She lied about the lover whose touch set her heart afire.

She lied about the horse she never rode into the setting sun.

She lied about the beach house where she discovered her passion for another woman's kiss.

She lied about Milan in the Summer of 2012.

She lied about the half sister she never she had until she needed the transplant.

Her lies make my heart swell and tear it apart, and why not?

It's what she does; she's good at it.

She's a well-practiced liar.

She is an author of fine fiction, and I love every word of it!

History

Our past

A culmination of actions

Leading to today

Acts of beauty or compassion

Acts of barbarism and brutality

All shape the current minute we all reside in

Oh genie in the bottle

Were you really there

Or H.G. Wells time machine

Were you really possible

What would I change, or could I change?

Adolf... that's an obvious one

Or Stahlin...

A warning for the Titanic before she set sail?

How about trying to stop a war?

A simple "leave the building now" on 9/11

Maybe telling Marilyn Monroe to just go to sleep.

That tomorrow will be ok.

Or Kobain

Or Hemingway

Or Van Gogh

So many choices

So many wrongs

So many tragedies

So much turmoil

That led to today

The truth is...

And maybe I'm selfish

But I wouldn't do any of these things

I'm too small

I'm too unimportant

My choice, would be to visit... me

To impart the wisdom of my future self

Kiss the girl, don't chicken out

Turn right and not left

Start that business... don't be afraid

Fight back, don't just take it!

Call gramma even if its inconvenient at the time

You will run out of opportunities before you least expect it

Take a chance

Don't be so safe

Regret is an ache that never goes away

Live your best life

Embrace it as an adventure

Be brave, not so damn scared

Your today, is my future

Make me proud of MY history

Worked since the ripe old age of 14

On her shoulders the family did lean

From bottom of totem to top she went

A poor girl starts feeling legit

But nothing lasts forever

Catch a break? Never!

An injury she did suffer

Normally, she'd just get tougher

This time, it put her down

So far that the girl drown

Watch her family drown too

Because they can't walk in her shoes

Their shoulders not tall enough

Their backs not strong or tough

So the family too, will drown

The girl watches with a frown

If only life wasn't so harsh

She'd put on her boots and march

Carry them all, as only she could

A poor young girl from the hood

I can see it

clearly

even though the napkin is

folded and crumpled

around the small things

it covers,

I can see on it

a drawing of a dragon

with flowers for horns

it pokes its

forked tongue at me

and winks

also its eyes

have long lashes

“You listening?” she says

shaking the

fist that holds the

napkin

I can no longer see

the dragon drawn

on it

“What?”

I say

She proceeds to open the

napkin and

reveals a few small, white

pills.

“Forget what they taught

you in school. Despite

all they said,

the nerve cells of the brain

can actually be regenerated.

It's been proven.

An' you can do it

with these here beauties.

C'mon, take one.”

“What?” I said. “I didn't

know my nerve cells

are damaged.”

“That's because your

nerve cells

are damaged,” she said

“Damn...”

“No, seriously. They have to

be. It's because you

spent so many nights

awake. That shit

kills neurons more than smoking,

drinking, and hard drugs

combined. You

probably have just

a handful left.”

“Damn...”

And she asked, “What's

47x6?”

“I don't know.”

“What did I ask you

two questions ago?”

“Shit, I can't remember.”

“Do you even care?”

“Nope. Not really.”

“Your brain's a graveyard

of neurons, boy.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“D'you still write?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it's really that

bad.

Take one of those

pills. Here.”

She grabbed one with her

fingers yellowed

from cigarette smoke

and handed it to me

Perhaps the fact that I

took it proves

I've not that many

brain cells left. I don't

know.

I don't know why

they're so

important in the first

place

Honestly,

at this point all I'm

worried about

is losing soul cells

Now that would

be a tragedy

But the wink of the drawn

dragon from

the napkin

proved I wasn't quite

there yet

Thank God

***

INSTAGRAM:

https://www.instagram.com/bogdan_1_dragos/

THIS POEM READ IN MY VOICE:

https://soundcloud.com/user-937736610/soul-cells

Dear Monster Matt,

I always was deathly afraid of you. I'm old enough now, to know you no longer reside under my bed.

But I remember the days, checking under the bed, before crawling under my covers. The shivers that would crawl through my body as the lights shut off. The tears that would collect in my eyes when I heard a creak and saw a shadow. The fear that as soon as I drifted to sleep, you would grab me and pull me away.

Mom and Dad would scold me if I were jittery of the monster under my bed. They always told me to go to sleep. There was no such thing. They tucked me in, kissed my nose, and shut off the lights.

The drunken fun I heard outside my door added to my fear. The fear the monster would take me and tear me apart while I was missing out. Some days I wished it were true, so my parents would believe me. If they saw me torn to shreds by a monster in the morning, surely they would have believed me.

Now, I understand you no longer live under my bed. I grew out of the fear of monsters under my bed. But some days, I still have a longing dread inside. That maybe, there is a monster still there. Perhaps it's not you. Perhaps it's not quite under my bed.

Perhaps, it's a monster of my past. That keeps bringing up dreaded memories.

I would much rather deal with you, Monster Matt, under my bed. Then the monsters that haunt my dreams.

Like life or death or

black and white

On the edge of truce

where argument has

met its mate...

Love is paired

with Faith;

And I, I

choose

to believe.

I know, I'm invisible to you.

Here, but not, like an unwanted ninja.

The shoulder to cry on, but to never embrace.

The friend to love, but not like that.

I have loved you for so long, from a distance, three feet away.

Telling you would set my heart and mind free, to be wrapped in the joy that is you.

Or, telling you would push you away, freak you out, force the words out of your mouth I already know and am so afraid of, "my best friend".

I can't lose you to my selfish heart, can't, won't.

I will stay invisible, right by your side.

Words.

I hate them so much.

What I should have said, or shouldn't.

What I did say, or didn't.

They cut like a knife...

That they do.

Are mightier than the sword...

That's cliche, and depends on who's swinging the sword.

But they can hurt.

Or heal.

Bring joy.

Or sadness.

They allow expression in it's purest form.

From the mind to paper.

Without fear of speaking or shyness.

I fancy myself good with words.

They are my strength amidst all of my weaknesses.

But, even the best written, the best intended words, can't fix everything.

A fuck up is a fuck up...

A betrayal is forever.

And actions are always louder.

Sometimes words just aren't enough to repair a lie.

No matter how hard I try...

To craft the perfect phrase...

I can't make you believe I'm sorry.

There aren't enough words in the dictionary to express it.

God, I hate them so much.

Dear Reader of Mind,

...maybe we are freed

from applause?

The Rite

to be publicly

recognized,

has lost its highlights

in our private lives.

We’ve been busy,

and it’s no slight

to creativity,

if our acts

have shuttered

in the dark,

invisibly...

While you clear

the cabinets

from our dust

and attend to all

obscurity,

it’s true I have

hardly written

across these palms

and most holy arms,

the notes that were

to remind...

The curtains have

groaned from

the early morn,

and I have splashed

the glass to wave

at what has past...

the bylines

of face,

looking forward,

and back.