Archive for the ‘My Writing’ Category

Found and Lost

September 20, 2017

Found and Lost

I will find you. I have no idea how, but I will find you. Where and/or when is not up to me. I will see you again. I gave you up. It was a foolish decision. I gave you up, you with the restless feet and you with the cute black and white pirate like head. I was scared, temporarily scared. It was that guy, that evil guy in the rooming house. It was him and his fat woman helper. The guy was mean, the one with the beady eyes. The woman was just like him, maybe even worse. Both of them were bad news from top to bottom. I can’t stop thinking about you. I think about you all the time. I am not scared anymore. You will be with me again.




Beggar on the Street

September 20, 2017

Beggar on the Street

You-it was you. You were the one who cheated me out of the money. It wasn’t much, just a few dollars, but it was my money. I earned it. It was me who helped you with the clear plastic bags full of empty cans and bottles. It was me who was there when you recycled them at the Duane Reade pharmacy in midtown. You think you were so cool and smart; you cheated a woman out of what was rightfully hers. It’s dog eat dog mentality as far as you are concerned. You think I’m weak. It is not so. People like you make me sad. I feel sorry for you.




September 20, 2017


You will never grow old. There will be no wrinkles on your face, nothing to tell the world how many years have gone by since the last time we saw each other. You were the one who taught me I had a soul, a mind and a body. I felt all three deeply and well because of you and only you. I loved you then. I loved you with so much heartbreak and joy. I love you now. You and I will be in our mid 20s forever. We will be young no matter what. There will be no pain; happiness will finally be ours.





September 17, 2017


Someone’s bag brushed hard against her leg but she didn’t say anything. She was getting off at the next stop and there was no point. For once, there was enough room on the subway seats; the younger woman sitting next to her didn’t think so because when her own and much smaller bag touched her by accident, she cursed. You bitch! The first woman stared at her. No, I am not a bitch. The man on one of the seats laughed. Others in the subway car looked, said nothing. The woman who had verbally abused her went on and on. You skinny; you’ve always been skinny. You look like my sister. The first woman remembered an incident on the subway where someone had hit a 70 year old woman over a seat. I can’t be your sister, she answered. I am not like you, nowhere near like you. The younger woman said she loved her anyway because she believed in Jesus. I don’t and can’t believe in Jesus if there are people like you in this world. Please go see a psychiatrist tomorrow. The subway seemed to take forever to get to her stop. Sometimes crossing the Manhattan Bridge from Canal Street to Dekalb Avenue took over 7 or 8 minutes. She sighed with relief when the train stopped. I hope this doesn’t happen again but next time I’m calling 911.








September 7, 2017

The Question

How did this happen? How did my hands grow old, with those blue veins showing through my skin? How did my face start to look wrinkled and jaded, disappointed about the dreams that didn’t make it? There were so many dreams that have been lost! I can’t count them anymore. How did I lose my innocent look, that look of wonder and excitement about what was going to happen next? My life was once like a book whose pages I couldn’t wait to turn. I wanted to know the next day’s action, the event that was going to follow yesterday’s event. Now I don’t care. Now the wonder is gone; the magic is no more.







September 7, 2017

Here it is. Another just like you wanted. I bought you another. I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t help it. You seemed to need it so much, so very much. I wanted to help, but maybe I helped in the wrong way. You can’t do without it. It’s the addiction. You go off it, but then you go back again. It is your poison; but to you the addiction is as important as chocolate ice cream is to a kid on a sultry summer day.


September 7, 2017

That’s it. It’s the liquor. The liquor that helps me be alive. I feel when I pour the liquid down my throat. I live then. I love my cans, all the lovely cans spread out before me. They are lovely. I am wanted. Life wants me.


September 3, 2017

Give me. Just stop asking questions. Just give me. I need the money. I have to have the money. What I need is nickels and dimes compared to what I used to have, but you have to understand: I am desperate. I act desperate. I feel desperate. It’s either the money or I don’t know what. It could be a lot worse. Things will not improve easily, I can tell you that right now. The out I was expecting isn’t coming. I don’t know if it will ever come. I am not hoping for it a anytime soon.

How Many

August 25, 2017

How Many?

How many are there? Tell me, how many talks in the dark, talks that no one except you can hear? How many words were spoken, words about dreams and goals and genuine feelings of the heart? Who are you, the people who sit in the dark next to a beloved dog or cat talking to them as if they were human beings? How big is their sense of relief at being able to say to the animals what they don’t dare say to even the most beloved human family member? The gladness they feel when they express themselves truthfully without a cover up of politeness is beyond priceless.




Control of the Heart

August 23, 2017


I can’t control it; I can’t push it away. I don’t see you and something in me hurts. It exists. My affection, to put it mildly, for you is there for all to see. My face is more expressive when I talk about you or when something reminds me of you. My eyes want you. It’s funny because their desire is not practical at all. You have nothing to offer me. You have nothing except the soul I saw when I first met you.