Wednesday, December 30, 2015

American History X

Those who love me are like the laundry boy in American History X,

While I sit in the prison that I put myself in,

While I endure the consequences of my sin,

Folding underwear represents where we met,

In the most humbling of places,

In a matter of unforeseeable circumstances,

But even there you have brought in life,

Given me an ounce of joy,

Given me an ounce of warmth,

And somehow as my sentence completes,

I walk away knowing that you have guarded me

I walk away knowing of true grace and love


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright December 2015

Tuesday, December 29, 2015


You are so good to me,

My rock and my shelter,

A never ending source of love.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright December 2015

Sunday, December 20, 2015

Life and Death

Not afraid of death

What someone should really fear

Is to never live

Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright December 2015

Blog Highlights

From looking at blog stats, here are some highlights... Thank you to those who read, comment, share, plus, etc!

Saturday, December 19, 2015

A Leopard Haiku

True Change requires death

Can a leopard change its spots?

Catepillars can

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright December 2015

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

A Rant Against the Incubator

You call yourself a woman?

You are nothing of a woman,

You are supposed to be an incubator.

You are built for it.

You get a house

You have a power to make it a home.

You collect ingredients,

And you can magically create a meal.

You take a seed,

And you will make a child.


But what do you do with your man?

Do you multiply what you have been given?


You tear him down, nagging

To him, no matter how hard he tries,

You make him feel he will never be enough.

You fill him with hopelessness,

Because you place your hopes on him

And the barrenness of your soul,

You place before him

As if he was somehow suppose to fill that void

By meeting your unrealistic expectations


And you belittle and emasculate him,

Because somehow that will give you power

Over the powerlessness you felt as a child

Reacting to what your father did to you.

But that time,

Was supposed to give you insight

And compassion for a man,

But you twisted all that horrible pain

Into hatred

Rather than growth.

You could have been such an inspiration to so many



You ignore your vary being

Do you arouse him with your beauty

And sensuous ways


Because he does not deserve your love

You say

But there goes the twist doesn't it?

He already knows he doesn't deserve your love

Its when you give it under these conditions

You not only arouse his body

But you arouse his inner being

You release pure energy into his soul


And without changing your ways,

Is it any wonder he turns to the vices of the world?

He can pick so many to prove to himself he is a man

The world offers work, gambling, pornography, affairs, television, video games

Yes, he has a whole buffet to choose from

As a consolation prize for your love

But he has chose only one



Your man,

Is an extension of you

And you cut off your own arm

Because of self hatred

Bred from hatred.


Its time to heal my dear.

Its time to let go of the past.

To regain the strength you once had

To first be comforted

So that you can comfort

To first be healed

So that you can heal

Both your life and his are at stake.

I believe in you.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright December 2015

Sunday, December 13, 2015

Emerging Love

Love as a youth,

Its a selfish love,

An enchantment, an ecstasy, an awakening.


But love as an adult,

Its a servant love

It requires charity and perseverance and grace.


But I simply cannot give

Until I have received

It requires a dependence, a vulnerability, a submission.


How dreadful!

How scary!

How glorious!

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright December 2015

Toxic Love

I used to love you

And you used to love me.

But our love just was not enough was it?

Something so broken in our world.

Even our love.

So we sought the comfort of family

No risk or exhaustion.


You know, the kind of toxicity that occurs

When another being has combined with your core

And energy is now being used on another self

That is you, yet is not.

That kind of toxicity?


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright December 2015

Thursday, December 10, 2015


A man is a fighter,

A warrior,

He cannot just sit around the house,

He cannot just watch over babies,

Or build a blooming nest.


Everything in a man wants to protect,

Wants to provide,

To be the victor,

The champion,

The hero


A man doesn't just turn to addiction,

He is inticed by it.

He doesn't just fulfill his lusts with pornography,

No, he hunts.

He searches for just the right place.

Just the right girl.

Hours wasted away

Simply driven by the desire to be victorious.

Because he was built for that search.

And he was built for a journey.


But without an enemy to fight,

A man will go crazy.

And he knows this,

So he will numb away these deep desires,

Sedate himself with alchohol because he can't sit still.

Because he can't see who he needs to attack.

Because the biggest trick the devil ever played

Was to convince the world he didn't exist.


But the world is afraid of man's power.

They want nice boys

And handsome gentlemen.

But without a story to tell

Without that great adventure

No meaning and no destiny

A man will grow bored and fade away.


But there is never death.

There is always something cooking in the kitchen

Always somethin in the basement

A flicker, a flame

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© December 2015

Tuesday, December 8, 2015


Mark was raised in a typical household.  Two parents, striving to make their way in the world.  Both hard working.  Initially, Mark's parents wanted to make a good family life.  They wanted him to have a great childhood.  Good food.  Good fun.  Presents on his birthday and under the Christmas tree.  They started out with good intentions.

But soon, the quest for wealth had overtaken Mark's parents.  He found himself walking home alone from school.  Eating dinner alone at the dinner table.  Mark was active in soccer and basketball as a youth.  He knew that athleticism was what it meant to be a boy.  To be male.  But his parents, busy with work, rarely visited his games.  He wasn't bad at sports.  But he wasn't great either.  He was plain.  He was average.

Around middle school and early high school years, Mark started to realize he was different.  He was a loner of sorts.  Although he tried to fit in, he just didn't.  He was attracted to girls, but he never mentioned it because people would make fun of him.  He liked sports but he just didn't feel like playing before school, during lunch and after school like other boys in his class.

Mark always stuttered when he approached other girls in his age group.  When it came time for his first Homecoming dance in high school, he decided to ask one of the girls in his class.  It took Mark weeks to gain enough courage to ask her.  He didn't know how to even ask a girl to go out with him.  Finally, the day came.  He stammered out the question, "Sarah, I was wondering if...  I was wondering if you would like to go to the Homecoming dance with me?"

Sarah replied, "Oh, I'm sorry Mark, I'm going with David."  Now, Sarah was a little immature, being in high school.  Rather than simply leaving it at that, she decided to tell her friends about Mark.  Quickly, the rumors spread and the blow to Mark's ego was securely in place.  It was that humiliation that left Mark with the realization that he was an outcast and simply socially unacceptable.

Mark's wound, deep in place, was clear.  He was neglected at home and separated by his peers.  Mark felt unwanted, alone, insecure and pretty much powerless.  But he didn't know what to do about it.  He simply continued to go through the motions.  To try to pretend to fit in.  To continue to work hard like his parents wanted.

Then, one day, while Mark was a Sophmore, he met Amy.  Amy was a senior.  She was smart, caring and just seemed to have a nurturing quality about her.  Amy was always building up Mark's self esteem.  She would compliment his physical appearance, caressing his arms.  She would gasp at how smart he was and hard working.  She was sure Mark was going to be someone important someday.

Mark loved the attention.  In fact, he was attention starved.  No one else seemed to pay attention to him like Amy.  Soon, they started to go out.  Amy would often pay for things, drive Mark around.  She took the lead on so many things.  Amy, even helped advance things sexually.  She would climb on top of Mark as they made out.  Mark felt that he wasn't quite ready for Amy's advances and he would try to voice his concerns but he was afraid of losing Amy's love.

Mark didn't think much of the steadily progressing physical nature of their relationship.  After, Mark was a teenage boy with his own curiosities, desires and fantasies.  After six months, toward the end of Amy's senior year, Mark and Amy had sex for the first time.  Mark's first experience of a sexual orgasm left him in a state of shock.  He was amazed at the feelings ignited within him and literally had his mind blown.

While Mark and Amy continued to date, soon after, Amy left for college and eventually their relationship died down.  But something about the whole relationship stuck with Mark for so long.  Deep within him, he just couldn't quite grasp the fingerprint Amy would forever leave on his life.

