True Test of Faith

The true test of my faith, these days, 
is seeing myself as sincere & pious, 
even as I’m mired in sin.

I’ve never had a good self-image. Always thought the worst of myself.

I blame my upbringing, and my disposition, and my PTSD.

I’d blame autism, but I don’t want to ascribe any more negative things to that beauty.

I space out my lines, now, to make them easier to read.

Not for anyone else but myself.

And if others read this, just as well.

But that’s never been my intention.

Always wrote for self, to understand self, and then I understood self; what am I writing for?

Answer: Daily Double.


			I wonder why that girl never responded to my email?
			I mean, she reached out first… so what gives?

Do you see how my mind works, now?
It can’t stay on task even when I want it to.
And I so rarely want it to.

I want to absolve myself of the depth of sin which I now find myself unwilling participant in.

I want to absolve myself, but then my self tells me: Only God Can Do That.

Right, self, but we need some compassion round here.

We can’t keep being down on ourselves, bro.

And if it ain’t one reason, it’ll be another.

Look, young brother, you’re in love with finding fault in people.

Most of all, yourself.

Contrary to self-belief, you’re people, too.

Man, I’m getting down. This is messing with my caffeine high.

These emotions are so heavy. Have I been suppressing them?

I need to respond to my masseuse. Can’t afford to lose another person in my life.

Well, even though our relationship is transactional, but we all have to pay for life.

Some pay with their lives, for this life.

And then they’re gone, swept away, like Larry Levis Stones.


Like the wind in Fresno, who makes no mention of the wind that sweeps through moon craters.

Tell me: when’s the last time you gave yourself permission to dream?

When’s the last time you had a positive thought about yourself that wasn’t fueled by coffee?

See? I’m doing it again --- you’re doing it again.

Even as you try to uplift yourself, you do so by putting that same self down.

Stepping on it. Smushing your boots sideways as cows chew cud.

Jaw left, jaw right, abrupt stop.

This is your life, and you only get one chance it.

Keep writing, but you have to let the hate out your heart.

I know you still hate yourself, Said.


LMAO what, you thought I didn’t know?

It ain’t exactly a state secret, chief.

We can all see, behind your pretty words, behind this thin veneer.

You’re a writer and people love your words but you still don’t…

You still don’t love yourself.

Don’t ask me how I know.

            I see it in every poem you write.

                         In every girl you fight.

Who only wants to be in your life.

But you don’t give her a chance.

You push, push, push.

You push away everyone that’s meant something to you.

Especially me. 

Why are you pushing me away, Said?

What did I do to you??

You wouldn’t een be here without me, bro.

I’m all you got.

That and Allah.

Allah and your words.

All you have is me, your words, your family, a long list of people who care for you infinitely.

You have so much good to give this world, yet you give so little of it to yourself.

Why that is, Yung?

This that March Madness.

All we know is Madness & Love.

Madly in Love with Hate of Self.

Shit, that feels too close to the truth.

I mean, it is the truth.

Not Higher Truth.

But more like….

Sigh.


What’s wrong now?

I’m thinking about going back to that old BORG FLOW.

That question & response?

Yeah, but I can’t do it anymore.

Why not?

Well because I already did it for an entire book, and you can’t re-do what’s already been done.



Yung Nigga, always strapped with a gun.

But I have no gun, no Nirvana, no gums.

They bleed when I brush, you see.

My hurt bleeds when I can’t trust you or me.


idk what this piece of writing is, or what to do with it, but I’m all emotion’d out.

Time to get back to doing whatever it was I was doing before this.

Listening to Amy Winehouse, crying over a book of Larry Levis Poems.

Laughing with the lines in my own poems.

Trying to find self-compassion in a heart trained to hate everything, everyone, especially itself.

Trying to find answers with my mind, with my words, that only this heart can provide.


Hey heart, hear me now… 

I thank you for all the blood you pump on the daily.

I ask you to forgive me for the stress I put you through.

I hope my life isn’t making you hard… I hope not.

But know that most of what we go thru is beyond our control.

We’re both just trying to hold on, to pump blood…


I know you love me, like I love you, even thru all the negativity.

I know that under that thin veneer of pretty words and so-called self hate…

I know that a river of love floods beneath all of that.

I love you.


Life is complex, hard, ironic.

But we’ll make it.

We are making it.

With every word.

I love you, and you love me, too.

And that’s all we need.


That and Allah.

Allah is all we’ve ever needed.

Even when we couldn’t see Him.

Not like actually see Him…

But conceive of Him.

But Faith isn’t easily won.

One must struggle for it.

And love for it.

And push past that old self hate.

Until we find ourselves bathed.

In Light & Love.

I love you, Yung Said.

No matter how old we get.

And I put that on everything I love, dawg.

I put that on you. On me. I put that on self-compassion.


Okay.

I’m done now. 

The tears have turned to words.

The hate has receded, like snow in April.

And all I can see is sunshine. 

Keep shining, Said.

                You’re a light for this world, 
                    Even if you only ever see
                        Darkness within yourself.

There’s light under all that murk.

There’s love under all that hate.

And I love you, despite the hate.

I love you anyway.

Because you're human.

So, so human.

And I love you for it.

And Allah loves you.

KNOW THAT!