Mirror Images: Writing from the Jan Hus Neighborhood House by NY Writers Coalition

Mirror Images Writing from the Jan Hus Neighborhood House Fall 2008

NY Writers Coalition Press

Copyright ÂŠ 2008 NY Writers Coalition Inc. Upon publication, copyright to individual works returns to the authors. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Editor: Melanie Votaw Layout: Deborah Clearman Mirror Images contains writing by the members of a creative writing workshop conducted by NY Writers Coalition Inc. at the Jan Hus Presbyterian Church, 351 East 74th Street, New York, NY 10021. NY Writers Coalition Inc. is a not-for-profit organization that provides free creative writing workshops throughout New York City for people from groups that have been historically deprived of voice in our society. For more information about NY Writers Coalition Inc.: NY Writers Coalition Inc. 80 Hanson Place #603 Brooklyn, NY 11217 (718) 398-2883 info@nywriterscoalition.org www.nywriterscoalition.org

The Jan Hus Homeless Outreach and Advocacy Program is a program of the Jan Hus Presbyterian Church, part of its mission to break down the barriers to social justice in order to create community wholeness. The Jan Hus congregation has a long history of public advocacy on behalf of the disenfranchised members of the neighborhoodâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s population and those who are victims of injustice in the larger world community. Jan Hus Presbyterian Church 351 East 74th Street New York, NY 10021 www.janhus.org

CONTENTS

THE MIRROR George Lantay………...……...……..11 GROUND LEVEL FIXER-UPPER WITH GREAT VIEWS Joseph Pesco….12 IMAGE Marcus Simmons……………...……………14 MANHATTAN SPECIAL Joseph Pesco......………..17 DO U DREAM Precious………….…..……….…..…18 APPEARANCES CAN BE DECEIVING Marcus Simmons…………………..…20 BEYOND THE MIRROR Van Verb….....………......24 PUB CROWD Joseph Pesco…………………..……..26 MONSTER RX VS MATRIX Precious….….….…….29 NICKNAMES Theresa Keis…………………...……33 AN A.K.A. AND HOW IT CAME ABOUT Marcus Simmons………………….....34 6

THE LIE (AN EXAGGERATED ME) George Lantay……………………...…36 THE SCAR OR THE MIRROR IMAGE OF IT Theresa Keis……………………….…37 THE PHONE CALL Marcus Simmons………………38 ‘TWAS MUSIC TO MY EARS...SO IT’S TIME TO TIGHTEN YOUR BELT Theresa Keis………40 THIS IS Joseph Pesco………………………………...41 I WAS BORN BLIND Van Verb…………...………..42 MIRROR IMAGES Melanie Votaw………………….45

INTRODUCTION As the leader of the New York Writers Coalition writing workshop at Jan Hus for about a year and a half, I have had the privilege to meet several new and interesting people I might not have met otherwise. Ours is a passionate and talented group of diverse individuals who enjoy writing and exploring together—pure and simple. Every week is a new adventure which not only affords me the opportunity to explore my own creativity, but I get the chance to hear what everyone else comes up with. I can throw a topic at the group, and they’ll take that topic to places beyond my wildest expectations, expanding my own imagination in the process. The Jan Hus writing workshop participants write pieces that are philosophical, spiritual, soulful, insightful, imaginative, moving, compassionate, and often funny. Our weekly meetings are a time to share the human experience in a way that is very enriching and inspiring. The process of writing is one in which we record our experiences—either in the outside world or the inner world of our fantasies—and share them with others. 8

Through that kinship of understanding, we feel less alone as we witness one another’s expressions. We feel heard, which is a fundamental human need. I would be remiss if I didn’t thank the staff at Jan Hus and the Homeless Outreach Advocacy Program for their support and help—Amy Conley, Carol Schachter, Jamie Manson, and Moira Ahearne. * * * Precious Wilson came up with our title, “Mirror Images,” which reflects our hope that you will see yourself in these pages. We used the subject as a writing prompt one evening, which is why you will see the theme pop up as you thumb through our book. Whether we live on an opulent estate in Bel Air or a shelter on the upper east side of Manhattan, we all have the fundamental things in common as part of the human family. No matter how different we may seem, we are truly mirror images of each other. Melanie Votaw, Workshop Leader December, 2008