Mark continued to date throughout the years.  But in each relationship, Mark just felt something was missing.  After a while, Mark started to lose hope and wondered if he could ever find his life partner.  At first, looking back, Mark started to believe that no matter how much he dated, no woman could ever recreate his "Amy" experience.  But then, over time, Mark evolved this thinking to believe that no woman could ever fill the void left by the neglect and rejection he experienced during his childhood.  Mark started to understand that no matter how much he tried, he could never go back in time and receive what his heart longed for: unconditional love.

It was then that Mark started to notice the pattern of his dating after all these years.  Each relationship would start with Mark's extraordinary sense of the lonely or neglected.  While Mark would start his relationships well-intentioned, with sincere efforts to help extend a hand to these lonely souls, inevitably, these relationships would quickly degenerate into sexual relationships.  It was as if Mark could only truly identify with these women he dated, if he was intimate sexually.  And because, he knew what it felt like to be isolated and rejected, he was easily able to idolize his dates, to shower them with affirmations about their value and desirability.  With a clear unmet emotional and physical need, Mark's dates seemed to be drawn into a deeper connection instantly.

In any given relationship, all the while Mark would feel he was providing the love and acceptance that his girlfriend deserved.  After all, he felt that everyone should feel loved and no one should ever feel as he felt during his childhood.  But there was something interesting about each of his girlfriends.  Each seemed to have a sort of innocence.  A sort of unawareness or lack of experience sexually.  And Mark was obsessed with creating a "first time" experience.  Something unique.  He couldn't explain it.

Perhaps, somehow, this sense of power, might in someway resolve some of his own pain.  Perhaps, somehow this breaking of innocence might provide the thrill and justification that purity and innocence could have never remained within him.  Or that somehow, this experience might somehow give him the acceptance he is looking for.  Or perhaps, it was related to legacy, that if Mark was the one to introduce such shocking pleasure, that he would hold a permanent place in the life of his loved one, that even abandonment or an ending of their relationship could never remove.

This unique fingerprint would forever shape Mark's relationships.  Was this unique fingerprint a journey to find a father or mother figure?  Or was it simply driven by a narcissistic endeavor to unite with an image of his idealized self?  Mark would never know.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright December 2015

Inspired after reading "Sexual Healing" by David Kyle Foster

Thursday, November 26, 2015

What is a man?

What is a man?

Is it when I am watching others play sports on TV?

Because I feel invigorated

Yet, I am simply a bystander

Not even living my life

But rather, cheering on someone else's successes

Or is it when I am with a different woman each night of the week?

And each is going down on me

Cause I sure feel like a man then

Full of life and passion

Hunting to fill the void like food fills an insatiable hunger

Or is it when I beat the woman I love?

And she is crying and in tears

Sprawled across the floor

Cause I feel dominant and powerful

Yet somehow feel like a pussy

Or is it when I crouch my shoulders and lower voice?

So that I don't intimidate others

And I focus on making sure they are comfortable

Not aware of the dangers I hold

Is a man that lone wolf?

The wolverine who climbs the highest of mountain peaks

And yells from the top of his lungs

As the adrenaline cascades through his lips

Making his presence known to the world in solitude


Somewhere in there, deep inside, are the seedlings of a man

Squashed by jeans made to keep it out of sight

Domesticated by teachers who needed to keep him in line

Ignored by a father and emasculated by a mother

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright November 2015

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Attention and Affirmation

A boy's first desire for attention is aimed at his mother

He fights his father

Then, he desires the attention of his sisters

And fights his brothers

Then, he desires the attention of potential girl friends

Fighting his friends


A boy's first desire for affirmation is aimed at his father

A battle he must eventually win

Then, he desires the affirmation of his friends

As talents bloom

And finally, the affirmation of the community

As manhood emerges


Without the seeds of attention, a man will never find the passion of his soul.

Without the seeds of affirmation, a man will never embrace the strength of his inner warrior.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright November 2015

Monday, November 23, 2015

The 90 Day Challenge

Mindy was frustrated.  Years of bitterness grew in her heart.  Years of resentment waiting for the dead soul of a man to revive.  Yet, the harder she pushed, the more distant he became.  The harder she fought, the colder he grew.

She knew the answers.  She knew the problems.  They leaked out of her mouth every time her wounds were stabbed.  Every time she was triggered.  Every time the emotional burdens overflowed from her insides, boiled up and released through her pressure value.  Out came the venom.  Out came the nagging.

Mindy hated who she had become.  She did not get in this relationship to become the mother to a grown man who refused to mature.  Who refused to handle his responsibilities.  Who refused to carry his side of the family.

Mindy would go to her friends and bash her husband every chance she got.  She wasn't aware of it, but her friends were.  Her friends had different responses.  "Me too."  "Men... typical."  "It will change sweetie.  Just be patient with him."  "When are you going to finally dump that dead weight?"

One day, Mindy heard something from a friend.  A challenge.  A 90 day challenge.  Not another one of these Mindy thought.  But for whatever reason, something within her told her that perhaps she would try this challenge.  The challenge was simple.  Every morning, write down 3 things that she was thankful for that her husband did.  Mindy, laughed.  This was going to be difficult.

I guess he works.  He is here and hasn't abandoned me.  He hasn't cheated on me.  At least I don't think he has.  That jerk, he probably has. That's probably why he is so cold to me.  He probably is texting that x-girlfriend of his.

Sigh, Mindy thought.  Day one complete.

For the first few days, it was hard to find something to be grateful for that her husband did.  She actually had to spend most of the day trying to figure out what she would write the next day.

Mindy was tired of being let down.  Her whole life she had been let down.  She decided she was never going to allow herself to be hurt again.  She would never allow herself to be that vulnerable.

By the time day ten came around, it was actually easier for Mindy to come up with things.

I am grateful for the burdens he carries that I do not even see.  I am grateful for his willingness to stay with me despite my terrible attitude.  I am grateful that he is able to make the kids laugh.  I forgot that he used to make me laugh.  Before the kids, before life just became difficult.  Why is that?  How does he do that?

Mindy was browsing through some books.  She still couldn't come up with anything really remarkable about her husband.  She was still exhausted each day.  But now she was curious about what made him tick.  About what she could come up with besides her list.

Mindy noticed in the book store that there was a women's section.  It was filled with romance.  It was filled with pictures of fathers spending quality time with kids.  It was filled with beautiful homes and wedding dresses.  Yes!  Mindy thought.  That is exactly what I want.  A beautiful home with my husband actually doing something.  A real partnership.

Then, Mindy browsed the men's section.  Sports.  Ughh.  Sailing.  Hiking.  Mountain climbing.  Life stories from famous boxers and quarter backs.  Coaches.  Hmm.  Hero.  Bravery.  Adventure.  Why are men so drawn to that?

Day 30 came along.  Mindy was grateful that her husband did not take the job in the city which would have advanced his career but leave less time with the family.  Mindy was grateful that her husband did not backlash when she cursed him.  Mindy was grateful that he never spoke badly of her when he was with his friends.

Mindy started to the think about some of these things.  More and more, she realized, he too had not signed up for this.  When they met, her husband had hopes and dreams.  He wanted to attack the world.  To make it a better place.  But Mindy's vision of what a family was, forced him to make sacrifices.  Of course, he, like most men was living a life of quiet desperation.  And he did it for her.  He said it would be okay.

Mindy paused.  He did it for her?

Mindy was still angry.  She was still bitter.  That's why she leaked venom.  Where did this come from she thought?  But, she started to feel that her husband was already experiencing as much pain as she was.  What if he actually wanted to please me?  What if he wanted to be my hero?  What if he wants that childish adventurous part of him to bring color and laughter in my life but I am getting the way of my own happiness?

Mindy decided to read up on anger.  She decided she actually had a real issue with anger.  Mindy had never been in the book store so much her entire life.  But she figured that someone somewhere had been through her struggles and figured out how to get out of them.  And they probably wrote a book about it.  So she was determined to work on herself and learn about herself.

