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There are some things
that you just shouldn’t say;
there are some things
that you should just keep to yourself;
there are some wishes that should just stay
thoughts in your head,
and they should stay that way;
there are some things and some dreams and wishes
that you should just never tell.

If you see something you should share it,
if you feel something by all means you should express it-
but words and speech are very powerful things,
and if you do not think before you speak
what you wanted to last and what you always count on
being there might not be there anymore when you look again,
because saying what you said, for whatever reason,
might have accidentally, but always necessarily, and fatefully,
jinxed it.

Sometimes you can think of someone,
someone you haven’t thought about for ages,
and then suddenly and randomly out of nowhere, seemingly,
you see them right in front of you, and all the time;
sometimes you may not want to see a particular person
and they will constantly pop up into view on your timeline.

The world is complicated and fascinating,
and there is always more going on than we can ever know.
The lives of strangers tangle together every second
as we make our way according to the direction
and plan of a universal map and nexus of what
we all need to do and where we all need to go.

Superstitions are not a science of the sort that we know,
but the significance and meaning is tangible and ever-present;
superstitions are not just sayings or ‘old wives tales’ to me,
superstitions are proof of the omni-present,
superstitions are hieroglyphics of language and thought
that cannot so easily be swept-aside or dismissed out of hand,
superstitions are myths and legends that ring true
for a reason- like the promise of an undiscovered country,
or the enduring story and allure of a lost island,
or a far away land.

Be careful what you wish for,
because someone is always listening;
be careful what you say,
because some times the reply that you get back
could be very surprising;
be careful what you do,
because things that you thought were burned and buried
have a way of rising from the flames like a Phoenix;
be careful to think clearly about what you want
and why you want it, and if it means a lot to you
keep you secret to yourself for as long as you can,
because the last thing you want to do is jinx it.

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The man in the suit is always here,
and is always sitting on the same seat, at the same table-
I always see him typing on his laptop,
and is always quiet and smartly-dressed,
and is never disturbed, and I have never seen him ever
do anything to take notice or to make trouble.
The man in the suit is and has always been a mystery to me-
however, every time I come back here
I can always rely on him being here,
wearing his suit and tie, his shiny-shoes,
and his gold-coloured framed glasses,
and to always be where he is,
doing what he does, typing and engrossed in his computer screen,
and I am not sure if even he realises how long he himself
has been here, nor how many times he comes here,
nor what the time or the day is.
On the other hand, however, it is highly-possible,
and more likely, that the man in the suit
knows exactly what he is doing,
and he, like me, and like most people who come to Starbucks
all the time, he has a story to tell about himself
that I wouldn’t believe-
and I must admit I would give anything to ask the man in the suit
who he is and what he does,
but that is just because I love a question,
and I love a great story,
and I am in awe of someone with a secret
who keeps the rest of the world guessing-
like the best character or protagonist in any great
and compelling story does-
and in all honesty, no matter how much I would love
to know the man in the suit’s secret and who he is,
I would genuinely be happy to never know every thing,
even though knowing everything any way is impossible,
and I would remain happy just seeing him there
where he always sits in the corner by the window
doing his thing and keeping the mystery about him
that has always intrigued me alive and well.
I have only heard the man in the suit speak only once
in one conversation he was having on his red-covered mobile phone-
I remember him having an ‘educated-‘ ‘posh-‘ ‘intellectual-‘
sounding voice and accent, but unfortunately I do not recall
what his phone conversation was about-
but I think it had something to do with the sale of someone’s home.
There are places that I come back to regularly,
because I always feel at-ease here, and there,
inspired, at-peace, refreshed-
where I am even recognized as someone who genuinely loves
being where I am and coming back,
and to me that is the reward of any pursuit.
There are people who you see every day
who make you smile for many different reasons,
and I have to say that I always smile too
when I walk into Starbucks and I look around and I see
the man in the suit.

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What matters to you? And why?
Who matters to you?
What makes you feel the most?
Who always makes you cry?

If there were one book in the entire world
that could sum you up, which one would you choose?
Is there one film, one television show, one play,
that your passion and knowledge of says the most about you?

Is there a place that if it were not called what it is
it would have your name written all over it?
Is there a thing of your own making,
something that you had a part in creating,
that is a thing and a word to you
akin to that of magic?
Is there a place that you will always call your home?
Is there a face that will always be your idea
and example of perfection?

Is there someone who could never be cloned?
Is there something that you have seen
that you think a lot about and always stands or sits
within each and every reflection?

What matters to me is what I see,
what matters to me is what I feel,
what matters to me is a person, a look, a lock, a key,
what matters to me is a true secret that will never be revealed;
what matters to me is sharing every second of the human
and living experience,
what matters to me is a question, a road, an iris on and of
the infinite and complex cosmic and meaningful life
that we are all a part of,
what matters to me is what matters to everyone
who is able to use their senses and feel a presence,
what matters to me can’t ever be explained inside or around you
in the ground below or even circling the stars above.