THE MIRROR George Lantay How am I like other men or other women? Like them, I search my closet, my drawer, a little cardboard box, the old mattress I call my bed. Like other men and women, I wake to the new day searching to warm my hands and my feet as the weather turns colder. Like them, I need a pair of warm socks and a pair of dry shoesâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;maybe a pair of boots, warm pants with a lining and a good coat that shields me from the cold wind. I need blankets. Help me, God, create order from chaos. Let my small space look as if I live here and not on the street or on some unfriendly dusty, dirty floor. No, not the dirt, not the dust, the cold, cold ground, or dirty mattress. What makes us alike? We all share common anatomical features. All have eyes, ears, lips, tongues, and, hopefully, small boxes where moths and rust do not corrupt.

GROUND LEVEL FIXER-UPPER WITH GREAT VIEWS Joseph Pesco The difficulty with the Writers Coalition method is getting into the right vein. Tuesday 7:30, middle of the winter, and luckily it’s cold and crisp, describes ideal wintering out conditions. Still, nobody sane wants to sleep out of doors while something over a million inhabitants are in cozy over-priced Manhattan hovels. This is also an ideal time to think creatively and join the Writers Coalition workshop at Jan Hus. When the temperature dips below freezing is when the clowns start thinking about motivation. Run up the damn stairs, do a “Tally-Ho” and put the pen in gear. And see if your Coalition material follows the prescribed course. These are all meaningful phrases: rental, condominium, pre-war, and the dreaded word: lease. Still, it’s fun to watch the bon vivants and to love the pageantry of it all. I pick the last remaining tidbits from the warmed-over crud and try to avoid getting run over by the limos, buses or cabs, various passenger vehicles, construction equipment, messenger wagons, bicycles, vendor carts, and motorcycles, and scooters, and some 12

wheeled vehicles I can’t describe while crossing the street. And, I’ve got to jump to reach a dog’s ear. In the scale of things, I’m a flea. Still, the view is worth it, and as long as there’s crud…

IMAGE Marcus Simmons Here’s a story about two guys I know. Both from the same area. One’s name is Christopher; the other one’s name is Richie. Totally different personalities! Chris is a guy that grew up with us who worked very hard, stayed in school, found a great job in construction. But he wore baggy pants and always had headphones on playing rap music, etc. He spoke pretty loud, and every day after work, he would chill with the fellas on the corner to have a few beers and shoot the breeze, as they would call it. Richie, on the other hand, dressed really nice, soft-spoken, clean cut, drove a nice car, and knew all the right things to say when it was needed. Both these guys were interested in the same female that had just arrived in the country from Santo Domingo. And her mother held a pretty tight grip on her. The daughter really liked Chris because Chris made her laugh, did simple things for her—walks in the park, etc., etc. Richie had money from drugs, robberies, etc., etc. He specialized in robbing drug dealers, and it’s been heard that he had more than five kills, as they say, under his belt. 14

That’s why Richie only came out late night, so this female’s mother never saw him on the corner. But on the way from work every day, she saw Chris, and at times with a beer or a drink of some type of liquor in his hand. So, she worked really hard to keep her daughter away from Chris. But one day, Richie happened to be on that same corner as she passed with her daughter. He approached them and said something, etc., etc. as he pressed the alarm to his car. This was the type of guy a mother would love her daughter to bring home for dinner, so she encouraged it all the way! She gave her permission to stay out late with him, etc., etc. One night about five blocks away from our corner, Richie and this beautiful young lady were gunned down as they sat in Richie’s car. Gunned down dead with the man that this mother chose to endorse for her daughter’s companionship. Under his appearance, soft words, and gentleman style was a killer, a drug dealer, and it was later known that he left behind nine children from nine different females. Christopher, to this day, earns $48 per hour at his construction company, has a home in his homeland, one here in Jersey, and his own business which he shares with his wife—a beauty salon on the same corner we grew up on. He’s still wearing baggy 15

