love of a good woman for granted. After all, you're the one who spent all that time and effort to get that woman. Don't act like she doesn't mean anything to you now. Nobody is perfect, and that includes you. But don't let you being unappreciative be the reason for your falling out of love with the best woman you have ever met. Don't get too use to her to the point of wanting to discard her like an old pair of Converse.

We grow old of things, just like our old sneakers that we knew were the truth when we first got them.  But life is about dreaming and then hopefully achieving the things we dreamed about. Life is not about taking for granted the blessing bestowed upon us simply because we got use to the idea of having what we sought in the first place. Life is learning to love and wear some of the same shoes until the soles expose a bare foot.

Love your gifts and take them everyday as such, A GIFT. 
The gift we loved when we first got it is the same gift we have before us now; Appreciate it.

View from the bottom

Life is reaching for the next level. From the bottom, the view isn't always clear and free of dangers. We reach our foot out to the first stepping stone barely taking a hold of it with the tip of the toe. The clay and matter from the Earth beneath our feet squeeze through, the same as the mud does between our fingers that try to take a firm grip of the next plateau. We don't enjoy the trek much of the times, but know it is worthwhile to get to where we see ourselves.
The strength in our forearms is limited due to the inactivity of them, but we quickly realize that this work is what makes them stronger. We see that the simple effort of this work is what makes our muscles flex and our nerves come to the point of combustion, but we still hold on. The weight of the sidewalls is slowly starting to rain down onto our faces but there is enough light present that we still see the future of where we will be if we don't give in. The climb is tedious and strenuous but worthwhile in the end.
Days, weeks, months, years, and decades crawl by as we cling to the outer walls of our life. All while keeping our head and eyes to the skies above; All while fighting to keep ourselves up to the point we have gotten to; All while knowing that the time of dedication and work will pay off in the end once we are out of this hole. We climb on.
We get to a midpoint in the cavern that we are able to take refuge and celebrate for the achievement of reaching the point we have. We bask in the pride of accomplishment so much that many that get to this point end it here and sleep until the hole closes in on us. Many of us, on the other hand, are never satisfied with this mere feat. We see this point as just a resting point to getting to where we see ourselves, at the top. So we climb on. Cling back onto the same wall that has given us so much grief and strain. Our muscles have bulged to the point of not remembering when we had trouble holding on before. Now we are stronger. Now we climb with a stronger sense of purpose.
The beautiful view is still often diluted with sand, mud, and rock that fall upon our face while we climb. But we have long ago learned to see through these obstacles. We have learned many moons before not to let these temporary setbacks stop us from our target, that beautiful scenery we dream about. So we still climb on.
The seasons seem to be against us as we cling to the walls of this hole absorbing all the rain, snow, and heat that we can stand. Our skin has become as thick as an oak tree, withstanding all the perils that are seemingly thrown our way. The callus of our fingertips and feet are testament to the work ethic we have toward our goal. We continually climb on.
As our hand finally reaches the apex of this eternal hole, we glance back on what we have accomplished. We see a myriad of obstacles that we made it through. We marvel at our own strength. We hold our head higher with pride as we pull our aching and sore body through the top.
Then, as we are swimming in the enjoyment of the sun, and absorbing this experience of being more free than we have ever felt before, we notice the shimmer of a string. We have never seen this before. We have always been occupied in other matters, that this simple string attached firmly to our bodies was never noticed. As we trace the origins of the string, we follow it right to the source of the light that we have been following all our lives. We cannot free the string from the grip of the being that is behind the giver of the light. Then we finally see and realize, we never were in danger of falling in the first place. We never had a care in the world and the string gave us extra lift and pulled us through situations in the hole that we weren't even aware of. We were never in a situation that we were unable to handle because the support we had was unseen all along.
This support we had is what drove us to climb out of the hole and at the same time is what pulled us through situations that we didn't have the strength to do ourselves. We were and are never alone. There is always a support for us. Whether in the hole with us, or pulling our strings from beyond the light that we all are aiming to reach.
Our view was distorted by the agony of the challenge we were forced to make. We were never to make that journey alone, and we didn't ... and never will

