WALK

 Walk
Just keep walking
On that razor's edge
You call life

Breathe
Don't forget to breathe
Sleep and the rest
Will follow

Dream
Don't wake up
Stay in the land
Of make believe

BEAUTY

 

There is beauty in the absurd

In the ugly complicated truth of humanity

In that which we do not face

In the primal underneath the patina of civilization

There is beauty in the hard, the unspoken and broken

In the carnage and rebirth

In all it's gore and heart and glory

For there is beauty in life

We don't like to talk about it

No one wants to think about it

There is life, we are human 

And there is beauty.

FIRST CONTACT

 

Looks
Breaths

Thoughts
Sighs
Your hand
My hand
Brushing
Lingering
Synchronicity
First contact

REPRESSION - work in progress

 

Repression.... what a strange and beautiful word, dark and binding yet freeing.

It offers you a clean slate, a new beginning. a chance to move on from whatever demons dance in your head and heart.

The thing is though, by it's very meaning, the word is a trap. To repress is to bury, to hide - hide from things you don't want to confront, to feel, to see, to know, to accept. You see, repression is a lie, and if you tell it to yourself long enough, it becomes your truth. " I didn't do that", "It wasn't me", "it didn't happen to me", and you move along life wearing your shiny new you. Never realizing it's not going to last, this faint patina of delusion that always fades.

 In this universe, things have a funny way of not staying buried. What's hidden or lost is eventually found. Often not at the best of times. Instead, it's usually when you least expect it. 

When it is found, that thing you buried....far away...in a deep dark distant place, that place you tried so hard to pretend wasn't there anymore. 

what do you do then?

What do you do when it all comes crashing down? Those walls, that shield you so carefully crafted? Each shattering piece a stinging reminder of the parts of you that you didn't think existed. Not anymore at least.

What happens to an over stuffed box? It splits, cracks wide open and everything spills out. All at once. Everywhere. Your messy insides out there for everyone to pick at.

You break, again, maybe this time irreparably so.

Hopefully, you get to start over. Rebuild yourself from scratch. Something you probably should've done in the first place. Now, you have to tear everything down, dig it all up , look at every ugly broken crumpled thing up close and throw it all out.

Repression is a lie. An expired plan B with no guarantees. Don't do it. 

Let it all out. All the nasty messy bits. Simmer in it. For as long as it takes. Then start washing it all off. Drop at a time, day at a time, till you're scrubbed clean. then move on and never look back.

Trust me.

I know.

ME

 This is me 

A walking dichotomy

Light and dark

A mismatched union

Mosaic

Me

DREAM

 

 

I had a dream… I had a dream about a crazy homeless man…a dirty crazy homeless man and I think it was in my apartment. He was hurt, he had a bandaged head and arm and trying to tell me he wasn’t always like this. He had a diary with scribbles and pictures. Turns out for a little while in his life he was kinda famous, almost someone of consequence, at least as the world saw it. I tried to peek at his diary, I tried to look at the things he’d written. I could see the scrawling on the paper but I couldn’t make out the words. He was a dirty crazy homeless man, and he was in my apartment…I think.

 He caught me looking so I scrambled to flip to the pages with pictures. At first, I thought they were actual photographs like in a photo album, but when I looked closer, I realized they were paper clippings that had been cut out and stuck on. Random pictures of him posing for shots, doing things. It was a scrapbook of his life.  For a little while he reminisced, he told me how he used to be someone …someone of consequence…his words stuck with me…he used to be someone of consequence, he mattered, at least for a little while. People knew he existed, and he was real. Now he was a dirty crazy homeless man. He kept talking… I kept looking at his diary…tracing the edges of the paper clippings that he had stuck on to the pages of his diary. The pages were hard and crinkly, like how paper gets when it’s been wet and then dried. I wondered how this diary had survived with this dirty crazy homeless man.

Something flashed, I looked up. The dirty crazy homeless man was standing by the window with his arms wide open staring at me. He had a halo that was blinking in and out. I realized he had pulled down a light bulb that was still attached to its wires and he was using it as a halo. He waved about, opening and shutting his mouth each time the light blinked in and out. Like a lighthouse in the rain. I noticed it was raining outside.  I hoped he wouldn’t get electrocuted; I didn’t want to have to call someone for help. Then I would have to explain why there was a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment. I didn’t want to have to explain.

