Bear in a China Shop

I am, the perverbial bear in the China shop.

You think bulls were bad?

Whoever who came up with that phrase, grossly underestimated the destructive nature of THIS BEAR.

Now, keep in mind I do  not break stuff on purpose but alas, stuff just breaks around me.

From frying pans to waffle irons, to glass cases but thankfully not any bones yet,

I am the one they warn about on security tapes.

I am that curious and friendly customer that people love to know but hate to serve.

I’m a cooking maestro, a passionate poet, and most of all I’m a bear in a friggin China shop


My body, sadly enough, is not what it used to be.

I can feel more and more the every snap, crackle and pop when I wake.

Fingertips know the drill , but they too pay no allegiance to any corporeal host.

I can feel the eyelids getting heavy.

I can feel my lower back giving me the finger.

It’s a challenge to stay awake,

To keep on writing meaningful words that spread hope.

Because I tell you what, I feel like the only spreading going on is myself lately and even that’s thinner than the ideal weight my doctor keeps bugging me about.

She thinks herself uncreative

She thinks herself uncreative.

Like she has no original bone in her body.

She thinks herself as not being able to think outside the box.

She fears not being able to break away from the mediocrity.

But, there’s spark in these wee lad.

 There’s an eagerness to learn and grow from  each idea.

There lies within her a drive to do more.

There lies within her a talent and curiosity that will bring her far in life.

Kayla, keep your chin up.

Even when it feels like not much, you’ve got this.

They Call Me Po

Coworkers, relatives, perfect strangers; they say I remind them of Po, the Kung fu panda.

If it were because I was asian then I probably would think that these people were just a hair on the racist side.

Yet, that doesn’t seem to be the reason most people relate me to the dragon warrior.

Most have their own image of the famed bear and for some reason I fit most people’s archetypes.

Here are the top reasons I’ve heard.

I fit the bill because I’m a bit goofy and more than a little clumsy but can spring out with grace.

Others because I’m cute and cuddly like Po and the asian part seals the deal.

And still others think it’s because I try and fail so many times but seem to come through in the clinch.

I think it’s because even in the most imperfect forms, heroes can emerge from the darkness to bless us with light.


For the dreamers

For those of you big or small, young or old, this goes out to you.

For those of you who reach out so high that the burning in your arms almost feels like you finally touched a star, this goes out to you.

Just because I stopped writing about you, does not mean I have forgotten you all.

Just because I have chosen not to let anyone get in the way of my happy ending, does not mean I don’t see when those who have given up their dreams try to trounce on yours.

This poem goes out to you, oh broken hearted dreamers, that even if you’re still reaching for that untouchable star, never stop reaching.

Even if you manage not to catch your star, you always have a light to lead your way home.

Late nights, early epiphanies

Late at night, lying in bed, that’s when the thoughts hit me.

Like being hit by a rocket, the thoughts light me up.

So many thoughts of how I feel, and how others act and how I react to others.

Finding reasons for others and how they treat me.

Making excuses for their actions.

Making excuses for how I react.

And then it hits me.

From out of nowhere, I begin to realize that my presence is valid.

My life has meaning and purpose.

It does not give me the right to act in any manner that negates anyone else’s life, however.

Each night, I get a little bit wiser.

Each night, I gain a little more insight into how I am treated and how I should be treated.

It cannot be a one way street anymore.

It cannot be where I get stepped on and I am not allowed to step up.

Usually, they call the wee hours of the morning, the witching hours, yet I am finding more how to respect myself.

Tell me again, how is this bad for me?

Making Up Lost Time

This is not just about keeping up anymore.

This is not just about a goal anymore.

This is my life, this is my story that people will tell after I’m gone.

I’m making up for lost time.

Making up for time I never had the courage to say that I wanted to be with my wife.

Making up for lost time, trying to find a career that I could be proud of.

I’ve spent so much time going in the wrong direction, I feel almost guilty for having the chance to make up for it.

I almost feel guilty that I have to start from the bottom and go up.

But, not that guilty.

I know each milestone has its own place and time and I am damn proud of how I’m creating those milestones.

I feel damn proud that for once in my life, I feel like a go to guy.

I know I have a lot to make up for, but I know, in the end, time will be on my side.

Minutes to spare

I never realized how hard writing poetry is on a timeline.

How the essence of a limit on when you need it written can turn a passion into a foot race.

Minutes to spare every hour since I started.

Going strong but I just hope to keep the momentum going.

There’s nothing more nerve racking to see the clock ticking forward.

Urging me towards quantity over quality.

Pushing me towards a quicky rather than meaningful material.

I will stay the course though, I will keep making it quality over quantity.

I will not be denied.

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