I will weep
When you get
What you deserve.
I will cry out with pain
When they hit you
And spit on you
And call you names
Showing their hate
Of you,
Making you feel stupid
I will lose sleep
Waiting for you to
Come home, bruised
And beaten
So I can hold you
In my arms and
Rock you to sleep
I will know why.
What you’ve done
Is unforgivable
But you are my son
I can’t help but love
What I’ve created.
The dizziness overwhelms
And she finds it hard to take a step
Not ready to let go of the banister to
Stand on her own two feet
The nausea comes next
In waves
Sort of like pregnancy
But there’s nothing to look forward to here
Like the smell of a newborn
Cuddled in her arms
Just the loneliness surrounding
And the palpable metallic taste
That comes and goes in her mouth
Reminding her she’s made of flesh and blood
Reminding her what she puts in must
Find release, somehow
The healing will come, with time,
But withdrawal is a different beast altogether
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We stayed on shore
As you floated past us
In your restful bed
The end wasn’t as you expected
You didn’t suffer
And we didn’t cry
But I smiled
To know that things
Would be different now
The leaves changed from pink to
Gold when the lights danced over
Them on the dark water
And my breath caught
In my throat
As your blood swirled with the tide
Salt mixing with life
Preserving it, holding it tight
Until I see you again
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You and I face each other
weapons in hand
fate tied at the wrist
And as the blood pumps and rushes
what’s left to think about?
I’m faster than you and the
blade cuts into flesh
Spilling your heart out onto the floor.
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What works for me?
What pushes me to be better?
Who gets to see that part of me?
Apart from all the bull shit.
Apart from the burden I feel
Every time I wake up
The choices I’ve made
Have led me here
Have led me away from you
But in another time &
Another place
I would be with you,
Holding your hand
Smiling
Instead of sitting here
Alone, Stagnant
Trapped by what I’ve chosen
What wouldn’t I give up now
To go back and decide again
To make that defining choice, differently
To walk into the sunset with you
Instead of turning back
And choosing familiar
Over the new possible.
We do all sorts of things we’re uncomfortable with. We become all sorts of people we’re uncomfortable with. We keep changing, so slowly at first that we never notice until one day, we look in the mirror, and the eyes staring back are unfamiliar and glazed. We’ve not noticed that person before. That person with that look. How unbecoming-to look so real, so raw, so lost.
Do we grab the concealer, shake it off, and continue on, another act-like everything is okay?
Do we omit this strange and unnerving feeling from our daily conversation, so as to not disturb or confuse the flow of things?
Keep ignoring and you will explode. Maybe not now, but eventually you will see that face in the mirror, really see them for who they are: you pleading with yourself to notice what you need. You’ll finally take notice, maybe because it’s been years since you really said yes to that person, maybe out of guilt, maybe out of longing, but mostly from regret. That you were too stubborn or blinded to notice yourself sooner. Who else feels what you feel? Who else can possibly check in and feel what you need, better than you? If you learn how.
What about the why? Why do we find ourselves stuck like this? Why do we compromise so much of ourselves, our voice, our likes, dislikes, desires, and freedoms? For the smiling faces of others? Don’t fool yourself: behind most smiles therein lies the same disquieting thoughts that make it impossible for you to really be you. When people smile back, what are they really smiling at? How many times do we act a part in any given day?
No, don’t give excuses for why, just focus on the question: How many times do we play a role? Spouse, child, parent, guardian, teacher, businessman, writer, devotee, singer, caretaker, etc.
Is this our own decision, or are we prodded by the choices we’ve made to continue to make the same ones, in a revolving circle, so that the first choice we ever made to get us here is blamed for all consecutive choices since? Oh, if I hadn’t married him, I’d be happy, you might say. Or, if I chose a different profession, I’d be someplace different now.
That one choice does not define you, and that one choice has not led you here. It’s a compilation of millions of choices day after day, minute after minute, second after second that has led you here. In any given moment, tens of thousands of inconsistencies or moments within moments can happen, spurred on by all different moments, leading to the one you’re experiencing. Walk out the door and thousands of things can happen, all brought about by a thousand other things, some in your control, most not in your control. So no, that one choice did not bring you here.
But that one choice is keeping you here. That one choice is keeping your mind so locked up that you aren’t able to process the moments now differently enough, so you keep making the same patterned choices you made before, leading yourself to believe it’s because of that one decision. It’s not the decision, it’s the way you’ve patterned your brain, it’s how you think, not what.
Now, clean out the how, change the pathways, and your choices will be different because your fundamental thinking pattern will be different. Hopefully, more attuned to you, and less attuned to projections, flashbacks, and stagnation.
Your hand reaches out
Taking hold of my throat
Closing, closing
Choking the goodness from my lungs
Seeping, sweeping onto the floor
Crumpling down
Down I go
Losing consciousness
For a moment,
Taking me by surprise
Your words hit me
This time
Like they haven’t before
Revealing the stain of pain behind my eyes
But this is my job
To listen
To not hurt, to not react
So I deaden my eyes
Forcing a smile
Not giving myself away
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Do I write for fun?
Or when the power of words hit me?
Do I write to process, to understand
The beauty of things that surround?
Would I write if energy was freely given,
Flowing to me in a continuous
And purifying rain of words?
If the bones in my hand didn’t ache
As I typed
And my heavy head wasn’t throbbing
From buried pain?
If my day wasn’t congested with
Chores and human frailties
Could I produce
A brilliant new world?
Or would I still sit here, wilting
Creativity dripping down the
Sides of my face
Not knowing how to come back from all this madness?
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My burdened mind
Into the now
So I’m no longer haunted
By my past
The voices that judge
The sounds that disturb
My peace
Give way to nothing
And I’m here.
For the first time in my life,
I’m really here.
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She came to my door
Broken and shamed
Last night to explain
The unexplainable
How she rose above
The light until
She reached the
Darkness of
Your might.
It could
Be easy to
Pretend
But you
Know
That’s
Not
What
She’ll
Do.
photo credit: digitalblasphemy.com
