make me good, god


i seem to do my best writing when i’m angry or sad.
i’m neither right now.

actually – in real life – i just need a hug.
you ever get that feeling? that feeling like everything is at a standstill and you’re not sure what to do, which direction to walk, run or jump, and you look around for some soft chested individual, hoping they’ll see the melancholy on your face and offer you a hug.

i need a hug.

and somewhere, laying on a bed with a scooby doo fitted sheet is who i want to hug me.
right now, i’ll settle for don julio or jose cuervo and a conversation with my paper towel roll.

—–

and i think what my summer romance ’03 girl said a few months ago is right on the nose:
i’ve fallen in love so many times with everything unsustainable that what can be great will come with sacrifice.

so i’m learning to sacrifice.
i used to live by the che guevara quote:
“i know how I love you and how much I love you, but I cannot sacrifice my inner freedom for you; it means sacrificing my self, and I am the most important thing in the world, as I have already told you.”

but now i’m learning to live differently. i’m doing the unselfish.
the me i am now doesn’t know greed as much as he knows sacrifice.
and i’ve loving that part of me. but honestly, it also scares the shit out of me.
because the folks i used to watch doing this are the same folks who sit miserably at dinner tables in buffets, across from their mate, never saying a word unless it’s about the kids.

that won’t be me.
i promise.
okay?
i promise.

i sit across from those people, staring in amazement, wondering when they exhausted all possibilities.

—–
side note: all the birth control pills in the hoods have been swapped for tictacs. BAN ALL PINK AND YELLOW PILLS!
—–

i spend 10 minutes tonight with my grandmother, discussing lottery tickets, and family members. it was an in and out visit to my hometown & i never go and not see her. she’s among my top 5 favorite people.
and now she’s part of the reason i need hug, as well.

she’s going through the cycle of old age, and memory loss, and so much has changed from the woman i used to wake up to in the living room with a plate of fried eggs, bacon, biscuit, fried apples and apple butter sitting there.
she’s the reason i love coffee. i must have been the only 4 year old on the block drinking full cups.
it’s amazing i’m as tall as i am.
i love her. but it hurts sometimes to see her now.

so i need a hug.

—–

i did not like the man part of me was becoming, so i cut his hair and threw away the old clothes.
and the man i am now – i treat him like a partially wanted girlfriend…but i love him just the same.

i think the two of us are waiting on summer. at least spring.
or at least sunday.
i want my spirit back.

there was something about me being an axxhole that excited the world.
they loved to hear me showing up.
this square i’ve become is just as fun – but not to them.

they lied: you can go back home.

—–

remember being 9 years old and the lunch tables being integrated.
shxt was so innocent then.
life was easier. lunch money was the hardest thing to come up with.

now we’re worried about making rent – bill money – etc.
this is that middle section of life they never teach us about.
that part they leave out in sex education.

i want to go back to the integrated lunch tables and little girls like lashay breckinridge rocking the fat double strand twists on the playground so i could make fun of her. (we became friends in middle school).
i miss learning what “bastard” meant then calling the girl that would later become my good friend a bastard repeatedly until the school had to call her dad to pick her up from school because she was crying to hard. they couldn’t do anything to me because i used it in the right context. hahahaha. (8 months ago she killed herself and i miss her)
—–

and now i’m learning not to act on impulse.
9 months ago if i felt like i needed a hug, i would have went to my secret flight website, booked me a flight to nassau and sat on a beach for 4 days until god spoke a few words through my pen and gave me that moment of clarity.

and in a low rumble beneath the water he’d say:
you can go home now.

and i’d buy some sheep tongue soup and head home.

but now i sit here and write to you.
i let you in.
i do what pee wee herman did in the porn flick theater: i expose myself.
if you’re gonna keep up with jones, i want you to know me through and through.
—–

today: january 29th, 2010: i will be at a happy hour on u street, giving money at the bar that will go toward haiti relief and my liver. supporting both.
come join me.

—–

and i’m not sure if god will speak to me tonight.
but i will speak to him.

when you have one request of god…what is it that you ask for?

“make me good, god. but not yet.”

Advertisements

One thought on “make me good, god

  1. I like your message which is why so many old people turn to God and then turn to judge quickly. So how to reconcile it all…..my thoughts, I just follow the Golden Rule and though you may not find me in church, I’ll be the first to lend a helping hand to someone in need. Don’t be too hard on yourself. God finds you, just like love finds you.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s