Day 63 was ironic and somewhat funny.  Mindy wrote, "I am grateful my husband does not do everything I want him to do.  It gives me an opportunity to experience things I never would experience doing things my way.  It allows me to be challenged.  Honestly, my life would probably be boring if we just did things my way.  I am grateful my husband is not perfect.  I never would have realized I struggle with anger and releasing control.  I never would have realized how much my childhood left me afraid to be vulnerable because I didn't believe I could trust people to come through when I needed them.  I never would have realized that I need to do a better job of identifying my own needs and communicating them.  In fact, I will have to do a better job of clarifying to myself what is most important to me so that I can focus on getting those things addressed.  I am grateful that I do not feel unworthy of my husband.  I do not worry daily that some girl will come and steal my man.  At least not any of my friends since I tell them all the dirt on him."

By the last week, Mindy's husband hadn't changed a single bit.  But Mindy was learning to be thankful for what she had.  She continued her journey well beyond the 90 days.

A year and a half passed before her husband had a birthday.  On that day, Mindy wrote him a thank you note:

"I am grateful for all the sacrifices you make for our family.  I know many of them I don't even see or acknowledge.  I used to wonder why the kids laughed so hard with you.  In fact, I was even a little jealous at times.  But now I see that you are simply their hero.  For some time, I was afraid to let you be my hero too, even though the little girl in me wanted it so badly.  I just didn't know it.  I wanted to force you to prove that you were worthy of being trusted because I wasn't going to allow my heart to be broken.  I know you aren't perfect but you are a good man and you ARE my hero.  Happy Birthday.  Love, Mindy."

Tears streamed down her husbands face as Mindy reached over to squeeze his arm.  Mindy decided a while back that life and the world had broken her husband enough.  She did not need to add to it.  From now on, she was going to work on healing her own wounds as well as tending to his.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright November 2015


What if the world as we know it was not always as it is?

What if the world was flat before it was discovered to be round?

What if dinosaurs didn't exist until we found their bones?

What if Newton's laws did not hold true until he articulated them?

What if micro waves did not exist until their power was harnessed?

What if the atom bomb was not possible until the moment it first blew?

What if wireless technology was simply an ingredient added to an existing creation?

What if water simply did appear out of the thin air on Mars?

What more will we discover and experience yet believe was always there?


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
Copyright November 2015

The Ying and Yang of Life

Women want love

Men want respect

Women are beautiful

Men are powerful

Women experience the emotional

Men experience the physical

Women convey Love

Men convey the Word

Women are prone to judgement

Men are prone to attraction

Women are punished for Adultery

Men are punished for Murder

Women offer grace

Men offer truth

Women embody Water and Air

Men embody Fire and Earth

Women temper Phlegmatic and Sanguine

Men temper Choleric and Melancholy

Women will accommodate or collaborate

Men will fight or take flight

Women demonstrate peace

Men demonstrate passion

Women are gatherers

Men are hunters

Women struggle to obey

Men struggle to forgive

Women are incubators

Men are generators

Women lean toward cleansing

Men lean toward sacrificing

Women are captivating

Men are adventurous

Women are the Water

Men are the Food

Scott Izu, PhD
© November 2015

Tuesday, October 27, 2015



It is the essence of the question,

What existed before?

We know that Darwin's theory of evolution does not answer the never ending series of questions,

And what existed before that?

Nor does the existence of God answer the question,

What existed before God?

The only logical explanation is that time itself was created

And that we have never experienced true creation.

What we understand of creation is simply an artifact of time.

We believe we have the ability to create,

Although all we can really do is re organize.

The so called creation of a master piece,

Is simply the organization of matter.

Creation of a building,

The same.

Creation of an element or mass?

The same.


Time itself must have been created.

And creation must be able to exist without time.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© October 2015

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Am I Enough?

Chris Edward had been doing general contracting for years.  He was that strong male who just took control of the room.  Somehow, he could get away with telling crude jokes and made instant connections with those men around him.  He made savy business decisions and was known for his straight forward, cut to the chase attitude.

Jeanine was an independent designer.  She was a hot shot from an early age but chose to put her career and ambitions on hold to raise a family.  Together Chris Edward and Jeanine managed to raise three active boys, the first of which just graduated high schoold.

For years, Jeanine struggled with hitting brick walls with her husband.  She had learned to skirt topics like excessive business expendeture and long hours outside of the home.

But just like nesting kicks in from the biological clock, with Billy leaving home and George only five years from graduation, Jeanine was now growing considerate of what the empty nest would look like.

It was then that Jeanine started to pry into what she had known all these years but refused to face.  Self denial for her own protection.

Extra nights at the office with who?  Why was her husband so stone cold in the house, grabbing the beer to numb out the stresses of life and tune her out.  She decided, after all these years that things needed to change.  So she started to change.

But the more she did, the more she realized it was hopeless.  Years and years of neglect could not be reborn.  After months had passed and Jeanine putting pressure on her husband, Chris Edward, he finally opened up.

I am having an affair, was how he put it.  And the words didnt matter.  The build up, the fight.  What mattered was that reality finally struck Jeanine in the face.  You know that brutal reality that strikes so hard, the weight of frustrations so heavy, that you fall to your knees in desperation.  That was where Jeanine found her self.  Tears, anguish, despair, a mess.  She found herself in front of her husband of twenty two years, and his confession, a mess on her knees, asking, a straight cord from her heart to her lips, Am I not enough?

It came out of nowhere, barely audible, yet ear piercing.  It silenced the room and Chris Edward.  Am I not enough?

It was a sincere question, coming from years of dedication, serving tirelessly for her family.  It was a question wrapped within it, the repressed memories of her dad, her mom, disappointments and never being good enough.  Of letting others down and the freedom she found in designing, thrown to the side, to serve her family.  And the sinking feeling that despite her best efforts, she just wasnt good enough.  The defeated surrender in realizing she never would be enough.

The night subsided.  The fight faded.  But turmoil remained.  The words that can never be taken back were already uttered into existence.  Forged forever into the memoirs of history.

Jeanine struggled to rest, tossed and turned all night.  Hes probably sleeping like a baby, that... words of frustration and hatred and shock plagued her mind.

That morning, Jeanine walked into a church.  The first time she had walked into church in a long time.  She sat through the first service, crying.  The second service, crying.  Worried about the kids, she almost got up.  Her mother had picked them up for their biweekly visit with the grandparents.  What would she do without her parents, she thought?  Nope, today she would be late.

As the third service started, she closed her eyes.  Third service had a modern band and a special worship time.  She prayed.  It had been a long time but she did.

As Jeanine sat silent, dazed and in a fog of life, the music went silent and she heard this:

Daughter, you were never supposed to be enough.  I was.  I have you.  I am with you.  Look to me for your approval.  Look to me for your worth.  Your husbands actions have to do with him.  They have nothing to do with who you are.  He is broken and needs me just like you have been broken.  Put him aside for now.  Look to me.  Trust me.

How can I?  Jeanine went into conversation with God.

When Jeanine opened her eyes, she found the room empty and an usher tapping on her shoulder.  It was time to go home.

Somehow, Jeanines external circumstances didnt seem to define her.  And though her ego still screamed out, you deserve more, how dare he, she decided just for a few moments to set that aside.  She had three boys who needed her, a loving family who she knew would help her through this.  But most importantly, a God in heaven who was watching over her.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© October 2015

Thursday, October 8, 2015


He was so strong.

He never complained.

He never grumbled.

He just did what he needed to do.

See this shirt on my back.

See this food on my plate.

It is here because of him.

It is here because when life was hard,

He never let up.

He just pushed through.

So to see him weak was unbearable.

The first time I ever saw him say he had pain.

For ten years he had this cancer.

For ten years!

Not once did he ever say he had pain.

So, yes, his last days were hard.


I love you dad.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© October 2015

Leaving Marriage

How can I leave my marriage?

I love you.

I cant explain how I feel about you.

But for better or worse,

This is the only thing I've ever known.

The universe carved out a special place for me right here.

A great family and friends.

And I cant leave that.

