M is for…Monster

never
has anyone made me feel
as badly
as you

…yet I refused to let you go

you haunted me, I
clutched onto my terror
as you became my nightmare
dysfunctional love,
our unison: bound
in spiritual roadkill, together

we killed each other
sometimes softly
always returning for more
your anger soared
my innocence departed
yet somehow
I loved you more —

never
has anyone expressed
hatred
burning through their eyes
while they looked into mine
like you

…yet I forgave you each time

quietly trembling
in a silence of hell
my heart would snap
spirit
shatter
body a statue of frozen matter

and you knew your strength
your predator power
stifling my breath —
undercover —
conniving wretch

M is for Methodical.
a demon wrapped in Manners.
Monster hiding in plain day.

What’s that.. ? a Bible name, you say…?

…how soon I would forget
existed any other way.

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Pinky

I had a whole altar set up
in your name –
your face and mine, dancing
adorned by crystals and flowers
space dedicated to you –
you

I Love You
where have you been
don’t you remember
you were my partner
in lives before

but now there is nothing
where did you go
I call your name you don’t answer
as if I hurt you
as if I killed you

you have taken from me
your entity
yet we both walk this earth
blind
until we find each other –
why this time
do you force us apart

my human ego was so hurt
I said goodbye long ago
what is this disgust you show
I’m here too
don’t you know –

I had an altar.
Forgotten now
from a friend that once was
and a sister before –

how many lives must we live
in this spiral ’til you see
what you seem to like
to do to me

let me go
or love me too
our karma is too deep
for my spirit to let you keep
the abandonment, the power
bloom then dead
like a flower

Tell me once then no more
whisper it – you whore
we switched places in this life
you gave me your strife
and this duty I’ve borne
while you judged and looked on;

but it all means nothing.

On the infinite scale we’ll keep going
until time stops, or we do…
until next time

when we start again and we find
traces of what we’ve left behind

perspective (and poetry)

two days ago, early in the day, i wrote a poem:

“Morning Commute”

the baby screams
we’re stuck in a tunnel
white boys talk too loudly
the baby screams
stuck in a tunnel
someone plays music on their phone-
stuck in a tunnel
the tracks squeal
the baby screams-
a kid bumps shitty house to himself
and we’re stuck in a fucking tunnel
faces stuck to screens
bloodshot tired eyes
… and
white boys talk too loudly.
dressed with no clue. hair stuck up like glue.
the rest in solo silence, subdued
waiting
to not be stuck in a tunnel.
to forget about baby screams.
to forget this morningfuckingcommute.

(it wrote itself. i just scribbled it down after.)

.     .     .

then, i spent the next couple hours reading about the two people (on average) who’ve died every day since new years’ eve just three weeks ago — in frigid cold water by drowning, across the world and a few thousand hells from here — just because they were trying to escape a war they didn’t start. all these souls. people just like me, younger than me.

thinking about spitting angry poetry lyrics over something not even threatening my life suddenly overcame me as incredibly distasteful, small-minded, privileged, and BULLSHIT. i was mildly disgusted i could’ve so easily thrown my spewn, simple frustrations to the internet winds without a further thought; carelessly professed what was — in reality — a safe and uneventful transportation ride for me and everyone else as such a giant pain in my ass while, at the same time, somewhere-other-than-here, people are paying everything they have just for a blind chance to cross an ocean in some janky inflatable raft they know they might never walk out of.  fuck.

a couple weeks ago i learned my life will soon be making another huge shift. there is a lot of unknown, a lot of details i can’t control; in fact mostly all of it is currently unknown and not in my direct control. as i’ve begun adjusting to this next major turning-of-the-tides being so close on my horizon, while also feeling inadequate to steer myself as strongly as i’m used to (or comfortably at all), i’ve begun to fight that squeamish feeling — the one that keeps you up at night, the one that burrows itself in your gut during the day.

but here, let me interject: i’ve immense gratitude for the timing of all things in my life, for all the ways the universe has conspired to protect me in life thus far, and for all of what’s to come; i’ve steadily made effort to grow and learn from my journey, and have had both a deep trust/inner guidance i relied on heavily, and a crippling fear that showed up when it was (sometimes violently) beaten out of me; and i’ve learned how to grow my spirit back from the depths of some pretty nasty voids after it seemed crushed to oblivion — and i am thankful for all of these lessons. and — i do have a healthy love of good mystery… so a part of me is completely fascinated by the fact i’m about to step foot into the next part of the-rest-of-my-life and, even though it’s right around the corner, i have no clue what it is yet… 

but — that’s because what i’m choosing between right now is mountains or city. alone or with someone else. this state or another. how close to my family do i WANT to be. 

i’m not leaving my country knowing i’ll never see it again. i’m not leaving behind all i know and everything i own, or even my pet. i’m not running so i don’t starve or get murdered. or worse.

i know what it’s like to have what i need, and i know what it’s like to be lost; i’ve known comfort and safety and struggle, what it feels like when you have a grip, and the spell of terror that can follow when you lose it: to be adrift in unknown water; but i have NOT literally had to float across a strange dark and freezing, deadly ocean to fight for my life. i’ve been paralyzed with fear. i’ve frozen in the face of danger instead of getting the fuck out of the way. i’ve fought back when i shouldn’t have. and so it is (as it should be) incomprehensible to imagine how terrified these people are feeling in order to gamble their lives into the hands of human-smugglers — their babies’ lives — instead of choosing to stay where they are.