jeans and having a beer after work with whatever fellas he comes across heading home after work. He provides uniforms for the kids on the block every summer to play on his endorsed baseball team in a nearby park, etc., etc. Imageâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;you be the judge!

Garden Chorus

George Lantay

MANHATTAN SPECIAL Joseph Pesco Dawn breaks over Fifth Avenue. A breath of sunlight at The Conservation Water. Cold coffee thick with sugar. A skin of melting ice, evaporation parting above moist clothing drying, and cigarette smoke completes the picture. The radio mutes, city waking honks and sirens. Dogs sniff and strollers wonder. Nothing's perfect. Breakfast in the air.

DO U DREAM Precious Do u Dream Who r u Not u The person behind u If I told u See u later Would u say ok? Maybe I’m speakin’ 2 u Ur higher energy Ur sister, brother, ancestors, friends Lookin’ at u – not seein’ u Lookin’ at me – not seein’ me Would u say I don’t make sense? Would u Dream? If I said ur goin’ 2 be rich Would u say I can’t wait? But am I speakin’ of money Maybe ur heart is worth gold Maybe ur words r powerful

Maybe ur words fulfill the needy Would u Dream? What if I said I can bring joy 2 all mankind? Would u say Who do I claim 2 be? I am someone No one / who u can see But my energies Allow me 2 do And accomplish Any task, I need I dream Dream with me 2gether as 1 We can accomplish all things We dream My world.

APPEARANCES CAN BE DECEIVING Marcus Simmons It happened one night about 2:30 a.m., I recall. I was walking toward the east side on 37th Street. As I was walking, I noticed a lady in front of me who kept looking back in a way like she was nervous because I was walking behind her. Kinda understandable. Was it because I was black and she was white or just because it was late night? Not sure! But for sure, she was nervous. I learned this to be true because behind me was this white male, and he seemed to be walking behind me just as long as I was walking behind her—I’ll say about 3 to 4 blocks. She noticed him as well because at one corner, she stopped and let me pass her. But as I reached the corner, the light changed, so I had to wait a minute or two. As I waited for the light to change, I overheard the white male ask the lady if she was okay. She replied, “Yes, well, I’m okay now that that black guy is in front of me. I think he was following me.” So, when I heard that, I just looked at her with a kind of smile as if to say “fuck you for judging me.” But to be honest, this white guy looked pretty weird to me! I guess because I spent those 14 years in prison around murderers and rapists, I kinda have 20

what they call a profile mental photo image of certain types of people. Nevertheless, he looked weird! Anyway, as I walked toward the next corner, I stopped in this deli, and I bought a sandwich and sat there and ate it with a soda and chips. I’ll say that I was in there about 30 minutes or so. As I exited the deli, I decided to go back toward the way I came. The reason was I felt some raindrops, and I didn’t want to get caught in the rain. As I walked down the same block, I saw some police cars with an ambulette as well, and just as I approached that area, I saw a female being escorted to the ambulette. This was the same female I recalled, so it made me curious. I walked really slow as she entered the ambulette with an officer. I saw the officer look my way. Then, out of nowhere, as I almost reached the next corner, I heard someone say, “Sir, can I speak with you a minute?” So, of course, I put up a defense. I replied, “For what, officer?” “We have a few questions to ask you.” So, I replied, “What type of questions?” The officer said that there was a lady that had been robbed and raped, and she said that I probably could help describe him. “We have to get more details, but could you please wait until we receive those details?” he asked. So, as I walked back toward the ambulette and 21