Questioning is not a bad thing.
Answers are not everything.
The prize that is life is something that if you want the most of
you truly have to work for every thing in it
and you have to look up and down and around
while you concentrate on the steps that you take
and the rungs that you climb like those of a long and tall ladder.

Take every step as they come.
Embrace every thing that is unexpected.
Be glad for what you have got, not what you haven’t.
Make the most of everything,
be grateful for all that matters,
because in the end that is all that matters.

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Everybody wants that special person in their life
who they can turn to, and talk to, and look to,
and listen to, whenever they need someone;
every one of us wants to fall asleep
thinking about something that that special person in our life
did for us that made us happy, and always makes us happy-
just the sight of their eyes looking back at us,
or a message from them that may be inaudible to anyone else
who read it resounds and echoes loud and clear
in the cavenous expanses of our mind,
and drives the current of our inner river,
and produces rainbows in the waterfall of our imagination.
That special someone can be all that you need to
make you want to wake up, live, and go to sleep,
feeling incredible, and like you too, for knowing them,
are special.

Love is easy.
Love is the best thing ever-
when the place is perfect, and the time is right.
Love should feel easy,
love shouldn’t ever feel a struggle-
when real love comes calling and you recognise its face at first sight,
even though you may have not seen it before,
or if you have not for a long time.
Love is unquestionable.
Love is the best, the most potent, and the most life-changing drug,
and you can express love in so many ways-
deeply, intimately, eternally, beautifully, simply,
sometimes with just a stare, a touch, a word, a kiss,
a gift of belonging, connection, togetherness-
from a boyfriend to a girlfriend,
from a wife to a husband,
from a friend to a best friend-
in the way of a hug.

Gifts of affection come in many forms-
sometimes out of the blue,
like a surprise trip somewhere for two,
a reminder that someone loves you
and was thinking about you,
and they saw something while they weren’t with you
but as soon as they saw what they saw
they knew it would be the perfect present for you.

Two people who are in love
but don’t always say it to each other,
but who try to show it every day-
and not just on Valentine’s Day-
know that as long as they have each other,
as long as they have what no one could ever take
or replace, which they know is never going anywhere-
those two people, even though they may be apart sometimes
will always know that they will forever have
a vital piece of one another in their heart,
and that knowledge and that truth and that feeling
is hidden in plain sight for them to see, recognise,
and find.

You can feel and find love five seconds after meeting someone.
You can know you have found the one person who you want
to spend the rest of you life with the instant you feel their pull,
and their force of attraction becomes more powerful
and important than gravity,
and when you look at them and every time you do
you are in-awe iof them and stunned.
You can see someone over and over again everyday,
but the time for your two hearts and lives to combine
might not ne instantaneous and may come gradually
the more you learn about each other,
and the more you see in them what you have been searching for,
and what you have always wanted;
something that can make you do something amazing
that you would never do for anyone else
and have never done before for anyone else-
like buying someone a bouquet of flowers,
writing someone a letter,
telling someone a secret,
showing someone something that means something to you
for some reason that is personal and meaningful to you.

When I want to say something, or do something special
for my special someone, I like to do it with all my heart,
and I put eveything into it, and I like to leave
and give a part of me to someone in every word
and in every rhyme and message of my poetry-
and I like to play my own song,
I like to create my own music,
I like to send my voice into and over the air
for the one I love, and for the one who loves me
to find and to hear, and feel me and what I want them to feel,
and I want them to think of me whenever they hear my melody,
whenever they hear their melody,
whenever they hear our melody.

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I asked a friend who I should write about next,
and they said that I should write about me-
and then I started to think about what people know about me,
what my friends know about me, what those who I have loved,
and who love and have loved me, know about me,
and what I know about myself,
that I haven’t told anyone else before
that still remains a mystery.

My family know the day I was born,
where I was born, and where I grew up;
my friends know where I went to school,
who my teachers were,
and who I was in my developing years;
my close friends know what I like, what I love;
my best friend knows what I am thinking about all the time,
and knows the road I walk every day,
and knows the direction I am going,
and knows what makes me smile, and what brings me to tears;
my muse, my love, the voice I hear all the time in my head,
the one I dream of every night, knows me better than anyone
and knows my heart’s desires, and is with me every second
of every day, and who wants everything to turn out for the best
for both of us, and is my inspiration, strength,
and my future, every step of the way.

I was born on the 21st of April, 1981,
on the maternity ward of a village called ‘Marston Green’.
I grew up and still live in a village called ‘Meriden’
in the Centre of England, and surrounded by the most beautiful
and inspiring scenery, fields, and forrests, I have ever seen.
I went to high school at ‘Heart of England’ school
in ‘Balsall Common’, where I first fell in love with English
and literature, and where I had my first crush
on a girl called ‘Helen’.

