I Could've Been

I could’ve been different. 

I could’ve chosen acting over music,

Physics over medicine,

Aggression over understanding. 

I could’ve been, I could’ve been.

But I am me.

I could’ve taken easy classes. 

Accepted B’s. 

I could have disrespected my teachers,

My parents, and my friends. 

I could’ve become someone else.

But I am me.

I could’ve given into the pain. 

I could’ve listened to my doubt.

To the voice that said ‘why bother?’ 

I could’ve stayed down. 

Refused to pick up my pieces. 

But I am still me.

I could’ve lost my friends. 

I could’ve never written. 

Never called.

I could’ve been corrupted by despair and loneliness.

I could’ve spurned the offered hand.

But I am me.

I could’ve lost my home. 

My friends. 

My life. 

To addictions and despair. 

I could’ve been discouraged. 

I could’ve been defeated. 

I could’ve been so much less than I am.

But I am me.

Welcome Home

This isn't the first time I've written these words.  This is not the first blog to be posted, or the first responses to the writings on my soul.  But this is a tribute to Mr. Nelson, who first held my hand as I took my first tentative steps down the streets of Paris, hoping to find, somewhere in this city, my true passion and inspiration.  I don't know.  Perhaps I just have a warped sense of reality; my mind is the real world and this stuff that I can physically touch is the dream, and one day I'm going to go to sleep and wake up to reality for eternity.  That seems like it would be nice.