So I write a lot—but not as much as I would like. Notes. Quotes. Rhymes for poems. They're everywhere. Note pads. Pieces of paper. On the side of newspapers. Notebooks. Torn pieces of boxes. On receipts. Some I try to remember---and ultimately forget. Like the one this morning with something to do with the weather, age and traveling. My thoughts are sort of like experiences in love. It always arrives unannounced. Unexpected. Yet, welcome. The discovery is exciting, followed by cultivation, molding and appreciating the blessings of the moment. You just hope you do the right things. And if you don't, it leaves. And then the hope changes directions. This time you hope this experience wasn't your last and it decides to come back. Anyway, I tend to live in the moment---or that's the idea. A few things you'll always see on me: Chapstick. Cellphone. Brush. A pen in my right pocket, wallet in the left. And when the love visits, time stops. I pull over to the side of the road, parked all crooked in the lot. I don't care. Words scribbled on the back of important papers. On the back of my checkbooks and envelopes. I'd pull a Curtis Jackson and write them on the wall if I had to. I've got about three paragraphs in my head right now that for some reason hasn't found its way to my notebook yet. And I'm afraid it's going to get away from me. And I'm going to resist the urge. Lately, I've had this really bad habit of writing them on sticky notes and losing them 15 minutes later. It's either feast or famine. The thoughts won't stop or they don't come at all---for weeks. My notebook. My eyes. Same thing. I was once told a person's eyes are like a window. If you know what you're looking for you can see into a person's very soul. My eyes always tell my story---and so does my notebook. My notebook is the truth. I can't help but write from my heart. I can't lie in my notebook. I can't lie when I look into your eyes. Even when they're not welcome my inner feelings escape on to the page. And if you know what you're looking for---if you read between the lines--- you'll see Me. And it's why most will never let you look into either one. Me? I don't care. Honestly, I haven't cared about much lately. Just the important things. The important people. I've taken bits and pieces from my notebook---different little parts---and tried to put them together. It may not have a direction, but hopefully it finds its place.
So here we go:
So much noise in your head. It's hard to concentrate. Silence helps you locate what you've been looking for. Reasons why I don't speak. Eyes open and you don't see. Repeat with your mouth and you can't speak.
I sneak through the cracks. Notions of osmosis is like the prognosis. A slave to my own emotions.
The hands of time I cannot beat. I can't stop trying. I do not cease. Observe the bags under my eyes. I do not sleep. Heart and soul. A conflict of ideologies and philosophies, like Martin and Stokley. Tussling with violence and peace. An 8-year-old me.
The greatest secret is convincing the world I do not exist. Play dumb. Live in the pad. Scratched off the list. Humility is a passion. The conflict of a narcissist. No longer can I hide. Reveal what's inside.
Forced winters extort winners like SportsCenter. Hard-headed. I can't or won't sit back, but in fact finds ways to recline. On the pine, awaiting my time. A bigger piece of the pie. I'm the bridge between low and high. Hades and the keys to paradise. The best choice most ever made was getting me out of their lives. My relative was an artist. They killed him and stole his eyes. My family ties. They won't come to me. Lately babies have been running from me. I'm wondering if I'm harboring something evil inside.
My pet peeve is people with pet peeves. I won't accept these deficiencies, so my pet peeve is me. They'd like for you to believe they're perfect. An imperfect person. I want to convince you that I'm worthless. Reevaluate my value and purpose.
My defining moment? There were many. Pick any minute or second. Sitting on my friend's couch with tears forming in my eyes. Thinking my career's going to die. "Don't you fear," said God. "I need you near," said I. And as the years go by, like the Sears in the Chi, I see glimpses of peers in the sky. Confidence is geared so high.
Hopelessness fades and hope stays away. Left is nothing. Ink spills from my veins. I bleed on to the page.
I'm seething and I'm grieving. I'm believing the reason for the treason is I'm seeing Ivory as if I'm Keenan Wayans on the coast. Give me some space so I can face my ghosts. Red cape and the face cloaked in black. And my eyes betray me. That's what I've been told. It's like fresh fallen snow. It seems so beautiful. I wear it on my sleeve and my heart's so cold. I am a tortured soul. And you're just like me, but I'm still one of a kind. I find the time to release my bind. Immortality. I live forever through these lines.
So there you have it. Scribblings from my notebook. Sometimes it's a mistake. Sometimes it's exactly what it needs to be. In all reality, it's my life. It may not always be what you want it to be. It may not always be pretty. But none of that matters. It's a similarity. It's the difference. It's a lie wrapped in the truth. My notebook, my life, is mine.
---EOB.