I refuse to.

I refuse to be one of those bubbling fools,

Who let their hearts dictate and rule their lives.

I refuse to put myself in a place where once again I am at the mercy of others.

No, I control my destiny.

I control my fate.

I must protect the ones I love.

I must take care of those who depend on me.

I wish it were another place or another time.

But its not.

So I will take it for what it is.

An opportunity to love.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© October 2015


How can I do my homework?

How can I study when there is so much pressure?

My grades are slipping and they keep on slipping.

And I don't even have the help I need.

Why doesn't my mom know algebra?

And why couldn't I be born into a rich family.

It doesn't matter.

I have to try to get better.

I want to do sports and study and make something of myself.

But dad says that school stuff is useless.

And says that he one sees me one day a week on the weekends.

So that is more important than homework.

And I feel bad for him.

Cause I remember them fighting.

At least there is peace now.

Alright, head down.

Its time to do homework.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© October 2015

Tuesday, October 6, 2015


It used to be about sex,

I never believed even a day could pass,

Without some sort of activity,

For my hyperactivity,

And if not as last resort,

The endless world of online darkness.

But over the years I have gotten older,

My heart worn from running it over,

It pleads,

"Have you forgotten me?"

I hate you...


You left me as that cold and lonely boy,

With no one to go to the eighth grade dance.

The nerdy, dorky kid with glasses and braces that no girl wanted.

I promised myself I would never be that guy.

Alone, with no one to dance through life with.

"And now?"

My overcompensation has left me with the curse promised by my teachers.

My survival instinct has become nothing more than manipulative plans,

Schemes with shallow roots.

"I'm here."

Yes, heart, rebirth

Bring me into connection.

Let it be about sex,

Only as a part of so much more.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
October 2015

Sunday, September 27, 2015

A Cup of Morning Grief

Inspired after reading The Gift of Adult ADD by Lara Honos...

I sit alone in a coffee shop,

Alone in life,

Reflecting on all the wonderful memories.

It is not the good but the great that tortures me.

These thoughts resonate with me...

"I can't let go of you.  I don't know how to let go of you."

"What we shared was one of the most meaningful relationships in my life.  You not being in my future doesn't take away the luminous moments we shared."

"Its okay for me to talk to you in my mind even though I have to let you go.  I am often torn between releasing you and making desperate plans to get you back; I don't act on the plans, but I honor my wish to be close to you."

"I allow my heart to open by feeling this heartache.  I cry and let the waves of grief overcome me."

"I don't want to lose what we had.  I cant let go because I don't trust something new will come."

"Letting go is hard; its not supposed to be easy.  I allow myself to trust that there is a greater purpose in loving and leaving you."

"I'm about to make that leap from here to there - here being the life that derived some of its fullness from your presence, and there being the life in which you are a memory.  I make the leap with deep sadness.  I loved you."

I sit and reflect.

I sit and hurt.

There will never be another you.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© September 2015

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

The Aftermath

Gut wrenching,
Exotic nights,
Moonlit bodies,

<SI> Scoot Izu, PhD
Sept 2015

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Fenton Lake

I am so excited today to tell you a story about my baby girl who isn't such a baby anymore.  It's one of my favorite stories from one of our memories.

She's 13 years old, entering her teenage years as a Freshman in high school at Piedmont Hills.  She still melts my heart every time she gives me a kiss on the cheek to say Hello or Good Bye.

It was the summer of 2005, out in the gorgeous forests of New Mexico.  It was a beautiful day at Fenton lake, sunny with a little bit of clouds and not too hot.  A great time to catch a few rainbow trout, cook them up, feast and go home.  We used to love that about New Mexico.  Camping, fishing, family time.

But this trip was different.  We decided to try something new.  We got one of those $35 inflatable rafts from Walmart that supposedly held two people.

Now this lake had a dock, where normal boats would be backed into the lake.  So we decided that was a great place to launch or little inflatable raft.  We had a little generator.  It made so much noise.  Now the kids watching were just building with anticipation and couldn't wait to go out with papa.  Midori was 3 at the time and Hideshi was almost 5.  I decided to take Midori out first.

So I climb in the boat and sit Midori on the opposite side.  Now both sides of the raft have little holders for the ores, so I place the ores in their places.  We start to head out and I am just trying to learn how the ores work.  How you row, turn, just getting comfortable.

Everything is fine.  Smooth.  Then, when we get about fifteen feet out, Midori decides she wants to sit on my lap.  So I decide fine no big deal.  But in this small boat, there's a weight disparity, so all of the weight is on one side of the boat... Not a good thing.  And Midori won't sit still.  She's climbing on me putting her hands on my face and for whatever reason trying to climb on my shoulders.  Do you know how hard it is to row with a 3 year old climbing on top of you?

So I put Midori down.  And I tell her to stay seated.  But she keeps coming back.  And by this point, I start to notice the wind is picking up a little and I am a floating too far from the dock.  And as I am wrestling with my daughter, several people on the shore fishing are watching us.  I can't imagine what they thought watching a 6 foot 2 man in this tiny $35 raft, who can't row because a little baby is climbing on him.

Finally, I start to row because I want to get back close to the dock.  And sure enough, Midori kicks off her shoes.  I don't know if you know anything about babies but for whatever reason, they never keep their shoes on.  I'm now trying to hold onto the shoes, row and keep Midori on her side of the boat.  I have no clue what got into Midori, but as I am putting her onto her side of the boat, she grabs one of the shoes and throws it overboard.

As the shoe starts to sink, I quickly paddle over to grab the shoe.  Whew.  That was close.  But I look down and the other shoe is gone.  Midori threw it out onto the other side of the boat.  So I paddle over.  And I stretch out and I barely got it.  I kinda sink back and think to myself.  Yes!  Victory.  Shoes.  Locked and secure.  Midori is in the boat.  Check.

And I look around and one of the ores is missing.  Midori had thrown it overboard.  So I quickly try to paddle with one ore but I don't want to hit Midori.  I'm still trying to fend off Midori and hold onto the shoes.  And I watch as the ore slowly sinks into the lake.  I still remember the sight of the light hitting the ore and watching it slowly fade into the abyss.  One ore down.

So I have one ore.  Some water has leaked into the boat because Midori keeps climbing on my side.  I am trying to hold the shoes tightly between my legs.  People are now laughing and the spectacle we are making.  Then, the wind really picks up.  And we are floating all the way down the lake.  And I'm picturing myself, with a barefoot three year old, trying to walk back up the lake with her and the inflatable raft, which would inevitably pop.  Not gonna happen.

I'm thinking to myself.  You work out.  Your in shape.  You got this.  So with my one plastic ore, I start rowing.  Now, I'm am pushing hard.  Each stroke, I'm just using full on force. Its me versus the wind and I start to go.  And we are moving, its happening.  We are slowly moving up stream. Then, snap, the ore breaks.  I quickly grab the bottom half.

Now I am using the bottom of the ore.  It's almost like I am paddling with my hand.  All I can think about is, let's get Midori safe back onto the shore with both shoes in tact.  So I battle up.  And of course, people are still laughing at the site of a 6 foot 2 man in a small little inflatable raft, wrestling with his daughter, who is trying to row a boat with not even one ore but the bottom half of a plastic ore.

Sure enough, exhausted I get to the shore.  Midori gets safely unloaded.  I take a huge sigh of relief.  And Hideshi runs up, apparently more excited now after watching how much fun we've had and yells out, "My turn!"

That was my inflatable raft memory with my baby girl who isn't such a baby anymore.

Friday, August 28, 2015


 I loved you so much,

But over and over you taught me that you would not be there for me.

When I needed help,

You were supposed to hear my plea.

When I felt alone,

You were supposed to stay by my side.

When I felt frustrated,

You were supposed to help me sort through my emotions.

When I was abused,

You were supposed to protect me.

When I felt rejected,

You were supposed to counsel me.

When I was overwhelmed,

You were supposed to lend a helping hand.

