Poetry On A Roll

I listen
with the intention
of replying.
It’s just how it’s
always been done.

I nod
even when
I don’t know
what you are saying.
Just shaking my head in agreement.

I’ll look away
when I’m no longer
interested.
A sure sign of boredom.

I’ll speak
if I think
it’s a requirement.
Though I prefer texting.

I take
a lot of things personal.
Unintentionally, of course.
It keeps me on my toes.

My mind like yours is
stuck on my phone.
It’s so distracting.
The digital age is winning.

Many people would love to have
the opportunity
to do better for themselves.
They would be
so highly motivated
even when they feel like
calling it quits.

Many people die
tragic deaths every day
hoping for the great opportunities
still available for anyone to seek.

America is their destination.
Oh, how they’d work their fingers
to the bone if they could.
Just to touch foot on this soil,
they wouldn’t think twice about
the long hours and minimum wage.

They’d work nonstop,
they have goals to reach.
This is their Olympics
and they are going for the gold medal
in every category.

Hardwork is hard,
it pays to work hard,
and they totally understand
the concept of sacrifice.

Some foreigners think
the streets here are paved with gold
til to this present day,

some might even go
as far as to say they thought
money did grow on trees
in our perfectly manicured backyards,
everyone must have one, right?

it’s embedded in their brains
to just ask, ask, ask
every chance they get.
After all, money is just
a phone call away, right?

Just wait til they step
foot on American soil,
where the majority is just
a paycheck away
from being homeless.

I owe everything to God.
What I’ve been through,
you may never understand.
If I tell you, you’d probably
shake your head in disbelief
and call me brave.

I don’t like when
my thoughts keep me up
at night.
It’s not enough
that we fuss and fight
all day long
over the simplest of things.

I’ve always thought of
myself as a “good person”,
who wouldn’t want to be like me, right?
But what I see
and what others see
may not be the same conclusion.

A glimpse of the past
here and there is enough for me.
I try to limit my visits,

only returning when absolutely necessary.
I don’t want to get stuck
with the pain that often accompanies
those reminder-retrieval trips
that I’ve come a long way.

Those heavy chains have a way
of lovingly reattaching themselves
to my feelings and emotions,
and I often end up going down
those same roller-coasters
that once held me hostage.

Sometimes I have to fight and hang on
by the skin of my teeth
with the past just to bring back
my mind frame into the present.

Anxiety keeps me quiet and stressed.
I don’t know how to process many situations,
my 12-year-old self takes over.

It keeps my voice low and shaky,
my heart racing and my palms sweating,
my face screwed up tight and my head aching like I’ve been in a fight

It keeps my throat dry and sore,
my mind running races I’ve never won,
and my thoughts doing automatic flip-flops

It’s a debilitating mess.
Maintaining a healthy mental health is a must.
Its aim is to steal, kill, and destroy.

And I cannot allow it to win;
I cannot allow my life to go to waste.
I just need to remember to keep “breathing”.

Some days will come by
and I’ll act like
it was mine to have all along.
I’ll get so busy and caught up
with everything else
that I forget to say “thank you”.

And then some days will come along
and I’ll remember without a doubt
tomorrow may never come
whether I appreciate it or not.

I’ve learned to wake up
with a grateful heart each day.
To start smelling the flowers
while they are still fresh.

When necessary,
I’ll hang
my feelings and emotions
on the line to dry,
for all to see.

I’ll hang
my shame on the line
so someone else
can see
they are not alone
in their struggles.

We often have
our lives all planned out.
It’s good to have an itinerary.
Short term goals.
Longterm goals.
There’s always something to do.

Death might come up
but it’s often chilling on the back burner.
We know it’s inevitable
so there’s no use
in beating ourselves up
about the one thing we’re certain
won’t skip over us
yet it gets us every time
we have to say goodbye
to the ones we love.

No amount of preparation
can prepare us for the shock.

This gift of written expression,
carefully fueled by
the pain, the hurt, and the struggles
of the past and the present.
As well as, the laughter and the joys
I often forget to include.

I may have a hard time
verbally getting my words out
but I can certainly write
without stumbling or mumbling.
Vulnerability on display.

My past battles has prepared me
for my present victory.