My New Girlfriend

I wrote this poem back in 08... It's kind of rusty, well ironically I wrote it in a gunners seat downtown Afghanistan. But besides the few spots where I would've used better words, I like the Idea and the concept. So I decided to post it. I found it in a notebook cleaning up my living room. Enjoy...

My New Girlfriend

I met this girl in the store, she was 5 Star quality/

Kind of stuck up at first, when i passed she barely acknowledged me/

She didn't move at all, but it felt like she followed me/

She was kind of rough around the edges, stuck in a Bind probably/

I wanted to mess with her mind possibly, get her to be mines, I believed./

She was some type of Odyssey, but her friends were top shelf, and that kind of startled me/

I didn't let that bother me, I approached her real moderately/

I didn't even say a word, I just picked her up like property/

I was kind of shocked when she accompanied me to the register/

She fit so good in my hand, I could feel the connect with her/

I took her back to my room, but I wasn't trying to get the best of her/

I'm lying, I was trying to get next to her, but not in the sense of having sex with her/

Shit happens, but didn't shit happen to regret/

It's bad, but we made love the first night that we met/

I mean, when i opened her up it was like I was doping her up/

She was kind of dry on the inside, but got damp when I was stroking her rough/

I'm not joking or bluff, but I had my mind caught in it/

She said she liked it when touched her, and put a lil thought in it/

Whenever I'm having a problem, or just having a bad day/

She sit right in my lap, and listen to what I have to say/

I told her my life story, and she never judged me on those times/

and whenever something is wrong with her I can read between the lines/

I don't even know if we are the same age, but we mentally on the same stage/

No matter the topic of discussion, we're always on the same page/

It's like over 5 subjects, she carry a lot of things/

I tease her and call her Ghetto, cause 'She Be' wearing a lot of rings/

It's like I'm writing poetry when I'm inside her covers/

I lover her, I trust her, but my penmanship is sloppy without rubbers/

It feels so right when I'm in her, my brain change up/

She got mad cause last time I was in her... My Ex's name came up/

But she cool with it, cause I told her the situation/

When I need to vent, her visitation is perfect participation/

She's kind of square headed, Her size is 10 by 8 to amount/

My Ex looks waaaaaay better... But it's the inside that counts/

I just love it when we're merging, I couldn't give a fuck if the world end/

I bought myself a NOTEBOOK, That's my New Girlfriend.../

20/20 Love

       So writersdigest is back up and running with a new contest. This one is a Photo Prompt Competition. If you're not familiar with that, it's when they post a pic and you write about it. This particular contest, you had to write the first 25 words as if the picture was a novel. I was so excited when I came up with my idea and counted it out to exactly 25 words. :) So here it is...

20/20 Love

I know love is blind, but in my mind I wish I could rewind the
time to when I could visually read the 11th line.

Airmen Leadership School

     First off, I know that I have been a horrible Blogger lately. I just took sometime time off to figure some things out. I've made some big changes in my life, but I won't mention them here until I'm a 100% sure. I just hate getting my hopes up. Anyways, this next post is my first article to be published. This isn't the published version of course, that comes out next week, but this is what I consider "The Words That Changed My Life." I hope you enjoy, even though this is focused on a Military event, I hope everyone can take something from it. Just to translate what this article is about for my civilian readers, ALS is a training course in the military that you must go through before you become a Sergeant, or a supervisor. So here we go, I love this piece, and honestly I read it everyday and just awe at it. Not so much the writing, but the memories that it jog.

                                         Airmen Leadership School

    

           We were lined up against the wall of a narrow hallway, resembling day one of basic training. The fact that two guys down from where I stood was an airman that I went through basic training with confirmed my suspicion.  I was expecting a flock of MTI’s to come running down the hall with their vocal cords blaring like Civil War piccolos at any moment. Flashbacks of “Drop your bags trainees!” haunted me as I saw three instructors making their way towards me. I was preparing myself to be ‘Re-Blued’, my eyes envisioned war faces, my ears anticipated verbal onslaughts of military motivation, my knees were showing early signs of buckling, but I was wrong. There before me stood a well groomed, perfect uniform technical sergeant with embracing eyes. His first words were “Nice to meet you Sir. How are you feeling this morning?” I was caught off guard. I opened my mouth but my brain could not select words to transmit. This was the complete opposite of what I’ve spent the previous few days dreading. ‘Sir’? I would have never guessed such a professional greeting, but this was the womb of professionals. I soon realized that this place wasn’t intended to break you down, but in fact to build you up.