No Balance and you fall on your face

Balance is part of what makes life beautiful, although life shows its ugly side at times too. That balance in itself is part of our make up. The ups and the downs, the good and the bad, the right and the wrongs are all in the equation. Life is choices and the balance of the choices that we make in it.
If we choose to be lazy, then we will pay for it in the long run. If we work too much, our families and friends will suffer due of our absence. If we choose to eat mostly junk food, our bodies become punishments waiting to happen. If we choose to eat only healthy, then we'll miss out on the joy of eating a cold ice cream on a hot Summer day. Our lives need balance.
I think reality shows like Love and Hip Hop, Basketball Wives, Jersey Shore, and bad music take too much blame for things. They are a justification for people to point their finger at something and say 'It their fault'. When any individual spends too many moments in front of the TV period, it makes for unbalance. Let alone consuming themselves with non productive programming that does nothing but entertain.
I watch some of these shows myself, but know they are strictly for entertainment. I don't act like Stevie J because of the last episode of Love and Hip Hop. I'm an adult. I hear people say that these shows shine a negative light on the way that black people act. They're right. But whether the TV camera is on them or not, that is how they live their life. It just happens to be on TV.
The problem is that we have a severe shortage of shows that show any race in a positive light that get a high rating and stay on air. Long before our lifetime, people of the world have a craving to see other people's drama and that will not end. In fact it may get worse. But when we have balance, we can see these shows and certain music for just what it is, entertainment.
I watch National Geographic, History, A&E, and other informative shows and channels, as well as some of these reality shows. I see nothing wrong with laughing at Scrappy telling the world 'He's wanna put his paws on em.' We, as adults are responsible for what our children are consumed with. As many of these reality shows I have seen since childhood, I would not allow my child to watch them because I'm the adult. Even though I wasn't far from his age, when I first started watching the Real World back in the day.
It's not a problem to God for us to eat food, but gluttony is a sin. Jesus made wine out of water, so I don't think he has a problem with us drinking alcohol. The problem arises when we loose ourselves in the consumption and become drunk. Seeking knowledge is a beautiful thing. But even if we read every word out of every book ever written, we will never know everything. So eventually that quest for knowledge can just as easily become a pursuit of power over others and then the true reason shows itself, our vanity.

We're not given all these emotions, thoughts, and feeling to only be one way... Balance helps to keep us from falling.

whips and chains...

Riding in the new whip, flossing silvery chains
what the forefathers ran from is what I'm trying to gain  [whips & chains]
I hide behind the glow to conceal my eyes and pain
speak my mind or hold my tongue. no cause for refrain
sold my soul for the whip, pull up to a fine dame
eyes get lost in the rims. these hoes are all the same
blasting stereo in my ears, I'll be deaf before my age
can't control myself. only emotion I show is rage
want people to read me but will only show one page
looking for help but won't allow myself to be saved
in my elder's words: I get all the blame
so I walk my own footsteps and go against the grain
me care what you think? must be insane
my mission is me so no need to complain
dressed to the tee, gotta image to maintain
saying I care more how I look than whats in my brain
I got that work if you need it, that pure cocaine
Oh, you're a shooter; can tell by your bruised up veins
I stay killing my own people, Saddam Hussein
whatever for the dollar. should of stayed in their lane
I know more about my lawyer than I do my own child
baby mother gets her money. so what I been absent for a while
my little man has my blood so I know he'll be versatile
got more kids than fingers, but sticking around ain't my style
I'm too busy making money and watching the money pile
my pops wasn't here, left my mother down the aisle
my life became a courtroom and my actions are the trial
yea, I spit a little game. women's feeling are too fragile
I got what I want, she got hers. she already knew the profile
so when she picked up that phone and started to dial
she knew the response, and arguing was futile
I been stopped caring about anything but myself
and doing, saying, or killing whoever to build my wealth
I don't care that I'm a reason for the black family's fall
I don't care so many are fatherless, don't give one damn at all
I don't care that my life will mean nothing in the end
I don't care my acts destroy generations, leaving no amends
I don't care that my forefathers ran from the whips and chains

