I Don’t Know What I’d Do Without My Pets – Poem

I Don’t Know What I’d Do Without My Pets

 

I don’t know what I’d do without my pets

Because no matter how bad I feel

They still need to be taken care of

 

If you have a dog, it will need to go outside

If you have a cat, it will need to be fed

Both will need to be petted and cuddled

 

You will think of their needs before your own

I will make sure mine are fed before I eat

I will spend more money on their food than on mine sometimes

 

And when I’m sad they’ll stay close to me

My dog will curl up beside me and offer up her belly for belly rubs

My cat will lay beside commanding to be petted

Both will always respond to the sound of my voice

And always let me pet and cuddle them

 

Yes, I know pets can reduce stress

But mine have let me cry into their fur in the dark of night

Mine have listened to me pour my heart out to them

And though they can’t respond back in words

Their eyes on me

My cat’s purring

And my dog’s loving devotion

Have all been enough to make me feel better

 

I don’t have human children

But my pets are my children

Or as I like to say,

My children have four legs and fur, and bark and meow

But I care for them as much as I would if I had a human child

 

Because of my dog, I get outside to see the sky and breathe the air

I get outside to walk and exercise

I get outside sometimes to even meet people

And though my dog can be anti-social, especially with other dogs

Occasionally though, we’ll make a new friend, however brief

 

So to Darcy and Ronan, my pets, my four-legged fur-kids

I love you even when you drive me nuts

I love your cuddles

And devotion to me

I love how you keep me going even when I’m feeling terribly lonely

I love how you make me smile and laugh with your antics

 

Darcy-dog, I love you despite your over-protectiveness

I love you despite the fact I messed up your first year

I love you when you smile at me

I love you when you cuddle with me

I love you when you get me outside to see the sky

 

Ronan-kitty, I love you despite your fat laziness

I love you despite the fact that you’re a doofus sometimes

I love you even when you panic when you can see the bottom of your food dish

I love you when you come up to me wanting to be petted

Even when you can clearly see I’m doing something else

 

Both of you came into my life when I wasn’t looking to get a pet at all

But you both stayed with me, and loved me no matter what

For that I’m forever grateful

 

And with me, no matter what happens, you’ll always have a home

I’ll always be there for you no matter what happens to us

Even in the darkest of nights, and the scariest and saddest of times

I’ll always keep you by my side

I’ll always love you

 

Because honestly, I don’t know what I would do with you

I Call Myself a Writer (Poem)

I Call Myself a Writer

 

For the longest time, I always said I was something else

Something in addition to being a writer

 

I was a call-center jock who wrote

I was an Uber driver who wrote

I was something else who also wrote

 

But over the last few days when I ask myself what I am

I say to myself ‘I am a Writer’

I’m still working on finding the courage to say this out-loud

As I have not earned enough from my writing to pay any bills

 

Yet paying the bills isn’t what a title is about

It’s a declaration of who you are and what you do

For me, it’s a declaration of my calling

It’s the first word I can use to describe myself

 

Writer

 

I claim the title of ‘Writer’ in my mind, and in my heart and soul

It’s what I hear most in my mind when I think about what I do

And what I want to do not only in a day

But with my life

 

I feel a sense of loss, and of sadness when I don’t write

I know some days I won’t have the strength to write

I know some days the words won’t come to me

And I know I’ll be okay on those days,

Even when they make me sad and lonely

 

But when I’m feeling sad and lonely away from my keyboard

I will tell myself ‘I am a Writer’

I will ask myself what I am and reply with,

‘I am a Writer’

I Call Myself a Writer -pdf

Far Enough

Last night I was with a passenger and one of the questions he asked was where I was from. I told him I was born and raised in San Antonio and his reply was, “You didn’t get very far, did you?”

Now I was in traffic so I didn’t have a way of replying to that, and in reality I’m sure for him it was an attempt at humor that he probably forgot about a minute after he said it. But I will admit here, it ticked me off. And just because I haven’t been really been too far from San Antonio doesn’t mean I haven’t gotten very far in life.

My definition of ‘far’ is not physical, but mental and emotional. Those are two things that can’t be measured in miles, or dollar signs, or by any other material means. Yes, I want to see the world and travel but if I don’t, I’ll be just fine. But I know not everyone feels the way I do, and I’m sure a lot of people view themselves as failures for not amassing wealth or travel.

This morning I woke up to the news that Anthony Bourdain, the writer and former restaurant chef had committed suicide. My heart breaks for him and his loved ones but I wonder if his immense travel was a way of trying to run from something. Because years ago, I thought about running away and never coming back. I wasn’t suicidal but thought that I would just be better off by myself as I felt like I was a failure in terms of being around people.

I’ve come to realize that my failure wasn’t entirely my fault. Yes I was, and am still a klutz verbally sometimes, especially with expressing my feelings. But I’ve come to realize that everyone else isn’t perfect either. Yet I wonder how many people struggle so hard to maintain a veneer of perfection, or a certain persona when they don’t feel that way at all. For years, I didn’t know how I was supposed to be in this world. I felt like everything I tried to do I inevitably failed at. But I look back and see that I wasn’t failing, but moving forward from things that weren’t working for me, and leaving some things behind that could have permanently harmed me.

In the eyes of certain people in this world, I’m a raging failure right now because I haven’t been anywhere, and I haven’t done anything really successful. I disagree with that because my definition of success differs from the generally accepted definition and standard, which is an accumulation of property and wealth with a healthy dose of travel thrown in.

And in addition to accumulating wealth, traveling the world doesn’t make you a better person because I’ve met people who have traveled the world and they’re still uptight, self-righteous, judgmental pricks. When they travel, they don’t see things as they are, but as they want them to be, as they think they should be. Anthony Bourdain didn’t see the world that way so when he talked about people needing to travel, it was about learning about other cultures and food. It was about seeing the world as it really is, and not what we think it should be.

And we need to remember to see ourselves as we really are, and not what some assholes in this world think we should be. We need to define success on our own terms, and stand against the voices that tell us otherwise even if we’re scared, hurting, and alone. Because that is far enough to see the light, and live for that.