Better before more

No matter what we do, most of us want “more.”

Growth is practically a religion in the world of startups. There is a hyper focus on growing businesses, and growing them fast. It’s the same in other industries. My friends who work in salaried positions are always scheming on ways to get more salary.

There is nothing wrong with more, but it’s a mistake to ask for more without first understanding the foundation of more, which is better.

More rarely comes before better.

If you want more, get better.

That will get you more.

Like all the others

Reading alone,

a temporary reprieve.

I sit back,

and glimpse,

a far away day,

where,

like my father,

I am not afraid to die.

Where I smile for my daughters,

or,

perhaps,

my sons,

at the storm raging outside.

It can’t touch me, you see.

I worked,

to fortify a smile.

I will not become,

a victim,

like all the others.

Be a lion

Be a lion,

just don’t tell a soul.

Take your turn with quiet,

be unsure.

Swallow your roar,

take small, grateful steps,

understand,

You don’t understand,

the men you see.

Wear your oldest coat,

in proudest company,

accept the defeats you’ve been given,

love them as gifts,

think with unworthy simplicity,

for a great mind like yours.

Ignore every aspect of your hunger,

look past it,

to the days when your place has been taken,

and thank God for those days too.

Bathed in danger,

exposed to shame,

but,

never threatened,

never scared.

Be a lion,

just don’t tell a soul.

I know some friends

I know some friends,

(not more than a few),

that shine so damn bright.

Who I want you to know that I know.

Their beauty is lucky for everyone.

It gives with innocence.

They’re talented,

but they’re more than that.

All their details matter.

They put permanent stamps on forgotten weekdays,

which is why,

I can’t quite understand,

or relate to,

folks who believe,

That those lights ever stop shining.

The Convent Across The Street

*Written in 2012*

Fourth floor walk up.

No outlet in the bathroom.

I walk around naked,

to the kitchen,

to blow dry my armpits, dick, and balls.

Claire says it will dry out my skin.

Full length mirror,

don’t mind what I see.

The Girl who used to live here walked around naked too,

subject came up when I toured the apartment with the broker, Sandra.

Said she shouldn’t have because there is a Convent across the street.

She was nice and funny,

but I throw away her mail when it comes here.

This will be a sad poem

This will be a sad poem.

The tale of a phantom chased.

You read she didn’t exist,

But you saw her everywhere.

And so you believed.

That led to the negotiation.

Competing in a game you’d rather not win.

Yet you can’t stop playing.

You need the phantom,

you want the phantom.

Catch her and you’re guaranteed a sunny Tuesday.

She’ll give you fleeting momentum.

A currency with the others, a tit for tat with their rat race glories.

But the truth…

it sticks,

and you can’t quite forget,

that you spent all of your progress,

On a “need,”

driven by a peg,

many rungs beneath,

your blue square Boyne Highlands days,

of early youth.

I knew she’d give me a poem

I knew she’d give me a poem.

When she talked so much, for so long, I thought I might hate her…

when she told stories of longing for successful men who could one day support her…

when we sat by the fire.

Even after I heard how her Daddy didn’t love her.

I knew she’d give me a poem.

So I stumbled around,

in her company,

til’ the clock struck twelve.

And I’d gotten what I didn’t know I ‘d come for.

My Allies

I back off from a full boil around all but my allies.

I’m a little less.

A little quieter.

Perhaps a little shorter.

You, you needn’t know the heights I may or may not have seen.

But with my allies I can burn, and I can shine.

Roar,

I’m my Mother’s son,

in full bloom as I’ve been seen by the women who’ve loved me.

Here’s to my allies.

They remove the obligation…

To abbreviate.