Is it any surprise that I emotionally detached?

That I am a bipolar sociopath characterized by a Madonna Whore complex.

It is complicated, yet so simple.

The one I love and the one I have sex with must be two different beings.

It is what I learned when she broke my heart.

And my world fell to pieces.

And the pain was too much to bear.

And the easy way out was right in front of me.

For how can I handle the hurt and the pain of having the one I love fail to be there when I really need them?

How can I handle the pain when the one I love leaves my life?

Isn't it safe to have someone to run to who will love me for me?

Isn't it safe to have someone who is willing to help me pick up the pieces?

To help numb the pain of a broken heart?

Quite strategic, we humans are.

All our coping mechanisms are different.

Yet we are all the same.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© August 2015

Thursday, August 27, 2015


When I see you,
I see perfection.
Not a perfect person,
But perfection.
Is it blasphemous to say.
You resemble a Godess?
Not that you are,
But that the image lies within you.
A helpless romantic,
I cannot help
But see beyond what is.
Beyond what you are.
The glory of today
Lies in the miraculous restitution of what is to come.
<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© August 2015

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Time to Remember

Memories fill my mind,

Tears roll down my face,

Times of joy, sadness, the whole gambit,

Emotions swell.


I stand at a crossroads,

Do I go back in time?

To move forward through time?

Or stay stunted in growth?


I fear the change,

I embrace it.

Seasons for everything, seasons for all.

Time to move on

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
July 2015

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Murderers and Adulterers

People are either,

Murderers or adulterers,

Pharisees or prostitutes,

Oppressors or the oppressed,

Predators or their victims,

Indulging in pride through arrogance or self pity,

Delivering either imperfect truth or imperfect grace,

Either actively pursuing justice or passively allowing mercy,

Desperate to demonstrate their value or afraid to display their value,

Becoming either better than or worse than.


To know which you are you may ask yourself one simple question.

Could you do the same if you were in their shoes?

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015

Monday, July 27, 2015


On one side,

It turns into arrogance,

That must demonize opposition,

For the purposes of self justification.

It determines others unworthy and unnecessary,

Whispering, "No one else can do what I do".

It leaves you cold hearted and alone.

On the other side,

It turns into self pity,

That must become a victim,

For the purposes of self justification.

It determines that others are incapable of fulfilling our needs.

Whispering, "No matter what happens, it will be okay, I am resilient."

It leaves you bitter, resentful and alone.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015


Her soft touch,

Her womanly ways,

She carries the bag of goodies,

Her spices and fruits from the field,

You are valued,

You are loved.

The woman's intuition,

And dynamic range of emotion.

You add variety,

You are a treasure.

It is quite strategic really,

How you enhance my life.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015

Monday, July 20, 2015

Encapsulated Moments

Each dreadful moment without you,

Tears within my soul,

I could never live without you,

I'm an old romantic fool.


Let lights shine on the river sweet.

Moon beams glow within my reach,

Summer dresses and skinny dipping,

Glistening bodies on the beach.


Time is precious,

Time is dear,

Forever has no ending,

That is what I fear.

<SI> Scott Izu
© July 2015

Sunday, July 12, 2015


When immobility occurs,

When the weak are oppressed,

My choleric nature rises,

To move others to action or right the wrong.


When I am in my safe place,

And familiarity quiets anxiety,

My free spirit flows,

And I become Sanguine the Penguin.


When anger mounts,

Or tired frustration appears,

I become a willing support,

A phlegmatic of sorts.


When I am rejected,

Or reality hits hard,

I feel beauty through the eyes

Of a melancholy.


I knew this when I was young,

What once was lost is found again.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015

Misplaced Hope

When I was young,

I loved family,

Resulting in a growing hatred and contempt,

For individual members as seasons of life separated us,

And my expectations were met with disappointments,

Based on my understanding of what family was.


Quickly, I turned to value growth,

Yielding impatience with others and a growing need for isolation.


To avoid such an empty life, I turned to romance,

Tossing relationships after they inevitably grew stale,

Forcing me to abandon and betray loved ones,

Shattering hearts and creating broken promises.


I considered religions and moralistic lawfulness,

Only to find that such a love of righteousness might cause me to hate all,

As people's sins became blatantly apparent.


Eventually, I had my children and valued them above all else,

Only to sever the relationship with my spouse,

And to inhibit their growth through over protection,

Growing tired and bitter over the thankless sacrifices I made,

Which seemed to go unnoticed.


Consistent with American norms,

I turned to freedom,

Only to resent life's responsibilities,

And opportunities to bless others through service.


As such, life has been a delicate balance,

Of misplaced hope,

That eventually led to the emptiness and meaninglessness,

That underlies all great virtues.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015

Thursday, July 9, 2015

Can You Forgive Me?

Can you forgive me for placing my hope in you?

The weight of that must be excruciating.

If only you were this or that.

If only life's circumstances were different.

If only time, money and other resources were limitless.

Only then, would I be fulfilled.

I apologize for blaming you for the brokenness that exists in our world.

For placing you on the pedestal to be the resolution to the emptiness I feel.

Can you forgive me for placing you in the center of the perfect world I have imagined?

How the draw of the imagination can be an escape from the present state of suffering!

When all you want is rest.

When all you want is security.

When all you want is acceptance.

When all you want is to protect your loved ones.

Do we not all want the same?

Are we not all made from the same blueprint?

You have become the pivot point to which my life is either overflowing or destitute.


Unfair indeed.

Can you forgive me?


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015

Death of an Affair

With lack of time and romance,

You will feel objectified.

Compulsive nights and dopamine highs,

Will leave you drained and in need of rest.

When light shines on your actions,

The weight of the social consequences will be devastating.


You can communicate what you can handle,

But more will be thrown at you and dumped on you.

You will communicate what you can give,

But more will always be asked.

You can try to contain the impact,

But eventually the bomb will blow.


Without the truth,

Intimacy will die.

Without nurturing the soil,

Passion will die.

Without the integration into your life,

Commitment will die.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015

Wednesday, July 8, 2015


I sit here in the middle of the night,

Glancing up at the Hilton,

I am so small and insignificant,

Memories of grand parties,

And drinks and laughter are a distant past,

I take a deep breath,

Just breathe.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015

Tuesday, July 7, 2015


Each day I crave.

As I subdue my craving,

My desire is to take enough that I might multiply what I take in,

To create an abundance within myself,

That I might naturally give through generosity.

As I subdue my cravings,

It is often the case that my actions cause harm and suffering.

These undoubtedly affect my inner being,

As I feel the stress and consequences of my actions.

I wish to release these undesired impacts and feelings.

But to do so requires simultaneously abandoning the actions which caused the disturbance,

While still fulfilling my cravings.

As such, the harm and suffering eventually subside.

And my contributions eventually increase.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015

Sunday, July 5, 2015

Empowering the Victim

Powerlessness is the trademark of the victim mindset.

But do not discount the unfathomable power of choice.


The choice to accept reality as it stands.

The choice to respond intentionally based on personal beliefs.

The choice to ultimately forgive the perceived failure of God and others.


Yes, a victim is empowered by the creation of a framework,

Where meaning can be discovered,

And fruits of growth, faith and hope may be found.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015

Moving On

I am leaving it all,

So many memories built,

The good and the bad times.


It is time to move on,

A new season of life,

Melancholy hits my heart.


To new friendships,

New love, new life,

And  a good future.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015

Friday, July 3, 2015

Our Judge

The world judges my spirituality.

The religious judge my sins.

But only God has the right to judge.

Only he knows the truth.

And only he knows the environment of my trespass.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© July 2015

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Broken Souls

I am broken.

Will I ever be whole again?

I used to be able to have fun.

I used to be able to connect with others.

Now all I feel is pain.


I attract the broken.

They are comforted by me.

But they need so much.

When did this world become so screwed up?

When did all this suffering and pain begin?


Family, friends, children,

They are ripped apart by this world,

A pain so devastating, we can't even explain it.


