matt pond PA

January 13, 2016


If I return to some of my previous words, I don’t always recognize the author.

But I’m going to let them stick. Like the flimsy snow outside my window, I believe in my inadequacies as much as I believe in my adequacies.

Perhaps these psychological sirens are throwing us in harm’s way on purpose.

My mistakes are some of my greatest achievements. Down to the metal in my leg that forced me to relearn how to run. Down to the struggle to make music — it may be the fight that makes me write.

Of course, if someone is actually sneaking in and hijacking parts of my mind, I wish they’d place me under the shade of a palm tree, near the soft sound of ocean waves breaking on the beach.

The Hudson isn’t always enough.