Fallen Glass Chards

The crash behind me made me cringe.

It could only mean something had gone horribly wrong. Perhaps I shouldn’t have jumped at that spider with a shoe. Maybe if I had let it live, and been more careful, I wouldn’t have bumped the bookshelf of metal and glass.

Then I wouldn’t be sweeping up the pieces five hours later.

Glass in the carpet, on my bed, on my skin, cuts on my fingertips, glass in my books and glass in my thoughts. I wondered if the tiny, nearly invisible slivers could float through my bloodstream through a cut or something, slicing me up on the inside till I bled out. Or maybe a shard would get in my eye from the bed covers. Or I’d forget to not walk barefoot and store some pain in my soles.

For a moment, I was convinced a piece of glass had somehow landed in my ear. Stay tuned…

Only 1 out of 4 shelves had shattered, no piece was left in tact. The stress of… whatever impact had caused a spiderweb of veins to snake throughout the glass. Mostly cubes of 1/4 inch glass squares throughout the room.

The first few moments were shock. Then cleaning without thinking about it. Collecting all the books that had fallen, the hair products and trinkets scattered on the floor. At first I mindlessly swept and tried not to get shredded.

Then I started looking through the books more closely. I hadn’t read some in several years now. Why was I keeping them? They needed to go.

So a paper bag for the glass and another for the books.

I hadn’t worn cologne in several years, why did I still have 3 bottles of them? More to donate.

Did I even use these hair products anymore?


Why do I still have this much stuff?

Oh, right, I stopped decluttering… stopped reducing my stuff while continuing the search for mental clarity and peace. How had I forgotten the peaceful meditation of getting rid of something?

Why did I still hang on to stuff for my fantasy self?

Why did I let myself be held back by fears and worries and…stuff!?

Glasses on, I continued to sweep, grateful that the lens would keep glass flecks from flying up into my eyes. I pondered my fears -I need to get healthy, I need to be more social, I need to be… less needy….

I moved on to my desk covered in papers and delayed decisions. Why did I have flashcards when I hadn’t used them since college? What about rechargeable batteries that I lost the charger for? Pens I’d never use, wall putty from 10 years, still unopened and probably unusable, and a tiny stapler that never worked properly.

I still had it from when I got it in high school…

Stuff. Stuff. So much stuff.

I can’t believe I’m still wading through stuff.

I had done a first major purge last winter, reducing my possessions by 65% – yeah, I did the math- and yet I seemed to have missed some things.

Or, maybe, It’s because I bought some things. Correction, I replaced some things with higher quality, better items. Quality of items had improved, broken items had been replaced, some much needed purchases had been met.

I was surprised that I missed some things to get rid off.

But maybe, I’d gotten nose blind. It was finally time to do more. Time for the second purge, or the third, whichever one it is now.

Time to resume the journey of minimalism.

It’s just too bad I had to break something I loved to figure that out.

Omelets and eggs, right? Stupid…

So I got 4 bags of things to give away/donate. And I feel like I’ve once more grasped something I’d forgotten.


Looks like I missed a piece. *sigh…


The Silence Burns

How much I’ve trapped within these eyes? Like a mute I struggle to place the words to my lips, and pen to paper.

How do I talk about what happened -What is happening? Is it something I should just lock away?

How do I describe what that time did to me, how I am still struggling to collect the glass shards shredding my fingertips burnt with glue holding this fractured window in place? How do I speak of those moments that I want to forget and yet cannot erase.

This mute agony excavating my veins. Screams in my pores, and yet all is placid and still above while I drown and thrash and convulse in the grasp of a predator from yesterday who still visits me. Easing through my gates, slipping past the bars to taunt me and haunt me and laugh at who I am now.

It’s like you’re saying you’ve won.

But it isn’t you who torments me. It’s my emotion memory. How I felt, not what you did. Echoes of imprinted terror and anger, pain and fire sing through taunt frayed nerve endings.

I shake with rage, shudder in anguish, and wrap this cashmere shawl around me and tell myself it is over. But my mind just doesn’t believe, my body remains on edge, it lives in me and I in it.

We are in recovery but still live the trauma.

And we go on, in silence.

I. Won’t. Fall. Quietly. Into. The. Dark.

Blindly into the night- Fists to the sky, I am free and speech is my birthright… I rise- I move and have feeling- These scars remind me that I am a champion- A survivor- No one can own me-

I wear the crown. And yet these stitches in my mouth…

I suffer and I don’t know why.

And yet I suffer, again, in silence.

picture source

Mockery of the Angels

You said you were ready
But had no idea what you were in for
You thought the law would protect you
But lacked the imagination of a criminal.

You thought hiding behind laws
And walls would be enough to save you
Yet, those were only needed to enslave you
Words written down to betray you
Nothing more than broken promises
Made by an unfaithful lover.

You thought that speaking a truth
Would drown all the lies
Naive child, don’t you know
Last one standing writes the historic byline?

The dead tell no tales
The martyrs never write their own creeds
The ones burned at the stake
Never write their own obituaries
So what was your plan of succession?
When naught but assassins surrounded you?

Every ally becomes your enemy
Every stone wall projectiles for condemnation
Every brick of evidence open to suggestion
A fabrication of interpretation.

Did you really think that the media would save you
That they would snap up your words and relay accuracy?
Did you forget that these vultures
Only chase the freshest meat?
And yet the same words of love in the morning
Turn to accusation by mid-afternoon, and death penalty by nightfall.

Did you really trust that your comrades
Would guard your back from the wolves?
Did you not suspect that they
Would follow to each their own?

We only canonize the dead
When we are told to, we laud
And praise genius when it is laid to rest
We embrace and celebrate when the tombstone is placed
We remember the soldiers only when they’ve fallen
And the innocents by piling skulls in Valentine’s square.

Are you a child or are you grown?
Are you asleep or have you woke?
Do you really know this world you are in
Or do you cling to your myopic view of the world?

You are left wide open
To a bullet, a bomb, a word of slandar
No one will put their life on the line to save yours
Everyone will fail you
Your superman will die.

This world is rotten
The system dismantled through systemic, systematic chisels
The truth is just a perception
Your indignation, a fanciful dream.

There is NO justice!
Stop chasing a dream
The powerful always win, the money trumps the law
Truth is free, what is freely given is never treasured
Blood stains deeper than innocence
Ignorance is bliss.

So take off those fucking rosy glasses
And see the hell where you live
It’s deep inside your home
It’s buried within your heart.

Pull back the curtain
And see the reality of it all
Your sword is broken, your pen out of ink
All the world has begun to sink
We’re digging to hell, baby, and no one’s gonna stop us
We breed in this filth and LIKE IT.

So stay lily white
And we will decorate your skin with black handprints of soot
And speckles of blood
Weigh the scales of justice with your heart in one, and the sword in the other.

You tell me which one sinks the scale
Does a feather still equalize or does it only
Break the camel’s cigarette spine?
We like to be broken, you won’t sustain us
We’ll take you down, you’ll be one of us
For we are all dead men…

Poem inspired by the manga -Revival Man ch 36-40 -written by Jae Yong Taek, artist Kim Jae-han

Picture source