Get to know me as I get to know myself.

Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.

— Oscar Wilde.

Hello World. I have recently stepped back from Facebook and most social media. Because of specific circumstances and latent longings I’ve taken a break from the artificial distractions of life. Well, some of them at least.

With less distraction and more free time I’ve re-immersed myself in music and reading. I have more time to feel and hopefully process my emotions. I believe that one way I can do this constructively is through writing and poetry.

Feel free to join me on this inward journey. Maybe it will inspire you to do the same or give you tools to help you along the way. Cheers.

Chosen Shackles

No one owns me

Yet i live in slavery

No one owns me

Yet I live for the expectations of others

No one owns me

No one owns my love

No one owns my heart

No one owns my insides

No one owns my dreams

No one owns my fears

No one owns my pain

No one owns my mind

I reproduce the conditions of my slavery every day

I deny myself and take up my cross of being for others

I gave up my freedom before I knew I was free

I Wish to God

I don’t know if writing helps

Or if the Therapist helps

I guess I want easy answers

And I want to feel better

And sometimes burying things down is the only way to not feel like my heart is being ripped out

When I write I feel the pain

When I speak to my therapist I feel the pain.

Actually I feel it more afterwards.

It’s like I talk first and then the emotions follow

And I hate having to feel when what I feel hurts so bad.

I self regulate

Tell myself what to feel and how to feel

I never let myself feel the full breadth.

To say what I feel deep down is not acceptable.

There’s no one i can tell.

So I bury it down and wish to God every day it would die

I wish to God I could forget it. I wish to God I could forget it.


Some days it feels like normal

Like the weight of sorrow has been lifted

And deep piercing pain healed

Other days it all comes back

And rages

Loss. Pain. Futility.

Why did it ever happen?

Why was I so fucking stupid?

I feel alive! I feel creative! I feel powerful! I’m not bored! Or bound! I’m free

It was all a lie.

Because it can’t exist.

I can’t exist

And for a moment I did. And I knew it.

I’ll go back to the nothing from which i came

I surrender

To the darkness.

To routine

To death

To pain

To loss

Someone has to hurt.

And I have to choose

I don’t want to be selfish

So I choose me.

My Childhood: Mobile Home Park Memories

I remember being outside a lot. I lived in the Mobile Home Park on Joyce Ln in Elgin from birth-6 years old. I remember more summer than I do any other season. I was outside all the time.

Two of my best friends lived across the street. Joe who was a few years older than me. And his sister Crystal who was my age. We would hang out, so i seem to recollect, just about every day. I remember climbing the tree in their yard. And there being a makeshift tree house.

We had a swing set at my house and we spent a lot of time there. The yard, in my memory, is huge. But when I go back and visit it’s so incredibly small. One time my sister and I made a makeshift slip and slide in our back yard. We used garbage bags, golf teas to pin it down, and a sprinkler to make it wet. I’m sure it didn’t last long but it was fun.

In the summers i would spend time swimming in my kiddie pool. We would run through sprinklers. Once I learned to ride a bike I would trek the part of the neighborhood I was allowed to be in. Visiting other neighborhood youngsters like Amber and Amanda who were friends with my sister.

My childhood memories are so vivid. When I think about the summer memories i see the brightness of the sun and feel its’ warmth on my skin. It’s like the Eden of my life. It wasn’t all perfect. Far from it. But there was something innocent there that can never be regained. In the next blog I will go into a few specific summertime stories.

Early Childhood: Part 1

I was born at Humana Hospital in Hoffman Estates, IL on October 17th, 1983. My first home was at 855 Joyce Ln in Elgin, IL. A well kept small mobile home tucked inside a mobile home park located between Sadler Ave and Villa St.

It was a poor working class neighborhood. Small yards and narrow sidewalks. I came home to an older sister. 5 years and a few months the elder to be exact. Like most people I don’t remember much prior to 3 or 4 years of age.

I remember my mom a lot in my younger years. She was the center of my life. I recollect her getting me ready and dropping me off at the Elgin Community College Day Care so she could pursue an associates degree. Besides college classes she was a stay at home mom.

I don’t remember my dad as much in my early years. My earliest recollection is him working for an insurance company called Century (or Sentry?). I remember going with him to work at least once. I equate his presence with volatility in my early years.

