In case you were wondering

I look back at my childhood and pull the good from the not good. There was plenty of both. Somehow I’ve become a success in life. To me, happiness is success. But to much of society, prosperity is the measure worth looking at. I wish it wasn’t like this. Reading a book outside with the sun touching the pages while listening to Spring-time birds, all while thinking nothing other than the book and the sun and the birds, that is a measure I use to gage my happiness.

Yet, somehow, even with my bad portions of my childhood, I am a success on other levels as well. I am a father. A husband. A business owner. A college graduate. I have been elected President and owner of a new company set to explode. We are building a new building in a city which contains Maine’s second largest population. I picked the city. It’s diverse. I like diversity. My company will bring new jobs to this city. As I told the city officials, my goal is to enhance the community we enter. I will do exactly that. Our store will open later this summer.

I bring these points up because, based on only my writing, it’s possible for someone to assume that I am hobbled in a dark hole spinning around in circles. That isn’t the case. It’s simply easy for me to remember the bad and to write about the bad. Just as easily as it is for me to write about morning coffee.

When I was a teenager I wanted to be a writer who lived in Maine. At that point I lived in Massachusetts. I’ve lived in a few different states, however, I am now a writer who lives in Maine. I always wanted to be a father and husband. And while sitting in a jail cell in my early twenties, I knew I’d be a loving father and husband. My will was never broken nor in question.

My childhood trauma does not define me. I use it as motivation. And through my freedom of expression that motivation lives nearly in tangible forms. I set my goals long ago and now I’m setting new goals to will into being.

I can’t wait to see what the next ten years will bring. I am blessed. I am thankful. And please keep in mind, I may write about some awful situations, some of the darkest of places, and of thoughts no one wishes upon another- keep in mind that I am fine. More than fine. It’s important the bad is not forgotten with my abundance of good in the now. Much like the photo below. Taken a month before my father’s passing. I knew he was dying. I was on a bender, I look beat up, tired, real. I remember taking the photo and staring at it, taking in all of its reality. I know I don’t look my best, but I feel the thoughts that I had during the moment, simply by viewing the photo. This game of life is something to cherish. All of it.

Matt

ps- Thanks for being here.

Poem-

Celebrating the rise to liberty
while crushing the hushed crowd
to appease the masses to prove
to the kings and queens all is well
for the very few who have freedom
is like watching nothing from my window.
The mighty Raven gliding through the
entrance of the woods with such
fluidity carries no weight from these
screens; the hands of the bent heads
mashing teeth to gum live within these walls.
That world lives in another place where my
window cannot reach and where the Raven
will not fly.

-M. Taggart

poem

Drank too much
and didn’t sleep
two nights in a row
I’ve had raging
heartburn all day
can’t get rid of it
Spent two hours on the treadmill
only thing to keep my mind off it
Self made torture
When am I going to listen to my body
I can be a real stupid S.O.B.

-M. Taggart

Dump Run. #ShortStory

Saw the old man at the dump today.
I like that he’s old.
He asked for my Christmas tree,
for his goats.
‘Put it next to my rig,’ he said.
He owns a 90’s minivan.
I put that tree right next to his rig,
drove down and around the bend
to where two more old guys work.
One runs the shack,
the other the compressor.
‘How are you, buddy?’ Mo asked.
He’s had a stroke and
pushes his words out.
I was feeling depressed today.
I still am, but it’s snowing
and I went to the dump.

-M. Taggart

poem

I don’t assume that homeless
people are unhappy
or miserable

It’s not for me
to decide how they feel

My cousin is homeless
I believe he’s given up on
the societal push to be
”successful“

I don’t think a patch
of woods
or a brook has ever
misguided him

I miss him
I hope to talk
with him
about woods
and streams
and about his
favorite place to sleep

-M. Taggart