It is too much.  It is just too much.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

Ill Equipped

Today I watched my daughter cry,

Tell me of the pain in life,

How no one understands and she cannot talk to anyone,

And as I watched her cry,

I could not bear it and I cried too.

"I miss it too," I managed.

And I stumbled my way and did the best I could to comfort her,

This broken adult.

And I said, I have felt the same way,

Within the past few days, in fact,

And even though it will not cure the pain,

It helps to talk,

It helps to pray.

And I love you and you can tell me anything and I will love you.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

Wednesday, June 24, 2015


My body burns,

Lust consumes me,

The beast arises,

Primal and raw,

See the strength in my shoulders,

My chiseled form,

Take shelter in my arms,

Succumb and submit to my power,


That strong musky scent,

That stench,

That smell,

Let love's blindness envelope you,

So the smell becomes sweetly intoxicating,

Let your desire be to inhale the air around me,

Taking it in to fill your lungs,

Let it become the air you breath.


Fall under my spell.


Take me in,

Accept the man that I am,

Anxious and chaotic,

Give me rest,

Fair lady.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Cosmic Disillusionment

Why is it that I can feel heat and cold but not the perfect temperature?

I can feel stuffed and starving but not fed?  Feast and famine but not the simple meal?

I feel strength and weakness but ignore my daily health.

I dread loneliness and crave romantic intoxication but do nothing with love's existence.


If only I could consider what is, the endless gratitude that would ensue, rather than what is not.

For if that which is not, was, even then it would not be considered.
<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

Saturday, June 20, 2015

The Ironies of Life

The more I try to avoid pain, the more pain I feel.

The more I try to fulfill my own needs, the less fulfilled I feel.

The more I try to gain a handle on time, the faster it slips through my fingers.

The more I try to gain acceptance from others, the less I feel accepted.

The harder I try to avoid being a burden on others, the bigger the burden I become.

The more I try to be speak to others, the less I feel heard.

The more I try to learn, the more I discover how little I know.

The better I try to become, the more I realize how bad I really am.

The more I try to love, the more I realize I am incapable of love.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
October 2014

The Living Dead

My heart feels like it is torn in two
The agony of feeling alone

I have friends
Yet I do not want to be with them
I want companionship
Yet I want to be alone

I'm on the verge of crying
Just the word makes me sad
I feel heavy and afflicted
Every weight makes me heavier still

My feet can barely walk
When my head hits the pillow
I feel rest
And pray the night lasts forever

How I long for the touch of a woman
The holding hands, the loving kiss
Oh, how I would love the kiss of soft fresh lips
The kind that sparkle with youth and passion

To be able to share a secret
Between you and another

To hold their body
to touch them in ways
That would make them want
to scream out to the whole world

A secret shared
A loving look
A warm embrace
To feel at peace

My body is either yelling in objection
Or feels like an abandoned ghost

I walk like the living
Yet feel like I'm dead
My soul speaks to my body
Yet there is no reply

Was there ever a time when I was confident?
Was there ever a time when I was attractive?
I can't remember
My memories fade

Oh how can one filled with so much love
Have so few to share it with?
How did I get to the place where my only outlets are
Art, music, poetry and novels

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
October 2014

The Night I Became an Adulterer

Sometimes life hands us the hard questions like, "Why did God have to put me through the pain of an extra marital affair?"

I don't know why God does what he does, but I can always conjecture, always try to offer my point of view.  My personal belief is that pain is the pathway to growth. Pain, when used correctly can be a very healthy avenue for growth.

When we work out, typically what makes our muscles exhausted, by itself, has no potential to grow our muscles. It is once our muscles are fatigued that the extra strain, the extra push, the extra exercise gives us the most pain and opportunity to grow our muscles. That and the proper diet once we have experienced that pain. Let me say that again, "The workout alone is not enough. It must be supplemented with the proper physical diet."

The funny thing I hear a lot is that "I never should have cheated and had that affair. I became an adulterer." While on the surface, that is correct, the conclusion isn't quite accurate. When you see people who are homeless, who have served time, who have cheated, what you should be saying is: "It is only by the grace of God that I am not in the same boat. God has blessed me with certain experiences, talents, environments, etc so I am not in that boat."

What is more accurate, is that the person was already an adulterer. All God did was align the circumstances to show it. So why would God do that? Why would God reveal the heart of a person, knowing the person would fall into sin?

I offer this. To grow His child. I often speak to people several years later, after an extra marital affair and ask them, "Knowing what you know now, seeing what you've seen and having gone through what you've gone through, if God placed you back into that same place, would you cheat?" Surprisingly, the most common answer is, "No." They may justify their actions, based on loneliness or blame someone else for hurting them, but they still say, "No."

Looks like growth to me. If you had an eternal perspective, knowing the sole purpose of this world was to grow your children, would you allow pain to occur in their lives? If you have a life long perspective, knowing the sole purpose of your household is to coach your children and prepare them for the remainder of their lives, would you allow pain to occur?

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
September 2014

The Comfort of Love

Have you ever been so hungry, having missed a meal, that you finally get to eat, to feel fulfilled?

That is what hearing her voice was like.

Have you ever come home sweaty, from the beach and felt the comfort of the warm water as you take a hot shower?

That is what kissing her soft lips was like.

Have you ever needed to go pee really bad and finally arrive in a restroom to feel the pleasure of a long awaited release?

That is what being intimate with her was like.

Have you ever been so exhausted after a long day's work, that you felt so relaxed when your head finally hit the pillow?

That is what resting in her arms was like.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
October 2014


I sit in the back of the room.

Does she notice me?

Her words flutter, her voice is soft.

Her features are like the strokes on an artists canvas.

Shall I have my moment?

Shall I have my victory?

Then, the day comes.  Perhaps she will take notice.

Perhaps she will see my heart, perhaps she will breath my passion.

And I begin reading, "Friendly friends.

I am a friend to those who are friendly,
I wonder about those who arent,
I hear excitement all around me,
I see people laughing,
I want to join them,
I am a friend to those who are friendly.

I pretend there is no darkness in life,
I feel freedom,
I touch the flower that stands alone,
I worry about that flower,
I cry for the people who are like this flower,
I am a friend to those who are friendly.

I understand what gossip does to people,
I say the truth about others,
I dream of a peaceful world,
I try to melt my sorrow,
I hope I make others feel better,
I am a friend to those who are friendly."

As my poem completes, I gaze out to see her smiling face, amd I return to my place in life.

The bell rings and I patiently wait.

What shall I say?

How do I utter a single word?

But I am paralyzed.

Then, he approaches.  The smooth senior, the talented athlete, the muscular man.

The world freezes as he says hello, and they laugh.  She beams to life.

I sink back, stepping away from it all.

And as my body hits the walls of the long corridors, I miraculously move straight through the building walls.

Have I defied the laws of physics?

And then it hits me.  The car that struck me when I was only ten years old.

I was so alone, and so afraid, I walked in the middle of the road purposefully.

I was done with my life.  Too much pain.

No policeman to save me, to send me back home.

And the memory fades, leaving me to ask, "What shall I do?"

And then, I see her smile again and I think, "What can I do?  For I am but be a ghost."

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
October 2014

Friday, June 19, 2015




Sharing a cup,

To ease the tension before a hard day at work.

It marks the last day of our friendship,

Spilling coffee all over the floor,

I made such a mess.

But I would never take back that tender morning.

It marks beauty in brokenness.


Throwing a cup,

My laptop covered,

Shattered tea against the walls,

It marks the end of a season,

One that bore a variety of fruits,

Some bitter,

Some sweet as can be.


Meeting up,

Engaging in conversation,

Time flying,

It marks friendship.


The legalistic approach,

Over bearing and judgemental,

The absence of grace.

It marks the distortion of truth.


Sleep walking,

Dragging feet,

Feeling the warmth in my tired hands,

It represents peace.



<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

How are You?

"How are you?", I ask.