police cars. In my mind, I was preparing myself for what could be my worst nightmare. This female could say I did it. But after I sat there for about 20 minutes or so, an officer came out of the back of the ambulette—a lady. She approached the other officers and spoke to them for about 15 minutes. Then, they came toward me. One officer said, “Sir, there’s a lady in there that tells us that you could help describe her attacker. She said the reason she trusted this stranger to walk her to her building and wait as she entered was because she was nervous due to the fact that you were walking behind her for several blocks. This white male noticed she was a little nervous, so he offered to walk her home. As she entered the building, he pushed his way in, stole her purse and cell phone, and attempted to sexually assault her. But she screamed really loud and scared him off. She’s okay, but you both together could possibly give us a really good description of this guy.” So, I replied, “Yes, I’ll help describe him. But it’s crazy that she was nervous because a black male happened to be walking behind her in the same direction and felt nervous, and the guy she felt would make sure she reached home safe did her dirty! Life! Right, officer?” He replied, “You’re right!” So, at the police station, she apologized for pre 22

-judging me, and together, we put together a great sketch of this dude. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not sure whatever happened after that, but I do hope the lesson that female learned is that thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no color or type to describe a rapist, a criminal, etc. etc. They come in all creeds and colors!

BEYOND THE MIRROR Van Verb I have dined with kings and queens … Slept under bridges and ate cold pork-n-beans … I have played myself; And the one standing next to me … Never believing that the truth sets me free … I have built and lost empires … Thinking money would stand by my side … Someone slapped me and reminded; Even the rich commit suicide. I dressed up in the mirror … I just knew I was ‘fly’ … Then turned my back on myself … ’Cause I wasn’t that guy … I’ve been told it’s a struggle … A lifelong quest … To find who you are … And make the best of your best. Yes, I’ve seen others do it … Some less gifted than me … Yet, I still struggle daily … To set my mind free. I have people who advise me … But I drown out their voices … Because in the end, 24

My life depends on my choices. I consider myself consistent … One willing to take a stand … But it doesn’t really matter If I don’t know who I am.

PUB CROWD Joseph Pesco Bull Dog was a strange nickname for a squirrelly five-foot nothing squirt who couldn’t drink and couldn’t count much without a calculator. He’d thrown a life line to a drowning man, gotten called a son of a bitch by the guy he hauled to safety, and Bull Dog by the crowd who watched. Funny how the worst of enemies aren’t supposed to save each other’s asses from the fire. And, equally as funny how often the worst of enemies end up at the opposite end of a life line when the shit hits the fan. The crowd didn’t know that Bull Dog’s catch and he weren’t on the best of terms, and never found out. Bull Dog was born, and the squirt and the soggy catch couldn’t do a damn thing to change the events of it. Anger is a curious thing, giving some people a perpetual sour stomach and keeping other people alive. The introvert since seventh grade became Bull Dog, and the soggy catch became the burr under his saddle.

Mandala

Precious

MONSTER RX VS MATRIX Precious Close ur eyes, relax, step into the matrix with me!!! A beautiful day, sun shining, birds talkin’ people doin’ business as usual. I’m takin’ acupuncture at Betances Medical Center. 9 a.m. Monday morning, I hear firecrackers. No, it’s not the 4th of July. I’m a little worried laying in the bed poked with 20 needles in my body. How can I call my doctor to find out what’s going on? Okay, I can plug neutron cells in the universal matrix system. Then, I can escape from here. Captain Madonna made me promise not to use this ability unless absolutely necessary. Well, it’s not an emergency, but it feels like it’s going to be something. Feels funny. My body feels jittery. I’ll continue meditating … stop vexing over nothing. While meditating, combining the negative and positive electrons with my micro neurons – the shell is loading – connected at last. I’m visualizing these needles out of my body. I can do it … meditate … meditate. One by one they drop out. Ping ping. They’re out. I’m free. Wow – let’s see what’s the problem. 29

