A message for Mom and Dad:
thank you.
some of those times you didn't tell me
to shut up,
I learned that I don't always have to,
even if sometimes I should have.
A message for my Brother: thank you.
We spent so much time,
Over so many years,
just Talking.
Because you listened, I have a voice.
A message for Rusty
with the Red Hair and the Stories: thank you.
You taught me that I like to write.
I think that might have been important.
We'll see.
A message for all those who
Put up with my writerly
Eccentricities.
If I were as patient as you,
My writing might ring more true.
A message for those older (or younger)
and Wiser, who treated me like
I have something worthwhile to say: thank you.
You were probably wrong,
But that's beside
the Point. It was sweet of you.
A message for a Particular Pair of Professors: thank you.
It's your fault I think poetry is relevant to me.
You got me into this medium,
and I'm enjoying trying to climb back out of it.
A message for Emily Dickinson: thank you.
You taught me to write,
A little bit.
I'm not done learning.
You're certainly not done teaching, but
It's been real. See you on the other side.
A message for my Friends,
my enemies, my Family,
For random fucking people I see in random fucking places: thank you.
You give me something to write about,
And someone to practice on,
Even if the last thing you were thinking about
Was giving me something.
A special thank you to the particular random people
In particular, random places
Whom I loved from a distance.
I wrote you a poem. Now go read it.
A message for my past lovers: thank you.
I have no idea what I am writing about.
Somehow, each of you,
Have helped me a little bit closer,
To knowing that. To knowing Life.
After all, you have to write what you know.
A message for Modern Culture: thank you.
For the most part, I live in a state of
Constant, passionate inability to stand you,
But you did give me something to be passionate about.
A message for Ford, Henry and Alexakis, Art: thank you.
There's just something about being able to tear down the road at 90MPH, windows down,
SCREAMING
"THEY CANNOT HURT YOU UNLESS YOU LET THEM!"
at the top of my lungs.
It's really very empowering, trust me.
A message for beyond the grave:
I'm sorry
I wasn't there. I should have been.
I've stopped blaming myself,
a little, but
That part is my fault.
A message for the Grave Itself:
You can take me,
and my Family,
and possibly even some of my Friends before I go.
But you can't take this.
Writing doesn't die. It only goes into hiding.
A message for the intrepid,
Trepidatious Writers:
your Writing can always go into hiding,
if You want it to.
Maybe sometimes, though,
You should put It into the world,
and let It decide on Its own.
Maybe hiding is not where It belongs.
A message for everyone,
All of You out there,
Who are reading this (or not):
Thank You.
You
Are Why I Write.
thank you.
some of those times you didn't tell me
to shut up,
I learned that I don't always have to,
even if sometimes I should have.
A message for my Brother: thank you.
We spent so much time,
Over so many years,
just Talking.
Because you listened, I have a voice.
A message for Rusty
with the Red Hair and the Stories: thank you.
You taught me that I like to write.
I think that might have been important.
We'll see.
A message for all those who
Put up with my writerly
Eccentricities.
If I were as patient as you,
My writing might ring more true.
A message for those older (or younger)
and Wiser, who treated me like
I have something worthwhile to say: thank you.
You were probably wrong,
But that's beside
the Point. It was sweet of you.
A message for a Particular Pair of Professors: thank you.
It's your fault I think poetry is relevant to me.
You got me into this medium,
and I'm enjoying trying to climb back out of it.
A message for Emily Dickinson: thank you.
You taught me to write,
A little bit.
I'm not done learning.
You're certainly not done teaching, but
It's been real. See you on the other side.
A message for my Friends,
my enemies, my Family,
For random fucking people I see in random fucking places: thank you.
You give me something to write about,
And someone to practice on,
Even if the last thing you were thinking about
Was giving me something.
A special thank you to the particular random people
In particular, random places
Whom I loved from a distance.
I wrote you a poem. Now go read it.
A message for my past lovers: thank you.
I have no idea what I am writing about.
Somehow, each of you,
Have helped me a little bit closer,
To knowing that. To knowing Life.
After all, you have to write what you know.
A message for Modern Culture: thank you.
For the most part, I live in a state of
Constant, passionate inability to stand you,
But you did give me something to be passionate about.
A message for Ford, Henry and Alexakis, Art: thank you.
There's just something about being able to tear down the road at 90MPH, windows down,
SCREAMING
"THEY CANNOT HURT YOU UNLESS YOU LET THEM!"
at the top of my lungs.
It's really very empowering, trust me.
A message for beyond the grave:
I'm sorry
I wasn't there. I should have been.
I've stopped blaming myself,
a little, but
That part is my fault.
A message for the Grave Itself:
You can take me,
and my Family,
and possibly even some of my Friends before I go.
But you can't take this.
Writing doesn't die. It only goes into hiding.
A message for the intrepid,
Trepidatious Writers:
your Writing can always go into hiding,
if You want it to.
Maybe sometimes, though,
You should put It into the world,
and let It decide on Its own.
Maybe hiding is not where It belongs.
A message for everyone,
All of You out there,
Who are reading this (or not):
Thank You.
You
Are Why I Write.
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