About My Pain

I trained for my own pain
believing it would be relieved in success,
such so to override the pain it took to get there,
yet never realizing that I trained for my own pain.

I am who I am. And it will be what it will be,
but I can’t see beyond the misery.
I made the me I am, for the dream of who I am,
yet unaware that I trained for my own pain.
The pain is freely given for those on this road, need no tarots for this is no
mystery.

Simply and shamelessly gullibly ignorantly oblivious to my training for for my own pain.
Not enough paint can paint the painting to my pain.
Can’t point the finger knowing I was the master of my slavery.

I trained for my pain to become a slave–unknowingly.
I’m the me I am that created the slave I am,
unnoticing the grave I’m digging for where I’ll lay one day.

Not sure how I didn’t realize that I was training for my own pain, yet a pain I didn’t train for, but no less adore.

A long distance relationship

Near or far, I feel you,
Any bird can remind me,
Knowing it soars through,
The same skies we see,
Balancing on our winds that blew,
Each day the moon shines,
Reflecting shared sunlight,
Hurt heart from existence of distance,
Pleasure in the love that dare dare
Time,
Relief in realization that love never dies,
The only thing we know to defy time,
Courage, bravery, and persistence,

The Thing About Cages

We created these cages…

The cages aren’t only for the lions, tigers, and bears

The cages aren’t only made of steal bars and fears

The cages have been made for the special among us,

The cages have been made with complexified ideas

contained within pages of text

The cages have been made for more than just slaves,

and the reprobates.

We’re all being robbed and we’re all endangered

to our own cages that we set up

Be careful not to slip and fall in your own trap or cage

Be greater than limitations and known possibilities

Stop being your own or others’ enemy.

we cage the greats (to be unique is to be great);

we hold them back and gang up on them;

so hide if you’re special;

blend in;

don’t stand out;

be a carbon copy;

fuck uniqueness; and

seek mediocrity.

It’s easier.

24/7

Constant with consistency is the key
Stringing together enough highs
to have highlights
Bringing together enough eyes
to have crowds creating stars
Stadiums roar with lights outshining the day’s twilight
We delight in another’s greatness but what we don’t see
what we need to to appreciate the delight
Constant with consistency is the key

Constant with consistency is the key
for the greatest of greats
it’s what separates bad from the good
and the good from the great
being patient may be needed
but never wait
and never weigh
yourself down with doubt
no doubt about it being
constant with consistency as the key

And for me or you, or the janitor honored for 32 years of service
To the Two Star General
In general, greatness is born through the test of time
No flash in the pan
No two week effort or get rich quick scam
Nothing worth having is freely given
Earned with time and sweat of the brow, wearing smile or frown
Constant with consistency is the key

Lawyers’ Lament

You know you aren’t special.

But you’re special to them.

From the tv shows and movies that glorify the struggle, it’s not too many that can’t do what we do.
Your success comes from skill draped in luck.

Did you make enough A’s in school?

Or pucker up enough to be the right person’s tool?

A keen ability to know what to say to people

And a vivid imagination

…enough to play people.

We’ve come a long way from burdens of 1L, to fearing some shit we do will land in us hell, or jail–even worse.

We live in this world. It’s what we know too well.

Angered that our work gets undone or another gets the credit

all to have 4 closets of Zenga and Hickey Freeman suits each tailored

and not worry about credit.

I wanna pull up to the golf course

in my Porsche

sharing war stories over a stogie, after hitting the back nine.

Lobster rolls and wine,

for lunch.

Never mind having a house with a pond and marble columns. We’ll settle for a McMansion with a private drive way.

Professorial to others in a quest to be greater

but there’s a power struggle too great we can’t dare to presume to wrangle.

Should’ve been a doctor, or businessman

not a paper pusher, argument crafter, contact drafter or killer, loophole finder, reg dodger, all for another’s profits

yet relish to share their dollars.

Your personal injury is our win
we guarantee,
please believe me,
I got kids, an aging wife, and a secretary

…associates, and paralegals to feed and please.

So please

work with me.

thirty-three

…Percent commission of any wins.

In one city there* 80,000 of me

but I’m better than them who don’t have the name of my law degree.

And I’ll squad up with those just like me.

I’m in a town where all they know is me

take your business and live where u can’t even reach me.

I’m in a big city where dollars are everything,

I gotta get those dollars so I don’t feel like nothing.

Far removed from pain of 2L or boredom of going to class to learn nothing!
Unapplicable info learned during 3L, a forced philosopher and all I wanted was a trade to get me paid.
These bar costs keep coming and hope I do things straight to escape the hammer of disbarment.
How quick we forget the agony of hiding out in books for 3 months to take a test for 2 days, or 3, to wait on results for 5 months praying and willing to dedicate your first child so that you pass.