When I left school, like most of my friends
and like anyone of the age of 16, braving the undiscovered
and new horizons of an unknown and scary bi wide world,
I didn’t know what I wanted to do, nor who I wanted to be-
I had no definitive direction to go in but forward,
but where that would take me I did not know,
but I knew that only one person would be the only one
to give me what I needed and who would be the key-
and that person was me.

I could never have predicted what would happen in my life.
No one could ever have told me what I would see,
what I would feel, what I would write.
I could never have wished, or ever have guessed,
that I would have been truly blessed every day
by something, or someone, that was both my day
and my night light.

So, is there more to say about me?
Is there a secret that has yet to be uncovered
and admitted to the world?
Why of course there is!
But what that is, both you and I will have to wait and see.

This is the last page of the last chapter
of this edition of my book, before I begin a brand new chapter
of a brand new book, and on the first page I will begin
the first poem of the next chapter of my life
and my journey-
I already know that it will be filled with so much
of what and who is in my life now, and always will be;
but I also know that my new book will be full, infused,
inspired, interlaced, with new muses, and new musings,
new dreams, new experiences, that could only have been possible
because of everything that has always been and is constant,
and will never change-
but I know with complete certainty that what is to come
and what I am going to write about
will be about things beyond my imagining,
and, unlike this poem, wont be all about me.

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In the light of day
there are not that many people who know me for being Me-
the man who gets up every morning,
and loves nothing more than watching the sunrise,
while writing beautiful poetry.

I love writing, and I love to write poetry!
To me, sometimes when I am writing a poem,
I feel like I am in the driving seat of a Formula 1 car
in the middle of a Grand Prix!
The ideas and the images that race through my mind,
the feelings that I feel when I am writing a poem,
or a rhyme that feels like it is almost writing itself,
is like having an out of body experience and revelation moment combined.
It is a rush, and a phenomenal surge of heightened awareness
of where I am, where I have been, and what I have seen;
however, when I am not writing, when I am not dreaming,
if you were to see me walking down the street,
that part of me would be utterly unnoticeable-
nowhere to be seen.

Most people don’t walk around holding a sign,
or wear a T-shirt to declare to all who they are and what they do-
most of the time the “true you” is veiled
and hidden from view.
As it should be, most people take great pride in their outer-appearance-
while asking everyone else to make up their own mind about who they are
based on how they judge people generally-
the first impression we make on, or of, someone
is usually the most lasting one,
and the one that we reflect upon in our minds memory association gallery.

If seen from far away, then I can honestly say
that my appearance would tell you absolutely nothing about the man I am,
nor what I am thinking about;
however, up-close, and in conversation,
then I feel confident that in a matter of seconds
you would glean something in me
that would eclipse your first impression forever-
of that I am in no doubt.
The first impression is a question:
is what I see all that there is?
And the answer is always the same:
no; however, the first question is always but the start of the great life quiz.

The bank clerk that I speak to every week
could be a beautiful dancer, or an amazing artist;
the waiter that brings me my lunch
could be the next Mozart, Shakespeare-
a future celebrated composer,
or a one day award-winning novelist.

You simply cannot tell who someone really is until you ask them,
and it may take a while before you see them for all that they are
from what they say, but it is not a question of will you find out
who they are, it’s a question of when.

I love a challenge, I love meeting new people,
and once I have begun something I never quit.
To me, life is meant to be loved, and made the most of.
I love to be moved, I loved to be inspired,
and I am a secret poet.

The mystery box of my life
would contain everything of magic on Earth that means something to me;
even if it were only a memento,
I feel confident that even the smallest of hints as to why I love them,
and why they inspire and mean so much to me,
would tell you everything about them, and me-
while still preserving a sense of mystery.

The first thing in my mystery box,
and the most important thing in my life, is my family:
my Mum, my Dad, my little sister Clare;
because they are why I am, who I am-
the structure and the foundation of me and my identity.

If I had a mystery box,
the next thing that I would place within would be my poetry,
my inspiration, my muse, every poem that I have ever written,
and every poem I will ever write:
a picture of my muse, smiling the most beautiful smile in all of creation,
with eyes as amazing as diamonds sparkling infinitely
a flash of unbelievable light.

Inside my mystery box
I would put in something that reminds me,
and the thing above all else that I cherish
more than anything about my friends:
their songs, their journey’s, their friendship, their stories-
everything that makes me smile whenever I think of them,
and the times we had together that felt like they would
never come to an end.

If I could put only one more thing in my mystery box,
no matter the size, what would it be?
The only thing in my life that is ever-present,
but always remains unseen;
a secret that no one on Earth, nor I, know about me;
an answer to a question, posed long ago;
the most simple, and yet the most complicated question ever spoken:
why?
Why was I born? Why did I live?
Why did I do what I did? Why do I have to die?
And the answer to be found within the mystery box would be:
that is why.

Everyone has their own mystery box;
everyone holds onto and holds dear
things about them that define their place in the world,
that ground their feet firmly to our planet of simplicity,
complexity, and infinite possibility-
everyone is a box of impossible to define dimensions of memory,
space, and time-
everyone is a mystery.

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