I know I'm running toward what they were running from, to me that's all there is to gain

the pain of no pain

The incomplete teardrop rippled over his pupil as he fought back the overflow of emotion setting to fall at any given time. A newly formed gloss of his eyes were a build up of years of emotion stored in a place in his mind that he was not aware of. He was taught a man does not cry; misled through years of abuse and repetition that eventually built up a tolerance for the indescribable acts witnessed by the same pupils. His eyes had never made it to the point to that were now reaching. Since childhood, his eyes had not been to the point of uncontrollable watering that they were now at the point of reaching. For some reason he felt the need to let them flow like a fountain but his subliminal mind still fought it, going against every grain in his tear ducts. He couldn't make himself cry if he wanted to.
The last real cry he recalled having was when he was just 12 years old. He fell off of his bicycle and knew instantly that he was suppose to feel the pain to match his wrist, which was facing a direction he never could make it face on purpose. The first glimpse of it made him instantly know that he was to feel pain, but his tear ducts had longed dried up and were a force to be dealt with, in themselves. He went straight to his house fighting tears but his father instantly spat out words he dreaded most and knew were to come, 'A real man doesn't cry, does he?' He forced he head to disagree with his logic as he slowly shook it left to right and went to his parents bedroom where his mother was lying down. Within the first glance he knew that she felt his pain but remained silent for fear for of the words that were sure to follow. In silence they alone drove to the hospital, where he sobbed and told of the injury in agonizing detail. Thus, the last time this man remembered letting any moisture out of his eyelids. He was now a rock.
This same rock had built up a tolerance of pain. A tolerance of pain that led to the lack of empathy of any living creature, even himself. He has long ago put to the front of his mind that he was able to fight through any  challenge alone. He father mentally trained him and his body took only a few years to catch up.
He had cause the tears of many women throughout his life, that stuck as a reminder that only a woman should cry. Whenever the thought of a thought of crying ran through his controlled brain, it was clouded by the reality that he only saw females with tears leaving their eyelids. So what his father told him must not be just a made up fairy tale but the true tale of men who didn't want to be considered fairies.
Hurt was never an option. Pain was only a choice. Emotion were for those who couldn't find a manly thing to say or to answer with. He knew that he was right in his mind and his heart was muted by the yells of his father's voice.
At the age of forty years old, he was now a man's man. He watched in disbelief as people within his family cried at his grandmother's funeral. He failed to see the truth in his cousins and uncles eyes as he could only comprehend the saltine tears that rolled down their faces. He never had a cigarette to his lips once but the cancer of denial was undeniable when the fire of hurt began inside of him, only to be quelled by a extinguisher of stubbornness. He refused to let out a tear for a woman he cherished and loved since he could remember. 'That's not what a man does, is it?'  The words rumbled trembled inside of him, even when only saying them inside of his head.  
So why, after many successful years of strength and tolerance, was this same man suddenly feeling the same needs that he had been denying himself for the past few decades? He still didn't know the answer to the question, but asked it of himself over and over rhetorically.
Maybe it was because he truly was sorry for the daughter that he verbally abused through her adolescent years. He hugged her and told her he loved her, but his words always left more of a marker of her heart than his actions ever could; Maybe it was the way he spoke to his ex-wife. They way he refused to hold or curve anything that came to his mind, before sleazing its way to the tip of his tongue. Wasn't he just doing what a man was expected to do, be strong?  Maybe he was sorry for the route that he chose to take when speaking to people he used to call friends. If they were his true friends then they would understand the interpretation of  his words, right? They wouldn't expect him to be modest or considerate when speaking to them, right? Nah, he didn't chose any punk friends so that couldn't of been it...
He was told and taught that a man does not cry or show emotion and not his emotion is nearly choking his to death. Could it be possible that the toughness he has displayed through his life, was really a mask hiding the hurt and despair that he desperately needed to squeeze through the tough and confined gaps in his heart?
Nah, couldn't be. He was a forty year old man sitting alone at home with no friends or family, with watery eyes simply because he had allergies. Yea, that's it. Allergies.