And my accuser blames me and points to my folly.

You are absolutely right and I am sorry.

I used to be a man of no regrets.

But somewhere along the line, my mistakes and regrets grew to monumental proportions.

I am not sorry I got caught.

Light has set me free and persuaded a better path.

I am not sorry I was disciplined or suffered pain.

The fruit has been revelations, knowledge and understanding.

How glorious!

It is why I tend to have to learn the hard way,

To experience myself.

No, what I hate about the wrongs I have created,

Is that they have somehow destroyed something pure, something beautiful, something innocent.

It is that they have caused harm to my loved ones.

It is the impact of how they hurt and affected you.

Deep down, within me, is a desire to create value.

To bless those around me.

Nothing in me wants to be a disappointment to you or anyone else.

Let alone be a disappointment to myself.

It is this desire, that makes the pressures so great.

That makes me fear becoming a wasted life.

That leads to the self sabotage of numbing vices,

When I feel the reality of not expressing my full potential.

Do not doubt that I care simply because actions speak louder than words.

Simply listen to the still small voice,

The one that knows the desires of your heart,

Underneath the worldly distortions.

And how your motives are so easily distorted,

By the perception of the simple minded and the reality of this broken world.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Dear Abigail

Dear Abigail,

I am sorry to hear of the recent betrayal that ensued.  A dozen years of loyalty and Mark decides to stray.  What an asshole!

You asked, "Why God?  How could you let this happen?"

The way I see it, you have three options.

1. Justice, giving someone what they deserve.

Let Mark burn.  Take everything from him.  Rip his life to shreds.  Let your wrath show him financial ruin.  Destroy his honor and relationships.  He deserves it, definitely.

This will feel good to take revenge and will fuel the flames of bitterness and contempt that ignite within you.

Unfortunately, your efforts will fall short.  Your punishments will never stack up high enough to give Mark what he really deserves.  And you will carry the burden of enforcement.

2.  Mercy, is not giving people what they deserve.

Amicable separation.  Take the high road.  Let Mark destroy himself.  A fool's lips destroy himself.

You will walk away with dignity.  You will feel good about yourself and your behavior.   You will have the peace that comes with no regrets.

3.  Grace, giving someone something they don't deserve.

You have a choice!  Such a blessing!  A unique opportunity to show God you truly understand His gift.  This is not about Mark, or you and Mark.  This is about you.

Thankful for a dozen years of loyalty.  Thankful for the daily blessings you have been given.  Even now.  Even now!

You will never have a choice like this again in your life.  And if you choose to care for the broken, sick soul God has entrusted in your hands.  To revive him, to stand by him, to breathe words of affirmation, nurture and care.  If you choose this route, you choose to give grace.

How easy is it to forgive a small trespass?  And how much more thankful is the one forgiven a large debt than the one forgiven a small debt.

No, this is not about Mark.  This is your chance to show your gratitude for the debts you have been forgiven.

If you choose this, I promise, you will have built a man, deep with gratitude.  When years have wasted away and children are grown.  A room filled with family and friends, will echo with the words of honor towards you.

If you choose this, your rewards will be countless.

Bless you Abigail,



<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

Denial of Poverty

I am lost and confused,

Tormented by a thousand steps,

Life stands still,

Or so it seems from the eyes of an ant.


Shall I live in denial,

And lie to myself,

Or accept the reality of poverty,

A life that lacks unfailing love?

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Distortions and Transformations

The devil,

He takes something good,

An ounce of truth,

And twists it and distorts it,

Until he builds his playground.

The desire to be loved,

Somehow contorted to the will to rape.

My God,

He takes something monumentally terrible,

And miraculously transforms it,

Into a foundation for something great.

The victim of rape,

Miraculously transformed into an endless supply of helping hands and shelter for other victims.


<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

The Good Woman

Here is your chance,

Possibly your one chance in life.

To show who you are.

You can either break a man.

Or redeem him.

And the funny thing is,

If you drag him through the mud,

If you bring down the hammer of justice,

You will be right!

You will be right.

But the man will be lost forever.

They say behind every good man is a good woman.

The reason being that behind every good man,

Is a woman who has chosen to absorb the cost.

So now is your chance...

What are you going to do?

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

Two cents

My two cents,

It is everything I have,

It is all I got.

And I give it.

It's not much.

I know it.

It is so easy for rich men,

To look at me and say,

Why doesn't he give more?

Why doesn't he try harder?

 To which I respond,

I am just a simple, broken poor man,

I am nothing special,

But I give it all I got.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
June 2015

Monday, June 8, 2015

Perfect Beings

You arrogant fool.

You believe you have no flaws.

That you do no wrong.

Any damage done to you,

The worst event you have experienced,

Is nothing when compared to the damage you have done.

Your pride and arrogance,

Of believing you have a perfect record,

Has left children to the point of frustration and wrath.

And until you can see with clarity the monumental pile of your own shortcomings,

And the grace so abundantly poured onto you,

You will never be able to forgive those who did you harm.

And you will never be vulnerable enough to hear the words of those around you,

And they will be cursed with the frustration of condemnation and judgement.

Forced to feel invalidated, unseen and unheard.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

Saturday, June 6, 2015

Distant Memory

Your words have no effect,

That abusive soul that radiates neglect,

The pretty smile you wear,

To hide from the fear.

Days spent are long forgotten,

Rented space is my head is now rotten.

Move along, move along.

Find someone else to burden with your pity song.

I tried to connect.

Placed a mirror for souls to reflect.

But you hated what you saw,

The emotions and feelings so raw.

Run away, run away.

No need anymore to stay.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

Friday, June 5, 2015

Bad Blood

Oak Trees


When you see greener grass on the other side of the fence,

But you choose to stay because you are dedicated.

You will know your level of commitment as you experience various degrees of opportunities that you either choose to take or pass up.

The consequence of acting on the freedoms you have, to break and bend the rules,

Is that you will become enslaved,

With various freedoms taken away.

You will be forced to start over.

But the worst is the insanity of doing the same thing over and over,

Yet expecting different results.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015



It hurts it triggers what I already believe about myself,

That no ruling can ever be anything but mercy when compared to my sin.



It hurts because society works in ways that people form relationships to fill their needs.

And when I am rejected,

I feel worthless and of no value to anyone.



It makes me feel used.

As if the things I did are long forgotten.

As if I no longer matter,

As if I am unimportant.


I spend my life breaking down walls and breaking barriers.

So yes, it hurts to be cast out.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

Thursday, June 4, 2015


I fucking hate you.

What kind of mother makes an environment a pressure cooker,

An unsafe place where children are trained to perform before they are old enough to know otherwise,

Rationed on little food,

Tasked heavy with responsibilities.

And when the school system changed,

And God told you that maybe you ought to slow down,

And the people came at you with their thoughts,

You powered through,

So that your child would never attend a community college,

And your child would never be the stereotypical latino.

And what happened.

The child, well aware that the life he was living was not his own,

That his disposition and talents lied in other realms,

That his small voice would never be heard,

Attempted suicide.

And when his father became aware of what was going on,

Came in to defend the poor helpless child,

You tormented him and held him hostage blaming him,

For the failures that your blind pursuit caused.

And when your dreams and aspirations were not met,

You completely abandoned the  boy,

Withdrawing all love,

All financial support,

All emotional support.

Let him cry himself to sleep because he bothers me.

Ignore him because he will not do what I say.

Abandon him because he is not ready on time.

This was the fucked up mother that you were.

And not only did I lose out on the beauty and experience and relationships of scoring that winning layup,

I lost out on the opportunity to feel unconditionally loved.

To feel a sense of home,

A sense of belonging.

And when such a young boy is parentalized so young,

By a mother unaware of his needs or how to fill them,

He is forced to ask,

"Were you even human?"

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2015

Friday, May 29, 2015

To Love and Be Loved

When we choose right,

We show our love by obedience,

Opening our eyes to the truth of God's promises.