I ran outside … I heard loud explosives. A van outside exploded. We’re being attacked by “NEX.” They’re bombing the city, innocent people are being killed. I must do something, find a vein. Damn – only got 2cc of antibody cereminate left. Hope this lasts until I get back to the “lab.” I feel it rushing through my vein – my body energizing, mass muscle protruding. I injected 1cc. This shot turns my body 10 times my original size. One flash to the center of the earth shootin’ Gazookie Germ warfare at these monstrous creatures. Oh, shit! I feel light-headed. I’ve been hit, blood swelling up my skin red, my temperature rising. Feels like I’m about to bust. I need a shot of antigen serum, but I’m running low. Got to get back to the lab in North Wood. I can’t make it to the boat. It leaves in 2 hours – 1 hour to get by the river, 1 hour to cross the water to the X-area. I send a sonic transfer for help. Hope they receive it. The rain cloud blocks all satellite waves and delays it. Beep beep beep … the building’s tumbling, the ground cracking, meteorite-like rocks slam on my head. Tryin’ to stay focused – up in the sky, wind, smoke, fire. It’s X2 – he arrives. I need antigen serum quickly. Okay, okay, injected X with the last bit of serum. He is slowly reviving. Let’s kick some butt. Okay, okay. We team up, make a V trap for these monsters. 30

They charge us with bombs, spears, physical combat, rumbling on the ground. X is fighting, kicking, jumping. He falls and chops the monster’s head off, and he stabs monster RX with a silver sword containing oxalic acid, which always kills them. 1 down. X2 shocks him with a needle gun filled with silver oxalic acid. RX falls back, but the oxalic acid is airborne. It travels through the air as X3 and X4 continue fighting. Fearlessly. Suddenly, all hell starts droppin’ out of the sky. Boom boom crash crunch. Step back and gushy stuff runs out of them filling the earth with orange matter – about 3 feet of gook. We flee to our ship – back to the connection spot. Defrag matrix chip. Hurry – we only have an hour or we’ll be stuck here until the next rotation of the sun 10 light years away. We’re connected, meditating, thinking of our family and jobs, lifestyle. We pass out, then awaken 2 hours later on a table in a hospital. A beautiful nurse is present, “How do you feel?” “Fine, fine,” we answered. “Your families are outside waitin’ for u.” We slowly walked out to greet them in the waiting room. Hugs, kisses consistently. Mrs. X states, “We are at war with Monster RX.” “OH NO!!!” X replies.

NICKNAMES Theresa Keis Why do they call you Chuck? I wonder. Why do they call you anything like Lizze? Well, the name sticks and for good. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a little peculiar when you think of it and would rather not, knowing the reasons for it. Maybe it all started in kindergarten, out of spite, not endearment. It was just some fracas, encounter, and it sticks in your memory and theirs.

AN A.K.A. AND HOW IT CAME ABOUT Marcus Simmons Well, I guess any story worth telling concerning an a.k.a should be mine! “Fresh Ice”— currently just “Ice.” Well, it all started when I was around 9 years old. I believe this is the year of 1983-84—the B-Boy days. Break dancing, electric boogie, top rock—the true birth of hip hop as a whole. There were a lot of international and local crews that battled over beats and rhymes. The fun days. Anyway, I practiced every day and night to be a part of that scene. I had the determination as well, as I lived in the area where the world’s best were created—the Bronx and Washington Heights. The local crew I wanted to be a part of was called “The Fresh Kids.” These guys hung out in Central Park with the world famous crew, “The Rock Steady Crew,” who made movies such as Beat Street and Wild Style, to name a few. But the Fresh Kids were younger and eager to be a part of the scene! So, one summer day in Central Park, I approached them during a battle they were in the progress of having. But when it came to the electric boogie part of the battle, the guy they had wasn’t doing great on their behalf. In those days, it was called 34

