Seagull

I know now why the poets stayed.
It’s been months since I left and still—

I was riding a bike through Carroll Gardens at dawn,
trying to make a decision not to hurt anyone.

On the waterfront in Red Hook,
the lights of Manhattan bright against a dark sky,
a paper cup of red wine between my knees.

I was afraid when the man from the block
stood over me on the stoop and asked me
if I wanted to go to the corner and “get some pussy.”

Cheese, crackers, and champagne
in the back row of a Soho cinema.

I was too broke to pay for the concerts in the park,
but I had friends I could sit with on blankets
and hear the music as the bats ate the fireflies.

The house on Lexington Avenue in Bed-Stuy,
with all those warm-hearted people.

I was bad to people when I was trying to be good to myself.
I was bad to myself when I was trying to be good to people.

Lonely trips to Rockaway Beach with other lonely souls
I didn’t talk to then and don’t talk to now.

I was jealous of the seagulls.
They knew why they were there.

Maybe not all may understand what this means. But it is how I felt at one point. 

I wanted to fly and I wanted to break free. Bounded by rules and restriction.

It is really a cut so deep I would not able to relate in lay man term.

I live today, but choices are bounded. Conquering fear of love ones, but neglected my own.

Wanted to let in but fearing of hurting. The tears goes on. 

While being left randomly by the wind.

Putting myself on the judgement alter,

overseeing those in pain, I felt love just flew pass the winds.

Couldn't grab hold of the grip while passing through myself.