When we choose wrong,

We receive His love in our dependence,

Opening our eyes to the grace of God.


Both are necessary,

Both are needed,

The food and water of life.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© May 2015

The Pride Cycle

We start with His love,

Thousands of ways to say thank you,

Thousands of reasons to show gratitude.

Our default here is to choose right,

To accept self care,

To take care of and care for other people

He lives with us and guides us,

But pride sinks in,

Confidence rages,

We begin to wonder why we need God,

Or we have simply forgotten Him.

And he leaves us to our own demise.

We become numbed by the comfort, control and significance

Utilizing the idols which we blindly succumb to

For the few chosen souls,

Gods double edge sword,

Pierces the heart,

Exposing the painful reality and the damage done,

Lifes circumstances bring every man and woman to their knees,

And we experience the beauty of His amazing grace.

Ending with His love.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© May 2015

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Lost Gifts

I gave you a poem I can never get back,

I gave you a piece of my heart that I now lack,

If I could turn back the sands of time would I?

Or would I leave it alone for tears to cry?

Can I admit wrong and still wish it so?

If I believe it wrong why does my longing grow?

I am lost in my thoughts simply a mess.

I love you, I hate you, I must confess.
<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© May 2015

Finally Free

Finally free,

Finally free?

The words sting to the core,

As if I am a maggot,

To be thrown out with yesterday's trash.

The emotional intelligence of a teenage boy,

You wrap circles around me with your words,

As I remain dumbfounded

And left to pick up the pieces of the emotional whirlwind that just hit.

Within months you are already moving on.

At this rate,

I will still be processing and resolving twenty years from now,

Midnight terrors and two am ramblings.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© May 2015

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Icicles of Love

Sometimes we fear we have no room in our hearts,

We have been hurt and the wounds are deep,

We think our cold shoulder represents our cold hearts,

For how can we trust when there is no one to trust?

And then we look deeper.

We are extremely caring individuals with good hearts,

Our passions and dreams are bigger than those of others,

We protect because we know how powerful our love is,

Eventually, we will break the chains of mistrust,

Develop the deep relationships we deserve,

Influencing and inspiring those around us,

And the world will finally see who we are,

And what we are capable of.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© June 2012



The settling for something other than what you truly desire,

The pretension of a false self versus the true self,

Settling for the expectations of others,

Rather than the unconditional love you deserve,

Accepting the fate that life is just incapable of dealing you the royal flush,

The overwhelming sense of loss as you feel the void.

To know that you can never go back in time to fill that childhood need.

It is what brings tears from no where as you read a poem of parental love,

It is what brings tears on a wedding day as you force yourself into the next stage of life,

Knowing you are not completely ready.

It is what causes a nervous break down,

When you watch a romantic movie,

And a friend jokingly tells you that that will never happen to you.

Your hopes and dreams presented to a blinded soul,

Leave you wounded with the understanding the others are incapable of caring for you.

So you push to be the light in the world.

That you have never even seen or experienced

This is your world,

This is your sacrifice.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
May 2015

Tuesday, May 26, 2015


Johnny used to pee on the carpet, steal momey and run away from home.

The funny thing was, Johnny never got in trouble for acting out.  He only got in trouble randomly and depending on his father's mood.

Johnny learned from a young age that harboring anger would only lead to an outlet on other more helpless individuals.   So Johnny, as a child idealized the situation.  He would turn into a rag doll, and play dead.  He was supporting the family by becoming a rag doll to reduce his father's stress as he was thrown to the ground and slapped around.

But one day, Johnny had an overwhelming sense that his life was not his own.  He walked across the street back and forth hoping to get hit by a car.  Eventually, a police car came and told him to go home.

Johnny was always thankful that he had not been killed that day.  And his matra for survival from that point on was, "Why commit suicide today, I can just wait for tomorrow and if I still feel like it, do it tomorrow."

As Johnny grew, he would be plagued with nightmares of his father.  Although Johnny did not know it, the nightmares were his only access to the valuable emotion of anger and rage.  The only access to the emotion that internally allows people to sense intuitively the injustices around us.  Injustices to ourselves and others.  And if Johnny could learn how to integrate this emotion, he might finally learn how to protect himself from inappropriate manipulation in his adult life.

Growing Children

A child, helpless and powerless to save his mother from his father's abuse,

Will grow to become a hero to women who have suffered similar fates.

And his anger for his father will be expressed and directed towards such a woman's significant other.

The most damaging revenge would be an illustrious affair.

To steal a man's perceived property.

A child abandoned by others,

Will create a charismatic demeanor,

Creating an environment of attraction,

Where as an adult,

May abandon others,

As seen through a lack of loyalty or commitment,

Where the denial of childhood rejection cannot be felt.

A child raised to be perfect,

Threatened by the loss of love,

From parents who themselves,

Lived under perfection of morals and performance,

Will break this bond,

And if coupled with appropriate levels of shame and humiliation,

Will develop a split personality of the true self,

One that is essentially seen by the child as bad,

To be developed in secret and hiding,

And another that is good but is a forced distortion of the true self,

Based on conformity and expectations.

Saturday, May 23, 2015

My Fortress

The reservoir of emotions,

Such a scary place,

I know that if I have a single kiss,

That everything I feel,

Everything I cannot put into words,

Will be transferred,

And it scares me to death,

To let my guard down,

To let the sea of emotions through,

Because I am scared to death to fall in love with you,

That is where you can hurt me,

That is where I am vulnerable,

Where rejection is a thousand knives,

Where tears fall onto soaked pillows,

Where yelping pain echoes in the confined walls of my mind.

So let the walls be built.

This fortress of protection.

So that my heart may be protected.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© May 2015

Friday, May 22, 2015

Lean on Me

I just want someone I can pour my heart out to,

Someone who I can be myself around,

Not the man who carries the world on his shoulders,

The one who never burdens anyone with anything.

And around everyone,

My anxiety takes over,

And no one knows,

Because I have been trained,

Do not show the slightest hint of weakness.

But with you,

I can't remember anything,

Its been so long,

All I remember is how you made me feel,

All I remember was not having to worry about myself,

Because I could look into your eyes,

And get lost,

And all anxiety would wash away,

As I stayed mesmerized.

And even though time has passed,

I feel I could just pick up exactly where we left off.

Old Wounds


They expose themselves to me,


And in public places,

They please themselves.

I do not understand.

Is it sickness?

The adrenaline?

Thank God that is the extent of my personal boundaries crossed sexually.

Aren't they supposed to protect me?

It is okay really.

Really it is.

But they say I am supposed to be angry.

I am supposed to remember how powerless I felt.

Scared, disgusted, shocked.

Like a foggy dream,

But were they really nightmares?

They say if I do not face this.

Feel this.

When my sons are born,

I will linger.

When I am now in control.

And they are helpless.

And I will make comments with girlfriends,

And deep down there will be subtleties,

Possibly contempt.

Possibly expression of power.

So, fine.

You win.

Let me reopen these boxes.

Let me reexamine these wounds.
<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© May 2015

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

The Chaotic Kid

The chaotic soul,

Obsessed with conquering women,

Seducing them to vulnerability,

Only to abandon them.

The recreation of childhood events,

Yet this time in control.

In search of closure.

What does he search for?

An unmet need?

The span of time in life,

Where a child is supposed to receive unconditional love.

Recreating moments in search for what was lost.

Anger, the first step in grieving and mourning the loss.

A long journey of healing.

So where is freedom?

Freedom comes from realizing there is no need to create chaos,

No need to test the waters,

No need to test if others will stay,

An unfair test indeed!

For all give love conditionally.

And that span of life has passed,

And that need can never be met,

For even a parent can no longer love an adult child unconditionally,

As seen by all children who trigger into their parent's brokenness.

Thank God, unconditional love is not needed as an adult.

At least not unconditional love from others,

For the fulfillment by others,

In early childhood,

Was always supposed to point to something greater.

<SI> Scott Izu, PhD
© May 2015