profile image


Updated: Tue, 26 Nov 2019 06:21 am

Contact via WOL


I am an educator. A very passionate educator. Looking for outlets and writing and poetry has always been a thought. I am just diving into it and really enjoying just expressing my experiences and perspectives.


“What is life?”, I ask. I ponder. Life is complex. Life is short. Always count your blessings. I remind myself everyday. But what does this really mean? I was born into this life, for what? In America, white America. Who am I supposed to be? No one tells you who to be, yet they always got something to say about what I am doing and how I look. Yet, they ain’t telling me what to do. Just acting like I’m doing it all wrong. Maybe I am doing it all wrong, but who knows. Who cares. No one cares. They caught up in their own lives, but get caught up in your life to try to distract them from their own lives. How the fuck does that work? A cycle. A never ending cycle. So if I am doing it wrong, what next? First, I count my blessings. I got a job, a car, a roof, food, friends, family, an able body, an able mind, opportunities, laughter, love, peace, serenity. What’s missing? What more could I possibly need? A beacon. But wait, I have hope. I have light. I have celebration. Everyday. Why? Because of my blessings. Second, look at the complexities. For every right, there is a wrong. For every side, there is another side, and another, and another. For every love, there is hate. For every passion, there is prejudice. For every fact, there is an opinion. For every smile, there is a frown. For every voice, there is silence. A glare, a stare, a judgement. Even thinking about writing the complexities of life, hurts my head. So I’m not going to. If you don’t know the complexities of life; lucky you. Or lucky me? Third, act like everyday is my last. How the hell does somebody do that??? How can I live everyday like its my last, when I’m working on a sunday afternoon unpaid after I’ve worked a 60 hour work week with no paid overtime, worrying about having enough money, thinking about annoying bosses, and not having someone to give me love and affection. The thing about life, is that it’s different everyday. So if I were to picture the perfect “last” day, it would be amazing. But wouldn’t I get bored of perfection. Probably. Most definitely. So how do I do it? I count my blessings. I live my life, the “correct” way. it's short. It’s complex. It’s mine. I look at life, like it is a beacon. Every step, every movement, is a beacon.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Do you want to be featured here? Submit your profile.


No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message