I forgot about doing right.

I need to this cash.

150k so not to be considered the same

150k so there’s no need to have game

150k gotdamn what a shame

I mean sham, not enough money can pay us back for how our souls’ slain.

Just honor and respect us

at least the best of us

I can only imagine the love I’d find if I never thought this way

Can’t unlearn or spurn it. I bought this me I am. I worked for this me I am. And learned to be a killer…
for this me I am.

I promise I won’t thwart another effort by tipping off the opposition.

Hoping they may offer me a higher paying position.

I promise not to lie and say it can’t be done or we can’t do it. Fuck it

i”ll do it,

you need the help and I’m here to. I’m before God and the courts

but they should know lying out your ass is par for the course.

We take shit personal…fuck business. I been in this for the wins, it is personal, you bitches.

An argument, I could lose, a strategy seen from miles away, it’s chess at its best. But there’s always another day…

and another fight to get right. Even if its at home. The effort never stops. It’s like time, it doesn’t.

A competitor’s spirit finds the motive in their soul, not a paycheck.

But fees, a mortgage–god forbid–school loans will check your dreams.

Don’t be fooled, money, power, respect, sex, and people relationships

and the the chance to do and see shit you’d never expect…

is the driving force.

I wanna save the day, so one day, I can say, I did that for you’all.

it’s time to pay me, b/c I can’t forget the face of my daughters and sons when they thirst and hunger or desire

and they should have that b/c their parent’s a lawyer.

Working hard for the money

taxes better not come take it from me.

Hide it out in he Caymans and have a nice vacation.

I deserve it,

I structured your license agreement perfect.

Lost sleep, hugs, and kisses from the Miss. Mr. Mrs. or Mistress.

Made millions and can’t give it up

too much love for the game…and perks just the same.

What else am I gonna do, but be a lawyer?

Until I die or they take it from me.

I’m still gonna be a lawyer.

An Ex-Athlete’s Delight

Wake up with the pain of a prior day’s work recalled as your feet shockingly touch the floor.
Resent waking up…well, the process.
Love waking up to carry out your night’s dreams in today.
Begrudgingly start your routine of push ups, sit ups, squats, toe raises….
Willing to do whatever to get that advantage on your competition–wherever they reside.
Gotta make it.
You wake quick, to get to the next step.
But, the daily grind wears on your mind,
takes a physical toll on your body, and thrashes at your soul.
Being an athlete has it rewards in the fleeting moments they come, but it’s all work, but some say its tons of fun.
Essentially, athletes keep playing for the chance at “the glory.”
“Thank God if I make it.”
Blame him for having another plan for me if I don’t.
“It can’t be me. I work too hard. Sweat too much.”
Why do I even do this? I’m tall? I’m strong? I’m fast? I’m quick?
My friends, family and expectations?
Is this love or lust?
I know I can have minions to keep feeding my overgrown ego that i wouldn’t have otherwise.
It’s only because my name appears in the paper; or, my image flies across YouTube;
or, your HDTV.
Do I do it for the day I hit the Shine of a Spotlight?
Do I do it for the day I can really get paid?
Do I do it so that my good looks are profitable
or bad ones and skin color become irrelevant?…
I love the game.
It defines me.
I enjoy winning.
The losing is motivating.
I see God, and the good in both.
I spend all my free time in a gym,
with or without people.
It’s my religion.
Sorry, God! (I think).
I sacrifice:
Academics, love life, social experience, other life joys, jobs and money.
I’m different for my ability to sacrifice.
But, I’m not honored or given my due unless I win and keep winning.
So how can I really appreciate a loss?
Fans can love or hate you for what they can’t do.
Future employers can love to gloat about your past accomplishments, while longing for the day to berate you….”I’m your coach, now!”
What it is to work for love and passion–neither can be replaced by money or trophies.
It’s great to have it all, but better to have your sport.
You grow to love the pain, agony, triumph,
and defeat, and saddened when you’re liberated from it all when…
On the one day it stops.
Death over dishonor?
I gave so much to the game and now it’s gone.
With it, my youth and spirit.
How to care beyond something you have given more than half your life to?
How to carry burdens of burned friendships in pursuit of a bigger dream?
I love the clicks in my knees, toes, elbows and neck.
It’s what I have left from days achieving without having
to look at old stat sheets, clippings, or trophies.
Artists at their finest is an athlete.
Those you’ve never heard of and those we all adore.
We all have this in common: a lot of pain and love and muscle memory.