 He must have seen it on my face, he got embarrassed and started freaking out. I was scared and he was freaking out. He knew he was a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment. That he was freaking out and I was scared. That it was not ok, he was not ok, nothing was ok. So, I told him what I had been doing. I told him its ok, I’m on vacation so it doesn’t matter. I told him how I hadn’t slept in 4 days, how I was broke and anxious and freaking out too. So I had told myself I could have a few days off. I told myself I could give myself a break. I could go on a bender if I wanted. Just for a day or two, just a little vacation from reality. So its ok that he’s a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment and its ok if I’m tired and hungry and scared. He stopped and looked at me, then he pulled out a foil wrapped roll from his raggedy jacket and gave it to me. I think it was an old burrito. He sat down and looked at his diary. He flipped through the pages, I looked at the burrito. I didn’t want to eat the dirty old burrito, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I looked for a place to put it down… you know, for later. I sat down next to the dirty crazy homeless man. I was tired and hungry and scared and he was freaked out. He told me he used to be someone of consequence and I told him I was scared.

 

MONSTER

 

An odd coexistence this is …

Symbiotic?... Parasitic..? ..maybe both…

The instinct to break free is ever present …a stubborn little light that refuses to go out ..

Everyday I crawl out a little further .. careful ..furtive .. inching forward… For the most part the monster stays quiet .. as long as I let him believe he’s won and I am his .. maybe not in entirety.. not anymore … For I shall carry his poison in me forever .. so he lets me be … Even loosens his grip from time to time … Letting me stretch but keeping me beyond my perception of freedom.

It’s been quiet for a long while now …long enough to lull me into a sense of complacency… Fooling me into thinking maybe …just maybe I’m almost out… Maybe he’s tired of me.. maybe he’s taken all he can …and I can be set aside for newer tastier prey…

I don’t trust it…the silence…it makes me uneasy … But…maybe…this time..? I can walk away..?  I turn and shine my light on him.. ever so slightly ..poke him a little .. watching… nothing.. so I start to move away… Holding my breath…waiting to exhale.. that’s when he strikes … always when I’m at the edge…digging into me as a reminder of what my reality is… tightening his grip till my breath chokes

There you are monster … I knew it wasn’t over yet… , he retreats satisfied of my compliance and I am left alone , breathing again…I feel his poison wash through  me , almost  comforting in its familiarity … Darkness comes and I fall asleep , dreaming of another day … another inch …

ADRIFT

 

Drifting… dreaming…

In an endless sleep

The delicious warmth

The Myriad dreams

I am awake

But I yearn to sleep

And so I float and fly

SECRETS

 

 

Smokey rooms,

Strangers greet

Lustful desires, make two hearts meet

Probing eyes seeking my soul

Searching within  for secrets untold ….

BABBLE

 

Broken chipped a little ripped

Walk run jump and then I tripped

 

Scraped knee dented heart

I can’t seem to tell them apart

 

Rain and snow  lots of sun

Days on end where’s the fun

 

Storms and winds I fly away

Where’s my rope to make me stay

 

Puddle pool or just a drop

Fall, bump, roll to a stop

 

Bruised battered achy breaky

Totter dawdle things are shaky

 

Swirling whirling manic mind

Must watch out they sneak up from behind

 

Breather rest sit relax

This tether’s been pushed to the max

 

Gather pick make it whole

All I've got is band aids on my soul.

Dances with demons ...

Come my waiting demon
It is time to dance
The songs beat to a distant drum
And now I take my chance

Forever you hid in the shadows
Stealing my light my soul
Atlast we come together
Walking in step to make me whole

Hand in hand we March
Beside each other we stay
Together apart forever bonded
Entwined like night and day

Take a bow now
Step off the stage
The curtain calls though you remain
A clinging shadow each day I age

But no more a lasting figure
But a simple scar
Reminders of life everlasting
You see you won the battles but I won the war ...