Archives for Joe DiBuduo

Who I Am

Who I Am

If I could only go back in time

and meet myself at a younger age,

I’d fill my immature brain with

things I have learned.


I’d instill in my younger self honesty, kindness,

and compassion. Then I’d convince that misguided

youth that the only worthwhile paths are loving

humanity, animals, and all that nature provides.


I’d fill my young brain with knowledge

of how philanthropic acts are so much

better than the immoral ones I knew

during my early years.


In the mirror of my mind, I can hardly believe

the reflections I get of my criminal acts when

I was young, so with resolve I want to go back

in time to fix my early flaws.


Science doesn’t know how, but a mystic I know does.

She claims past, present and future are all one, because

time and space are a complete illusion only existing

in my mind, and she’ll fix that if I cross her palm.


That’s the way things are, she claims as she counts the silver

and knowledge that everything has already happened, is about

to happen, and is happening right now fills my head, and I wonder

if my mind exist in time or does time exist in my mind?


I close my eyes and travel through the vortex that’s a door and see

myself at eighteen. I try to tell myself the error of my ways. The

eighteen year old looks me over and decides I’m an easy mark.

He punches my jaw and knocks me to the ground.


“Wait, I yell. “I’m an older you. I’ve come to tell you that later in life

you’ll be all right and become a poet.” He hears those words and goes

into a rage. “Poets are queer, so don’t you dare tell me that I’m one of

them. Give me your money and watch for saying something like that.”

I open my eyes and become aware that I can’t change who I was before

I became who I am.

Say it Again

Say it again


A curse is on me it seems. I open my mouth to

smooth things out. Instead,  strike me dead, when

I speak, like a joke inflammatory words that I want

to divorce force their way through my lips. When I try

to explain. Terminology I use always paints

a picture I don’t intend.


I try to find the nearest neighbors to words I used

and touch up the canvas, but my lexis only adds to the

abstraction of my actions. Temperatures rise above

where they were before I uttered my conciliatory words


A tongue transplant is what I need, so I’ll be able

to utter soothing phrases instead of unwanted blazes.

Blaming my tongue for telling lies and any mistakes

is my way of reducing the tightening noose I unwittingly

wrap around my neck.


I let my feelings hang loose. and excuse myself from what

I’ve said and think it fair to say, “It’s my tongue that’s at fault,

because the words that it spews manage to inflame and

it shouldn’t be like that



If I could eat all my words, chew them and spit them

out so they’d spell out my intent in an orderly way,

I’d swallow everything I ever said, and at the closing

of the day, say it again from far away.


Joe DiBuduo Author

cropped-navy-pier1.jpg        Thanks for coming to my site.  You’ll find some of my unique short stories here that you can read here or download for reading at a later date.

Many of my flash fiction stories are 1,000 words or less, so they can be read while on a break, waiting in line, etc, etc.

Please comment on any stories you like or dislike. Thank you.

Joe DiBuduo