Like An Anchor

I lost a hundred eighty pounds over a 24 hour period.

Yes I did.

It was a long time coming.

I had to lose it.
it was detrimental to my psyche.

 I feel lighter.
 Much lighter.

I lost a hundred eighty pounds over a 24 hour period.

Now that I'm not carrying that heavy load on my back.

the weight,
like an anchor isn't pulling down on my heart anymore

I can breathe more easily

I can now move around and live my life more freely
without

the burden of trying or saying or doing what was necessary to please or appease 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.

I lost a hundred eighty pounds over a 24 hour period.

I can run,
skip,
dance

without
caring about meeting her needs
while my wants or needs were being ignored
or belittled.

I lost a hundred eighty pounds over a 24 hour period.

I love her,

but

I intend not to gain them back.

I lost a hundred eighty pounds over a 24 hour period.

I've carried that extra weight my entire life

now, i'm getting used to the light-ness

and i love it.

I forgot how tall I was

I love how freedom feels.


--alexcasey

u aint it

(I keep looking over your shoulder for someone else to talk to
someone to fill the hollowness or your words with words of substance, 
interesting
words and stories and histories with whom I can connect.

someone more interesting.
substantial enough to climb on
supporting my weight
talking from lips full like mine that I would rather kiss
than to actually listen).

Sorry.

Alot

....i love you more than all the words in every love poem ever written.

Procedure

The ritual is the same

before I leave;

I shave the grey facial stubble that grew

within the 24 hours of my last shaving

I trim and dye the still black edges of the goatee and the moustache

to maintain the look  of  a man in his late thirties or early forties

looking for women in that age group

because I’m not ready to look fifty-1.

I scrub I loofah I wash I moisturize my face

brush and whiten my teeth.

I leave home and I face the world with a smile on my face,

thinking

this might be the day.

I practice talking to and smiling at  strangers and  people I know

throughout the day

and the ritual is the same

when I return.

today wasn't the day.

I go to bed and wake up in the morning and start over.

maybe tomorrow's the day.

What to do

I wanna know what’s next

after this.

I wanna know

what’s next

for me

after this high

if you know of me

if you know  me

then you probably know me better than I know myself.

my passions are all over the place.

what do you suggest

after/(preferably

before)

this

is

no

more--?

The Plan ( a work in progress)

I don’t know if I’ve seen her yet

But I’ve envisioned how she makes me feel.

Like a king

Despite my faults

She sees someone who rounds out all of her squares;

Her checklist of personal issues I help to un-

check as we go along.

She’s on my layaway plan.

I’m making sacrifices for her.

Overlooking the things I don’t really need

the short-term things

To save up for what/ for who

I really want

for life.

is true

 

that when she is found

I will have spent my entire adult life looking

4 her

I will be scared shitless

that I would do

say

something to fuck it up.

 Am I crazy?

 

 

A Poem with no name

She was the period at the end of the sentence,

as she referred to herself,

or the answer to my question

as I referred to her

since before her I was stuck in a rut,

looking for women in whose eyes I could see my future daughter Maya Angela George and/or future sons Daij Langston George and  Malcolm Wesley George,

or any names she would want the kids to have,

as long as they were ours.

I’ve since had to erase the period.

I wouldn’t say that God came between us.

It was religion that tore us apart.

I’ve had to erase the period,

Changing it to a comma,

waiting to complete it:

 changing it to a question mark,

looking for an answer.

I’m dating every chance I get,

but I’m not seeing  Maya or Daij or Malcolm in any of their eyes.

Dear Lord,

I’m dying a thousand times.

Please bless me.

Isn’t it about time?

I’m the only one I know who has not been divorced,

or isn’t with someone they wish  would leave home and never return.

(I guess that’s a good thing.

Right?)

                                         today she called to tell me she and her husband was having a son,

And if she could name him Malcolm Wesley Muhammad—
and I died inside again.

 

 

 

Vicious Cycle

enter, slap;
breathe, cry.
suckle,drink;
wet, cry.
Walk, talk;
fall, cry.
School, friends;
fight, cry.
College, learn;
toil, cry.
Marry, debts;
kids, cry.
Retire. wither;
cry, die.

--alieux casey-george