I am here.
I have so much to write.
So many things to say that should be said.
Blank spaces translating my fears.
Fears drenched in saline from adolescent tears.
Try to see tomorrow…
Try to see tomorrow…
Looking down again.
Scribbled thoughts on paper.
A man conjuring demons of a boy long gone.
Passing through on memory lane.
Confusion the destination of this game.
Try to see tomorrow…
Try to see tomorrow…
Cry little boy.
Cry again tonight.
Freedom falls from your voice again.
Some things we never needed to hear.
Deaf walls of deceit disguising your true worth.
Try to see tomorrow…
Try to see tomorrow…
Never as far as might seem…
Never as far as might seem…
Just sitting here in a hotel room at 12:30am. Fingers lock like anchors on the ocean floor when I try to write the things that I want to convey. I do not know where this fear comes from. Is it my growing older? Is it my quest for perfection? Might it be the fear of being judged…
I do know that the past couple of weeks have been quite amazing. My band played an amazing set of shows in Yakima, WA (of which I must write about). Also my oldest son Diego turned 14. I look at him and his brother Cruz and am instantly taken back to a different place. That place of confusion…that place that is created when living in a broken home. That time of not knowing just what to say, or when to say it, or how to feel about it.
Thinking the words are simple. Stacking them on a ledge outside of your mind is the hardest part.
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