My dad was an alcoholic and Rx pill addict. A functioning one I suppose. Early memories include him getting angry at me and knocking me off of a stool. I must have had a black eye or something because I remember my embarrassed mother explaining (or rather, making up a story) to other lunch ladies why i had the bruise.

I remember him calling my mom once while he was out of town. Telling her that he had relapsed or some shit. And I recall him being gone to get outpatient help- once for sure, possibly twice.

Sometimes I think about talking to my sister about what she remembers about her, and our, childhood. Namely, what things were like when she was younger- what things were like before I started forming memories. But I have not. I am carrying on the Wehrheim tradition of keeping things inside and not talking.

Eventually my dad got a job for an insurance company called Northwestern National. He was able to work out of the house as a claim’s adjuster. At this point his presence in my life becomes more regular in my memories.

Other early memories include getting a Christmas tree, listening to Christmas music while my mom did chores, opening presents on Christmas morning (including a Nintendo) long hot summer days swimming in our kiddie pool or running through the sprinkler while my mom laid out in the sun.

Strangely enough I also remember going with my folks to the polls to vote. So it must have been Nov 1988. I remember that is was the Bush vs Dukakis race. Don’t know who my folks voted for. But I know I couldn’t wait for them to get done because they had just bought my sister and I two new Atari games. So this must have been before we got the Nintendo.

I remember our neighbors. My mom’s best friend Kathy lived down the street. My best friends- Crystal and Joe- lived across the street. Their dad Bob coached my sister’s softball team with my Mom. Actually my mom was the head coach.

Early memories include Elgin American Little League ball fields. And Drake field where my sister’s team practiced. I learned from a young age, with an older sister, to entertain myself. I learned to operate in my own internal world. I had quite an imagination as a young fella.

My mom was a lunch lady at Huff School -which my sister attended. I remember a pack of fifth grade girls, friends of my sister (many of whom were on her softball team) that would let me hang out with them on the playground, would give me kisses, and called me their boyfriend. I loved that shit. They also anointed me mascot of their softball team which was cool.

Forgive me for going back and forth. There will be a lot of that.

Why, Boy?

What have your dreams done for you, boy?

You still live in a world you hate

What has your romantic idealism done for you, boy?

It’s given you nothing but a broken heart

Why did you ever reach out in excitement boy?

You should have known you’d come back empty handed

Why did you dare to feel so deeply boy?

Pain follows Pleasure like night follows the day

You came out of your shell and was it worth it, boy?

You’re in the fires of hell how does it feel, boy?

You’ll get everything you deserve, boy.

Everything a fool deserves.


It’s scary to write

I feel trepidation at expressing my thoughts

Because I know my thoughts, my feelings, my convictions aren’t the norm

It’s scary to write

I want to let myself out in deeper ways

But I don’t want to hurt or confuse the people in my life.

It’s scary to write

To make poetry for myself

And to let it really flow out of the center of my being

It’s scary to write

Because most of my family already keeps me at arms length

And as much as I wish I didn’t I care what people think- I do. I have to- to a degree.

Don’t be scared

It’s me. The one you’ve always known

If you let yourself you might to come to know me in a deeper way

Don’t be scared

But if you are be scared with me

We will walk through this into deeper pastures of who we are.

Darling, Let’s Dance

Darling, let us dance all night

Let us shake off these heavy chains

And cast away our cares

Darling, let us dance all night

Our souls infused with the music

That makes our bodies move

Darling, let’s dance all night

To songs of liberation and life

As the rhythm wraps us in rapture

Darling, Let us dance all night

Body to body heart to heart

Layered and interwoven like harmony

Darling, let us confess together

Praise be to the gods on stage

With their instruments of inspiration

Darling, it is the gifts of God

For the people of God

Let us take them in remembrance that Kurt, and Richie, and Buddy, and Tu-Pac, and Biggie, and Chris, and Jim, and Jimi, and Dolores, and Janice died for us

Darling, sin not by being afraid

Let your body move freely in the power

Of the song, of the lyrics, of music

We will sweat out the demons

Who have tormented our souls

Darling, let us dance all night

The Trump will sound but not of Christ

The Trumpet announcing the music has come

And our liberation is here.

Enter in through movement

Through steps

Through dance

Darling, Let us Dance all night

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