It could't be because a real man can truly express himself and not bottle his emotions, that everyone feels, inside...   Or could it?

He Craved....

He craved his life back more than he had craved anything in his life. Right now he was craving to wake from his 'day-mare', the nightmare he had for the last few days was now inserting itself in his mind during his middle of the day rest. He got more rest while he was awake, his dreams used more of his energy than reality. Staying awake all night would cause him to doze off in the middle of the day and bring his horrific imagination back to his mind's forefront. He craved back when he had regular nightmares, now he dreamed of what he had before. That was much more worse to him.
He struggled to open his eyelids after a few more unexpected hours of the dreams he had grown to hate. The hours seemed like days in his hated dreams. It seemed like days had gone by that he was able to run, that he was able to speak with little effort, that he was able to handle a woman the way he remembered he could.  The dreams of what he used to be able to do now were his worse nightmares. And he hated his life now for it. He craved the grip of a gun in his palm to end his misery. He knew better than that though, he had to face this new life with the same energy that he faced his former life with even though he knew it was a struggle. He craved the energy and power to do that, but his will was growing weaker by the day. His past had become more than a wish to be fulfilled, it had become a craving. A craving he knew could never be satisfied.
He hated the dreams of his past cravings that he spent so much time trying to appease. He craved so many women that he could hardly remember their names now. He craved being higher than the clouds and now he only wished he could be walking evenly on the ground. He craved living his own life before but now craved the thought of being significant in someone else's. His craving had become his own personal solitary confinement. It was like he was in prison. He was, in the confinement of his own mind. He craved freedom.
He finally was able to force his eyelids open. The crust built up on them was the result of his tears while he slept. He would cry in his dreams. Cry from the memories of having a life. Cry from the memories of being able to live his life the way he wished to. It was all just a dream now. He moved one of the few body parts he still had complete control over, his head. He looked to left for the bedpan that was just out of his reach. He craved 'Go-Go Gadget' arms to be able to reach the pan so he could relieve himself into it. He never was a fan of hospitals before, but now he had a new appreciation of his dislike for them. Now he hated them, especially the one he was in.
His heart and mind was burdened with the thoughts of what he had planned for his life. His jail cell of a mind, was flooded with the hopes that engulfed him when he was younger in age and of mind. It was so ironic to him how just a short time ago he was devoted to the thought of fulfilling his dreams he had since childhood. He lusted the taste of being so close to his dreams. He was trapped in a new body that wouldn't allow for him to do anything more than wish, lust, and dream.
He craved other things when he was younger too. Many of which, he was reluctant to bring back to memory. But he had no choice though, they were some of the reasons that he was in his present situation. As much as he tried to keep them out of his head. he couldn't help but think to himself 'What If'. He couldn't help but think to himself 'What if' he had paid attention to his first reaction to a cigarette. Just like anybody else, his body's first reaction was to cough. Not only cough, but damn near cough up a lung. He craved the ability to go back in time to change his persistence to heading the warning that was given to him. The warning of his first cough that told him that he wasn't meant to inhale such poisons. He craved his reaction from that first inhalation back.
He hungered for the many years that he was an addict to those same cigarettes that caused him to smoke more than a pack a day. He longed for the wisdom in his younger years that he had in his youth. He wished he would have taken the advice he heard from many saying it was not something good for him. He craved to go back to that time. He craved with an empty filling because he knew that such cravings could never be fulfilled. He would stay empty with the same cravings that he had now, only in a worse condition than he wished he could see himself in.
The same strength that he did what he wanted to do, he craved that he was able to resist those simple temptations and do simple things that he never thought he would miss. He missed being able to tell the ones he loved that he loved them, without having to write it down. His throat burned with the mere thought of moving his vocal chords to say what he truly felt. He craved the laugh of people around him after he would say a simple thought that came to mind, whether intended to be funny or not. He loved to make others laugh and wished that he had that simple ability again. He craved it.
He hungered for the chance to hug his children who came to visit him often in the hospital. His mouth was parched with the taste for physical affection that he took for granted just a few months before. He wanted to hold them and tell them all the secrets he had been hiding inside of himself up to this point. He craved the opportunity to tell them what he had learned in his life. He hurt inside for the loss of ability to do this. he craved for more than he was able to give.
As much as he thought about it, he craved for the opportunity to go back and apologize to the women he had done wrong though his years of not giving a damn about anyone but himself. He wished he could talk to them all one on one and tell them that he was sorry. It hurt his heart to think that some man may be doing his daughter the same way that he did other women in the past. He cried inside and out whenever he tried to tell her to be careful with her heart because he knew that she didn't understand anything he tried to say at this time. When he thought of such things, it brought the thought of him palming a high caliber handgun and reliving himself but he knew that would solve nothing and only cause more pain and confusion. He craved the ability to tell her what his heart felt.
He could drown himself with the cravings of his heart. His heart could easily b e flooded with the worries and thoughts that he wished he could communicate. He craved the strength to be able to do any of these things. But even more he craved the power to tell him family he loved them and things would be okay. If only they would remember to not let their cravings drown out their actions for Living for the moment....
He craved the thoughts of an older man in a younger man's body. His cravings would never be filled. He craved otherwise though.    He wished he could do what he thought now when he was able to.

