Happiness Mind Poetry Relationships

I am an Elite

I am an Elite


December 18, 2020

The shades of high culture painted my eyes. I mistook elitism for excellence.

Like every attempt to scratch where it itches, I did everything I could to be considered elite. Once I qualified the bar for elitism in one area, I chased the next measure of elitism.

A Gucci silk shirt, a BMW car;
An Ivy League education, a private equity job;
Vintage wine, private jet;
Polished words, refined friends.

Almost touched the mirage.
But quite not.

I turned to philanthropy.
Gave, gave.
Publicized my giving.

My philanthropy,
my obsession disguised as passion
left me bankrupt,
and divorced.

Years of painstaking efforts to be considered elite, to earn respect, were wasted in the aftermath of impulsive retorts. Those reactions sprang up from a smell of disrespect.

How can you not respect me?
I got degrees, a mansion.
How can you not love me?
I gave you luxury, comfort!
How can you not see me?
I am everywhere.

Why was that respect so important for me? I searched for answers. At the age of 65, I found my answer.

I had little self-respect.
To fill my void,
I surrendered myself
to scraps of prestige.

How stupid it was of me to be surrounded by people I didn’t want to spend my time with.

I started investing my time in
my old hairstylist (she has purple hairs),
my “uncool” friends,
my “unsuccessful” brother,
my gardener’s daughter.
They sure know how to share joys.

I started reading Harry Potter,
got done with my ego,
became an intern of life.
I dared to fall in love with her,
less than half my age is she.
Bonny works as a waitress in a bar,
she speaks in a strange accent,
knows nothing about vintage wine.
Told me once:
“Blame not the dark for your night,
you despised the day for its light.”
I said all right.
Her wisdom from hardships
glued me together.

I, finally,
am an elite.

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Happiness Mind Poetry



August 17, 2020

If not a reason, find an excuse to smile.
Writhe in low and fly high.
Embrace with no arms.
Express when you can impress.
Open out to closed minds.
Be a paradox, a beautiful paradox.

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Empathy and Compassion LGBTQIA+ Mind Poetry

I Call You “They”

I Call You “They”

12 August, 2020

your curiosity in those erected eyes as you would
lie back on the pillows smiling at me for hours
your heart crawling on my tiny chest in the dead of night
your fingers pulsing on my back

for thirty years
i have climbed back into those memories
put myself into scraps of that quaint trance
to live freely in the bookcase you caged me in

i saw you locked in your nonbinary self
whispering past in the present
motionless in grief
broken by norms
how guiltily you looked between your legs

this morning I quivered
when you touched me
smelled my forgotten pages

i am free today to stand by your side
when you have to book your own ride
fight the unknown tide
alas the wise have no wisdom to guide

a slick marketing gimmick gender equality is
if i am accused of hyperbole
i will harrumph as does that snooty grammarian

human is not man
not he or she
mispronouncing a name is still okay
mispronouning a human is not
i respect your wishes
i honor your dignity

i borrow the pain
the sufferings of those
who fought to love
struggled for their right to be
since time touched the clock

if you is singular and plural
a boy and a girl
so is they
the world will wake up to your stories
one day

fruits peak to wine
you and i to a human fine

i will be prose and verse
i will wed your solitude 
bear you joy and identity
i shall hold your hands till you fall asleep
today and forever

forget humans
let us cuddle

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