Tag: poetry

My Dreams

It feels like I’m always longing for something and I can’t quite verbalize what that “something” is. I’ve been dreaming about running this company for years and as I look back on the journey I can’t imagine doing things differently. At the same time I have the self-awareness to know that even though I spent a substantial amount of time and energy on my projects I probably could have done more to further my cause. And yet, I have no clue what more I could have done.

These aren’t fully formed thoughts and if you’re reading this then you could probably tell that I’m conflicted. On one hand, my company is over ten years old and hasn’t had any significant income in over 8 years. On the other hand, 8 years ago I had the crazy idea that maybe the future would be based on online communities and that I should start my own. Fast forward to today and my network has grown to include 8 active brands/segments with 200,000 total followers and a monthly reach of a million people per month. The reach is impressive but the financials are not. I have not monetized our following in any way and my company brought in $0 last year. I’m not embarrassed by it. But I really didn’t think it would take me this long to get there and, naturally, I’ve questioned myself several times.

However, I’ve learned that the overwhelming dreams are the best ones to have because they fill you with a sense of purpose. My dream gives me something to constantly chase. Maybe it’s not meant to be realized and maybe that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I try to stay focused on the dream and take steps to achieve my goals. Maybe all this time I’ve been building the foundation and the next 20 years will be dedicated to finishing a skyscraper. And maybe I was supposed to learn to fully embrace myself as a writer before I thought of myself as an entrepreneur. There’s a ton of maybes and more will pop up along the way. That’s part of the fun.

Be You. Live R.E.A.L.

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Little Kenny

Sometimes I put my pen to pad and a short story comes out…sometimes the beginning of a novel that I never finish comes out.

Today…a poem came out…I call it “Little Kenny” for lack of a better title:

Little Kenny found a pistol in his daddy’s closet.

He was only three years old but old enough to hold the handle.

Pick the pistol up, stare into the barrel.

The sorrow is he pulled.

Red on his apparel now he laying in a pool of his own blood as the shot rang ’round the room.

On the floor is where his nanny found him.

On the phone, 911, she dialing.

Mother crying, dad distraught cuz he’s at fault.

A year later, talks about divorce, of fucking course.

In the middle of debacle there’s still trouble with their teen.

Who lost his little brother and mourned by smoking weed.

Got a PhD in heroin, became a petty fiend.

Robbing dealers with a kitchen knife, becoming just a bum.

A slave to heavy drugs.

They found him in a hotel room, syringe still in his arm.

His heart wasn’t beating.

But the pain? It lived on.

This a story ’bout some carelessness and what it can do.

Heed the warnings in this poem or it can happen to you.

THE END.

A little demented but like I said…I let my pen write for me. What comes out, comes out.

So it goes.