man-made dream

i am an american.
red and white kitchen,
9 to 5 and blonde interaction,
grass mowed into rows,
fuzzy gold and tools to grow.
anything to make me feel like a man.

i am a blank sidewalk shark.
3 pieces of striped blue,
purple tie and concrete shoes,
chrome briefcase for the occasion,
every 2 years warrants vacation.
trying to see through uncertain dark.

i am a home depot dad.
ignorant of the coffee breath,
getting further away from stain drop death,
appropriate substitute for 9 and 8,
goodnight moon literary debate.
those are all the dreams i had.

i am an insouciant child.
dropping them all like a creature of wild.

to anywhere that these continue

I once knew the feeling of a warm breeze on my face. The distant sound of laughter that barely makes it through the swaying trees in my mind. The smell of a fresh cut lawn and the taste of hard granola. Lucy was seen from under a pink blanket. I once felt grass between my toes and lay in clean contentment waiting for hair to dry. Concrete ran under my bare feet and sweat cooled as the setting sun chased my shadow away. Bubbles lived on my tongue and dirt in my ears. Was it my night to sleep with the dog? I would run my fingers through his hair and have conversations with myself.

I once felt the insecurity and timidity of lower education. Table choosing and meaningless conversation. Spaghetti and the loneliness of a middle distance runner. The conflict between respect and hatred for authority. Early morning detentions coaxed my homework into completion. I once knew the feeling of hope for better days. No more policemen in the living room. No more courageous notes to place on my Dad's bed. And definitely no more punching and spitting to put holes and grime on a brother's love.

I once felt the freedom of a windy car ride. Sunglasses ablaze with brilliant reflections. Chicken fajitas and meaningful conversation. Laying under the piano and examining stars right after ourselves. The new smell of smoke and the full fury of innocence and the gentle red of love's first blush. I once knew the sound of evaporation and the taste of a smile. The soft, almost skinless connection of untouched hands. Friends and brother were close as security faded like a life jacket memory. Then I saw lips.

I once lived in a twelve story high-rise with accommodations as splendid as the state would allow. I knew the feeling of 8 am and sticky down on my neck and feet. New faces everywhere to be seen, but nowhere to be found. Then new faces to be old and old faces to be forever. I once lived as a monk and slept with the bugs and dreamt of moonlit clouds. Old faces became forever and nightly were the trips to visit the best. Books with text were trudged through while books with life were soaked through with blood that I wish was mine. Late night conversations held me by the collar and I was not always there to hear it all. The snow fell silently out a tree light window and the sun rose high when love was painted on my sleeve.

Right now I feel the tapping of my fingers and wish it was a ticket.

the problem with me

i think i've figured out my "problem". and no, i did not just realize this all on my own. a book pointed it out, but thats ok because any inspiration i get usually comes from someone i have never met.

my "problem" is that i am never satisfied. and i do not mean that i am never satisfied with what i have. i mean i am never satisfied with the answers this world ignorantly gives to my questions. questions like, "why is money important?" or "why is golf fun?" or "why are some girls 'pretty' and some girls are 'not pretty'?" or "why do i need to pick a major?".

society quickly answers these questions for me. almost as if they were waiting for me to ask them so they could indulge me with some bullshit wisdom about "success" and "beauty". they tell me that i pick a career path based on what i love and what i am good at (too bad those are two more of my questions). what do i love? and what am i good at?... they also tell me that this will get me a job that I will love where i can make lots of money to support my beautiful wife in our nice home. this will give me a happy and comfortable life. apparently.

now, like an idiot i question all this. its my problem, remember? i first question whether or not this is all true. whether or not money/a good career/safety will give me happiness. and then i wonder if i even want comfort. or nice. dont get me wrong, i love a good pair of socks, or a clean crisp 20, but i have found that i sleep better in the back of my car in the middle of a floridan adventure than i do in my comfortable, boring, knoxville bed. (ok, that may be a lie, but at least its a more inspired and confident sleep).

sometimes all this lack of REAL answers makes me mad. and sometimes it makes me feel sad and lonely. right now, im not mad. i understand that the world is stupid and i dont hold that against them (hrmmph). and im not necessarily sad or lonely either - i have been that way enough the past two months already. right now, im just a guy who wants someone to give him the kind of answers that he wants. hopefully true ones. ones like, "money really doesnt matter" or "golf isnt fun at all" or "every girl is pretty because they were made in the image of perfect beauty" or "you dont need to pick a major because college may not be the route you are supposed to take in life". you know, real good answers like that.