Don't let cravings undermine your actions.

Sleepless nights

His head flew off the pillow and quickly rose up about 3 feet, causing the sweat build up to surf off his forehead onto the paper thin sheets at his waist. He wasn't drowning in his dream, yet he leaned forward panting like a dog. He held his head there for a few minutes, still wiping his newly formed sweat drops from his brow and upper lip. He couldn't figure it out. Not any clue, all week. 

He looked around his closet sized cave and was blinded from the odor of hours old urine not 3 feet from his feet. The fuzzy blackness from his adjusting eyes caused his tag to be a black scribble across the wall at his front. The cheap plastic band watch hanging over his head told him it was 4 more hours till the lights came on. He put his head in his hands and started his journey back to the land of wonder he had just come from, he hoped. He hoped even more that he wouldn't have the same dream that caused his insomnia in the first place.

  He would always rack his brain trying to think of what the dream could have been. Maybe if he knew, he could control it. He kept most things to himself and what his aunt told him in his childhood was no exception. She told him when he was 8 years old and living with her, that he could control his dreams. She would often be the one soothing him when he woke in the middle of the night from nightmares. From that age until, he had no problems until recently.

There were only a few things that could come close to bringing a tear to his eye. Somehow one of those things had made it to the part of his mind that controlled dreams. It had only took the 1st night for him to realize the moisture on his forehead was from sweat, the water residue down the sides of his face were tears. He was tired and even more tired of thinking about it. He fluffed the pillow with his fist and folded it over. The threads from the pillow irritated his freshly shaved face and he flipped it over. The coolness from the other side had become one of many joys he had many years before learned to appreciate. He counted the many women he had slept with as his sheep. Taking a deep breath, he sighed about what must have been wrong with him before. He had pushed many things to the back of his mind, but one thing in particular kept creeping back towards the frontal lobe. Sometimes it fought during the day, but always raced during the full moons. As much as he tried, he couldn't escape the message sewn into the pillow his heavy mind laid on.

On it said the words, "We forgive you". Between the words, lay a picture of the victim of the shooting that caused him to be in the cell. 

Every day he would push the thought deeper and deeper away, while every night the victim's family gift to the man who took their father- husband- son- nephew- grandson- and friend away drained away his peace of mind...

"Shut up before I shut you up!" He yells out the bars of his cage to a fellow inmate 3 cells down. The loud, crying sound stopped immediately. 

"I'll teach that new guy tomorrow," he thought to himself.  He controlled his cell block and everyone knew it. He already started planning his next day of mayhem.  

He'd continue to wake up to wet pillows and sheets until the thought he pushes away dampens his eyes while he's awake.