.     .     .

one story i read yesterday talked about how, in a small raft crammed with 45 people — some without life-vests, even ones who couldn’t swim — the motor gave out only five minutes into their journey. they floated over six hours, temperatures below freezing, most of the small children unable to handle the cold and succumbing to severe hypothermia, at night in the dark until the current brought them to Turkey. there, a guard turned them away and even beat some of them with wooden planks until, luckily, one of the young men in his twenties — an auto mechanic back home in Syria — was able to get their shitty outboard motor running and they were able to leave, trying one more time for Greece.

another reporter spoke of how he’d witnessed, of rafts bulging with people as they came ashore, a stunning, chilling silence among all who had made it — as if their collective trauma had hushed their spirits in unison, leaving behind just shells of discarded humans.

.     .     .

…and then those ghosts with wet clothes and shocked minds have to somehow keep moving. survive. be strong for the little ones. 

…why do i feel like i’m writing an account of some historical event?? how is this really happening, right now, in twenty-sixteen… while the world watches…

.     .     .

so here i am — just on the other side of the world and a few million hells away — and i am deeply humbled for a stroke of birth-fortune i didn’t choose; for the fact i have a choice (no matter how limited the resources) of what to do next with my life.

so i decided to post my poem anyway. but to include the inner commentary that came shamefully tumbling behind it; hopefully it can help remind some of you, too, how important it is to remember perspective. 

 

REMEMBER.

REMEMBER LOVE**
REMEMBER GRATITUDE**
REMEMBER HUMILITY**

The Directors

SOUND . . .
the magical key…
vibrations unique
filled with history –
repeating itself with
undying circles
reverberating, an old myth –

ENERGY . . .
fills us with light
directs us to
our futures unknown
with care and we
follow or we dont
listen or deny –

the orchestra absolves
planet turns to dust
in our faces
but we swim
beneath the noise
it calls to us

MOVEMENT . . .
we feel we breathe
we channel
echoes in a chamber we once
knew, and
stories reveal
in song and rhythm
between the lines
the essence: undisturbed –
concealed.

mother wolf

time bends
your voice curls
deep; its rhythms
on my soul
through delicate ears
lends –
what ive once known
from in the sphere
back into presence, here:

like moon twinkles
and shadows
delight, sprung with life
character –
seen just at night –
voice
fades and carries
over ripples
thru eons with light –
stretching across
these many lives …

until suddenly
we stumble back
a magnet filled with
familiar sights, and
Regina
mother wolf, i
humbly beckon
with me, Come:
much work have we
to do
before this journey is forever
done

neurotransmitters

i could feel you, your consciousness
missing
absent from this realm
for hours – it was
a vacuum of space
standing alone in a room
which
usually has more people,
not because
we weren’t communicating
but because
vulcan mind-melds:
the sucking stopped –
whirling spinning trading of
minds
ceased when you departed
and you played
elsewhere;
but i held down the fort
for us, here
into deep midnight hours i
stayed while you left
and the space separating
us began
to excite me –
because all the more i
anticipated
your return –

PTSD

i dont know what i’m doing
if i’ll ever be ok

the tears come like flash floods
from the river you carved into me

buried so deep i cant feel
until just before it bursts –

and it scares me

how long will it stay like this
how long will your fucking scars

dig into me like raging hooks
bleeding my insides even though

you’re long gone

i hate the crookedness, distortion
of what you left in me

because it hides and surfaces
when i have no control

post traumatic stress disorder
they have a name for this

but it doesnt help

it’s just a reminder for when i get lost –
i’m still trying to find my way back

Don’t Forget. 

life – returns
with a rush of cold thru my veins
caffeine-fueled poetry;
spectacular strangers
i sense before they show
wait around corners for me;

i need love
i need wind and ice
and mountains
making my crunches
today –
with you but far
atop a mountain;

spirit invades the air around me
the rush
the tears
i feel you, here –
but i dont know you
or do i?

patience.
stir with a flurry of flutter
and flakes
dont forget
warmth –
you are this, heat
you are –
all solid; all strength
in one.

dont forget.

connected. 

(this is for you- yes, you)

My body is separated
leaking into outer realms filled
with color
as I close my eyes and spin
watching my thoughts dance around me
I become one with my soul
and jump into their minds
I know who they are
and what they’re thinking
connected by forces beyond my control
and slowly, I go insane.

Crazy in everyone else’s head
I explore
in touch with my dreams, feeling
their power
I am watched by thousands
of faces
never lifting their eyes
and they know who I am
what I’m thinking
because into their world
I am falling.

Remember

 

You must see,
what you’ve found in me
i cannot explain,
we are from the past
waiting upon what is present
waiting for the future
that is now –
yet now we are here
and we are lost

You come from my past –
a recognized face
yet now our memories
have been erased
as i see you now
you are a new person –
as so am I –
yet our souls are connected, still;
and we are blinded
to images of our past
in a time so long ago –
we lived
and we met
and we danced in the moonlight –
falling into love, forbidden, showered
by silence
of the stars
and we kissed

and now
what you see in me
is a flicker from that past
hidden by layers of years
and new beginnings
though you still can’t see
what was held between you and me
what we shared, what we saw
what we felt…
why was I chosen
to remember, when you can’t

the journey of me.

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