Thursday, November 16, 2017

To Whom it May Concern

To hear me reading this poem out loud go to:

To Whom It May Concern:
Where do I start describing my life? My
chaotic haphazard and oddball life, full of
unbalanced ideas of how it should go, of how my life
is not going on the straight edge that most believe it should go,
I am that one person who hides perfectionist tendencies behind quiet exteriors,
to make sure that balance is always there,
contradictory statements are always made on when I start describing
how music makes the world twirl in rapid succession to thumping beats of
blood and electrifying bass through flailing limbs of fancy,
make believe rituals flowing through the air, weaving runes onto my very
inner being; begging, no, pleading, to be that child who was so voice full of
her thoughts and never hid a false statement in the pot of split-pea soup,

how does it feel when I start describing my childhood and how it went from
fanciful flouncy flowy dresses of monkey kings and upside-down cakes, to ripped jeans
mud cakes baked with the best of intentions and little worm decorations that were pink

and disturbed the eyes with erotic curves and writhing figures,

when did I start describing how I was never a fan of tea parties when dressed as a royal figure topped with a cherry lime-aide crown,
How the female mind at the age of 4 disgusted me! I hated preschool,
being told what to do, how to do it was never my style,
stripped bare to what I loved, but was shoved inside of an outdated box of femininity
that was not my forte,
being cajoled to understand things that even the aliens wanted nothing do with,

was I that undesirable as a human that the very race I belonged had to change my soul
 to fit their world of cynicism and block molds that had been breaking down into dust
from decades of use and misuse?

was where I stated describing dinosaurs to my friends, the raptors were my friends dusted in flamboyant feathers to distract from the turmoil inside,
the longnecks towered over the crowd as gentle huge footed giants that forgot about
the squirrel mushed between their toes,
Duckbills were placid,
Spiketails were wanders lost amongst the foliage of brick walls,
The T-Rex was thought of as dumb and without purpose
but with a heart of platinum shining bright,

The world of dinosaurs is the time I wish I could have been alive to see, strong ideals
preying on weak minds and weak bodies finding strength in stealth,
Delivering blows to the psyche of young saplings grasping at rays of light,
Taking those rays and slashing them with black and blue swirls,
But not everything is how it is originally described,
Time is not the enemy,

Maybe it is
It tricks the brain synapses to think that it means no harm
that it is only there to make the day go by faster to let you out of the prison of mundane
lectures and horrible bosses to absorbed in their own lives they don’t realize how this
world works,

Taking life is just a pass time of Death,
Who lives with his family amongst the taken souls in hues of gray and red,
He feeds them like pigeons at the park and treats them fairly,
Unruly behavior is not tolerated,
When it becomes too much they’re sent down to
Hades to serve their punishment for civil disobedience,
Those who are good to fellow spirits and men in their former lives,
they’re allowed to meet their families with sight unseen before re-entering their lives
thorough another soul to keep on reliving and meeting every member of the family.

Nothing is as described in my life.
It changes from bleak to gold to grey to blue
in a matter of seconds that leap into hours to months to years of
pain that remains hidden behind the windows,
banging on the glass trying to show the world
they’re locked in the room with no control over how the cage appears,

Frustration at poor choices and Death knocking at the back door
tempting with sweet indecision of emotion.
My life is described as perfect when all that is a lie caused
by parents who can’t control their own children
“Oh she’s so perfect”
“Why can’t you be more like her?”
Words hurt
especially as backhanded comments from the ones who are supposed to love you
to shelter you from storms of ridicule from peers
“Bottle it up.” Or “Don’t show weakness.”
Usually heard from fathers but
now are words that I tell myself to hide behind the lie of my life.
To hide the emotions, I am not equipped to handle!
How do I do this!
When emotions have become my downfall and my life is suffering because
I am not equipped to deal with the tragedy of Death but loss
is something I am used to
The dark part of my childhood was pushed into the forgotten box at
the back of the mind
Lost amongst the fear of a stabbed heart of a former friend
All because he was told he had to go home.
My life is chaotic and haphazard
there is no map to navigate through the waters
Lost amongst the foliage and waves of society
But it is not a life I would throw away
I will not toss it away though Death stands at the corner smiling
beckoning me to join my family already taken to Death’s side
Frantically waving their arms

This is my life friends

we’re here till the end of all the bitterness and sweetness of decisions
based on unknown possibilities.
Life’s difficult but it’s all I have and it’s
the only one with you in it.

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Wait ( Revised)

         Or did I dream the whole thing?
                   -David Lehman

Was this really flying?
                   Towards a sky that held no wonder
                           for those who are blind to the ground below?
                                                                                                                                    Is it true?
That there is a wondrous world beyond
         fluffy condensation filled clouds, that no man has seen before?
                                                                                                      There is
                                                                                                                                    it’s glorious!
The light from the sun is everlastingly warm just as
                                      the Fire burns the oldest oak,

When your hearts been fragmented by the one you thought you loved
                                                                                                                                   scars heal.
The clouds are just as conceived almost like cotton candy in texture
         or like the Sherpa throw that laid over the couch at your pa-pa’s place.

                                                                                                                There are others here!

Not once does the sting of loneliness that is unendingly taking over your life
          Just as the plague carved a black ring in soft skin sentimental and stained the lives of many with gore and terrors;
This is almost too good to be real

                                                                                                               I don’t want to leave,

Who is that? Who is calling so casually?
                   Is that my name?
                            No one knows my name here                       

This isn’t right
The feeling of falling is that sinking feeling at the bottom of your stomach
         that makes it jump up into your throat
                   choking you with frog lips and eyes,


                                                                                                                        This wasn’t falling

This was pulling
                   this is… this wasn’t what I wanted!
                            I don’t want to go back…
Let me go!

What are you doing? Leave me alone the darkness is something to be avoided
         The tentacles of someone else’s reality grip onto broken wings,9
                  A thief stripping you of what little you have leaving you buck naked on the
                            side of the road with no control over who sees you
Limbs are heavy from the fall and pain spreads throughout the body
         A New Light,
                  Bright and synthetic
                            [So dissimilar to the warmth that swathed around that broken body]        
                                               but blinding all the same
 no comfort at all

                   I’d take blindness over this clammy feeling in my palms,
                                                                                                                        why is it wet?

Who are you?
Who are you to thank God?
He has nothing to do with this horrible feeling
         He was not the one pulling me to Hell,
It is your fault!

Why take me from that place?
There was not a second that was wasted
         Not a single moment of pain
                   Relief was rampant through the gold lined gates
I am so tired.
They said I had been sleeping, they said.
I spoke nothing of the warmth and happiness
         My lips were seared shut I was able to feel
for the first time

The anger I was feeling at the loss of such a dream
         Was simmering in the cauldron of witch’s brew,
                   The hands that pulled the happiness from my bones
                            Don’t understand,
I was free
Not one being seemed to see that the pain that was gone has returned
Not one understood that this reality was their dream
         The ripped it from my hands
                   as emotions have been ripped from their souls,

                                                                                                                        It wasn’t real.

Let me know which version you prefer!