We were split into two flights and I was officially a Titan. Our instructor was TSgt. Cook, the same gently voiced Instructor that stunned me with the address of Sir. All 15 of us sat behind a ‘U’ shaped table with a binder in front of us that made the bible look like a pamphlet. I soon realized why the fail rate of ALS was so high when TSgt. Cook went over the rules and standards that we all must abide by: No Profanity, No Smoking, No Tardiness, and No Unprofessional Jokes. These rules may seem that they should the standard everywhere, but hearing them placed out like land mines of instant failure made the punch more severe. If you had a dirty uniform, strings on your chevron, scuffed boots, not groomed, personal hygiene issues, late homework, unfinished projects, or didn’t read the next day’s lesson, all resulted in paperwork and the possibility of being released back to your squadron. I was already limping on my last leg with my leadership, so I knew there was no way I could get kicked out of ALS and still have a career. So I focused, we all did. I wrote down everything our instructor said, even the jokes. I had sticky notes soaked with more ink than Californian tattoo artists. I also took the liberty of buying a weatherproof memo pad, just in case I wasted coffee on my notes. You had to be extremely careful in this place, and my toes were in screaming agony from tip toeing so gingerly. I knew that one wrong move, one wrong comment, or one unorganized morning of not being 100% prepared would result in my early termination from ALS. My short term goal was to at least last a week, and for a week I said nothing from fear of an accidental curse word. I quit smoking, even on the weekends, out of fear that an instructor would pass by my garage and serve me with walking papers. I was extremely paranoid… and it worked.

The homework capacity was unmerciful. There were Navy SEALS in Hell Week who were acquiring more sleep than we were. There were nights where I had to write speech outlines, the speech itself, create a power point presentation to go along with the speech, memorandums, and still read up on the next day’s lesson. I spent countless hours going over my briefings and practicing in front of my wife, while employing her to count my amount of “Um’s and Uh’s”, but it worked. I went from having cold chills about public speaking to actually being ecstatic the night before. So even after working overtime on weeding out my verbal pauses that stood out like spring dandelions, I still could not sleep due to mere excitement. PT was conducted every day with the caliber of sessions that would’ve sent SrA Chuck Norris back to his squadron. My body was pushed to limits that I never knew existed. I sweated enough fluids to nourish the Sahara Desert. But somehow I made it through; we all made it through. Drill Practice was an instant flashback. I found myself standing in formation thinking of home, the same thoughts that flooded my head five years prior on Lackland AFB. I was awfully nervous on making a wrong turn, or missing a step. The butterflies in my stomach became airborne and made me nauseous; we all were, and it showed during our early practice sessions. Still, years later there were Airmen turning Right on Left Flank calls and I was one of them, marching away into the horizon lost in the thoughts that haunted me. But somehow we all got it together. We helped each other in our weak points, and gracefully we all passed.

The morning of every test, whether formative or summative, the same vibe fogged the room. The fact that a few missed questions could cancel out everything that you’ve done so far was overwhelming. Coffee cups were in front of everyone, pumping enough steam to create a sauna, because if you fell asleep during an exam that was an instant ticket home. That would be embarrassing to have to return back to your shop because you were caught counting Serta sheep; even though you just pulled an all nighter studying for this exam. Cell phones were stacked outside the door because if your phone rung, buzzed, or even emitted a light too loud during an exam you might as well stand up and click your heels. I was still paranoid, even though I surpassed my self-expectation by lasting more than a week. I was in the last week, on the final exam, and there was no way I was going to let my cell phone send me home over a Facebook notification. I took extra precautions when I set my phone outside the door. I set it on silent, shut it off, removed the battery, and even considered calling into Verizon to cancel my contract. There was no way I was going home this late in the course.

TSgt. Cook walked into the room after our final examination with a look of disappointment written all over his face like a drunken guy who passed out at a Frat party. I knew what this look meant and I started packing my bags. I tried… and for that simple fact, I was proud. I was gleeful that I even made it to the last week, but all dreams end when reality sets in. I knew that I had failed, and I just wanted to run to my car to avoid the shame. “You all PASSED!” TSgt. Cook announced, and it felt like he declared that the war had ended. I almost fainted if it wasn’t for the two gallons of coffee I had previously consumed. All of my paranoia paid off. I walked across that graduation stage and felt a level of pride that I would’ve never imagined; words cannot express the nature of emotions that soared through my body. My heartbeat was thumping through my blues shirt against the pins on my ribbon rack. From my facial expression you would’ve thought that I was being honored with the Air Force Cross as I accepted the ALS certificate. I realized that ALS doesn’t make these awful leaders that I have run across in my career. I used to think that all Staff Sergeants were brainwashed in ALS with the main objective to destroy Airmen. But now I see that ALS doesn’t make leaders, it only gives you the tools to become one. Now if you choose to use these tools is a personal choice. My experience in ALS was life changing, and provided me with a new outlook on the military. I was surrounded by great airmen as well as dedicated instructors who pushed me to not give up, and to stop setting such low goals for myself; raising the bar was the motto. I limbo’d my way into Airman Leadership School, and I did a Chin up on my way out. Thanks to the Airmen who believed in me, and the instructors who motivated me to believe in myself.