“getting burned,” and deep in my heart, I felt I could burn this dude. So, I entered at my own risk to defend the guys from my area, and I did. And what a crowd I created with the moves I practiced—the routines to certain songs that with not much amazement I felt would be played! There were certain songs that most electric boogieers used because of the timing of beats and instruments, etc. To say the least, I did very well, and the prez of that crew said to me, “Yo, I’ve seen you around. Would you like to rep the Fresh Kids? If so, you must add Fresh to your boogie name cause we all have shirts with our name and crew.” At that point, the whole crew was there, so names started to be said. One was called Baby Fresh, Mr. Fresh, Kid Fresh, Sir Fresh, Just Fresh, and now me—Fresh Ice—a name I had already put together because I was confident I would make it there. To this day, we are all still friends with memories of doing shows all around the state and outside of the state. The craze was so big, the crews had legal managers to back their shows. We didn’t get paid much—$200, some clothes. But as I sit back and see life from an adult’s eyes, I realize that the memories are priceless. P.S.: Hip hop is the most selling music today and has produced some of today’s biggest and richest stars! 35

THE LIE (AN EXAGGERATED ME) George Lantay Ah, Ripley’s Believe It Or Not. Do you know who I am? My name appears in—well, you know, Who’s Who in America (42nd Edition) and Who’s Who in Medicine and Health Care (1st Edition) and, if you look hard enough, Who’s Who in the World (13th Edition). Today, the market fell. I am homeless. Do you believe that? Ah, it’s true—ask Ripley’s Believe It Or Not.

Visions In Blue 36

Theresa Keis

THE SCAR OR THE MIRROR IMAGE OF IT Theresa Keis “Hurry, hurry,” Mom cried out, as I went through the door, down the steps, and onto the sidewalk. School was a block away, but I never made it that day to P.S. 34. The gash in my knee was pretty bad. I looked and looked. The blood was streaming down my leg. Those sidewalks had slate unevenly placed, but soon thereafter, I kept checking what progress I was making. All I needed was a mirror to glance at what was going on from time to time. Darn it, I have a good memory. I even felt that a “mirror image” of it wouldn’t help me or lots of them, not even that, nor a miracle. Since then, the scar lives on to this day.

THE PHONE CALL Marcus Simmons Wow, when the phone rang, little did I know I would never be the same. It was my fourth year being away from home. This day was different due to the fact that I was waiting a bit longer than usual for a weekend visit with my family. I was feeling a little bit impatient. It had been three months since my last family visit—the longest yet. Usually, I saw my family the first weekend of every month. So, I was eager, excited, and nervous as it takes my family 8-1/2 hours to reach me by road. They leave at 11 p.m. the night before. I just finished ironing my clothes, took a longer than usual shower, and shaved. Today, I even had a surprise for my mother—a G.E.D. Wow, would she be proud of me. But something felt really wrong. All the people I usually leave with to walk toward the visiting area of the building had already left. And there’s this one guy who always prepares for a visit the night before, and his family never shows up. This weekend, even he had already left to the visiting area. So, when I heard his name called for his visit and not mine, I really started to worry because my family always visits when they say they will. 38

As I passed by this guy’s desk who relates the calls and other official business, there was that ring of the phone. Then, I heard my name, so I kept walking to retrieve my paperwork, etc. I stared at him from across the room as he took down the info he was receiving. I felt a chill as I followed his eyes from the paper he was writing on up into a kind of eye scan around the place as if to place a face with the name. I knew something was wrong from the look in his eyes. I froze when his eyes made contact with mine. I went into a daze. When I came out of that daze, all I heard was, “Take a seat. An officer will be here shortly to escort you to the prison chapel. You’ll be okay. Be strong, etc., etc.” Yeah, I was in prison when I received the phone call that would change my life forever. My beautiful, caring mother had died. Wow, when the phone rang, little did I know my life would never be the same!

‘TWAS MUSIC TO MY EARS…SO IT’S TIME TO TIGHTEN YOUR BELT Theresa Keis “What is it you found? That sounds like play money. It’s tinny.” “Well, have a good look and see.” “I’ll be darned, you’re really holding the most recent quarters that have been minted. There’s a picture of a wolf on one side, and it’s marked the State of Wisconsin underneath that.” That reminds me of the time when one of my employers did technical translations for Washington, and I had to give it a polished look finally. He walked away and came back later saying, “Open your hand.” “Remember this.” This is what every visitor (a diplomat, which he was) would get after having seen the Shah of Iran. These were gold coins, real gold coins, and that was music to my ears.

THIS IS Joseph Pesco Fuselage vibrations are a comfort while flying. I’d plan on sleeping in a window seat, because long flights are tiresome. I trust airplanes because I trust the people who build and maintain them. Still some personification helps if I’m going to sleep on an airplane. In my way of thinking, fuselage vibrations are the closest I’ll get to reading the gauges while a passenger and one way of forming a bond with the airplane and the airplane’s crew. Temperature gauges, pressure gauges, and depending on the kind of machine bits per second readouts, while revealing, can be overwhelming to the uninitiated or the untrained. Vibrations aren’t qualitative indicators. Vibrations speak of mechanical nuances.

I WAS BORN BLIND Van Verb This is the reason Some say my excuse, All four of the seasons, my verbal abuse … God’s saved me so many times, I can’t get over it … Still I fill the God shaped hole with things that don’t fit … My character’s flawed, my mind’s become twisted … I had a beautiful life, but somehow I missed it … Pass a camel with ease through the eye of a needle … Walk the streets as a warrior, but sleep in the fetal … If life is a circle, then mine is a ring … Let the battle begin when you hear the bell ring … My spirit guide is the jaguar, Yet I’m still not up to par … Had the money to do it, but still didn’t buy the car … Fell asleep at the wheel, so I didn’t get far … Nodded out in the church, Passed out in the bar … Go live or go die … That’s what I believe … Seems in that regard, It’s me that I grieve … 42

Still, I won’t slip quietly into my grave, ’Cause I know I have courage … Which is better than brave … My mind is my own, That makes me strong … When they say I’m not right, I know they are wrong … I’ve been labeled a nut, a villain, a hood … Damn all those labels, ‘I rock’ … ’cause I’m good … Like an old grasshopper still laughing at ants … Living my life in the moment … Leaving my fate up to chance … Only one debt I owe … That’s to all of mankind … My job as an artist is to awaken their minds … I constantly struggle to pay off that cost … Whenever rejected … Fuck it!!! Their loss … No, I’ve never feared death … But I don’t wanna die … ’Cause I don’t have to believe … I know I can fly … All the people I love, They claim to love me … 99% don’t want me to be me …

Though my faith is abstract, I know I’ve been blessed … Allah, Buddha, and Christ … Now they’re the best of the best … No family to talk to, No one who cares … I’m walking on water, Just to fall ‘up’ the stairs … My world is hard … I refuse to be weak … Just because I live with compassion … Doesn’t mean I’ll let her speak … Here I go again, just rambling on, Like some incoherent lyrics In some deaf mute’s song … The world doesn’t get it, I don’t expect it to … Only I know the reasons, That I do what I do … ‘Hell no’, not a saint, nor a devil I’ll be … Why live in captivity when I was born free … No woman will break me, From no man will I flee … For though I was born blind … Now I can see!

MIRROR IMAGES Melanie Votaw Mirror images upside down faces the eyes change shape but the soul remains. Stop to look in the mirror You will see someone else in yourself â&#x20AC;&#x201C; an orphan in Darfur a Thai man tending his rice paddies an Indian on the Amazon fishing for piranha. Honesty or deception Anger or blessings The heart beats through greed or generosity. The hand and the heart open and close only if you see the mirror images.