A Chaste Cuddle

“Philia (philía, Greek: φιλία) is the love between friends as close as siblings in strength and duration. The friendship is the strong bond existing between people who share common values, interests or activities.” –The Four LovesWikipedia

Boyfriends betray you, girlfriends lie;
Husbands divorce, wives cheat;
[Boyfriends lie, husbands cheat;
Girlfriends betray you, wives divorce;]
Partners leave, friends-with-benefits implode;
Keeping it casual gets complicated.

You don’t have to kiss
You don’t have to  grope
Skip the flowers, skip the wine
Skip the chocolates and obligation

You don’t even have to speak
Not a single word in exchange
Silence and empathy
Someone to hold.

You don’t have to pressurize
You don’t have to perform,
Just a hug, once or twice
Just a few moments of rapport.

You don’t have to get it up
You don’t have to go down;
Just a shoulder to cry on
Just a shoulder to lean on.

Keep your clothes on,
Keep your hands to yourself
Dim the romance, blow out the candles
Turn on the lights.

Humans have the need to connect
Brain to brain, philia love;
No “heart-strings”, no encumbrance
No romantic entanglements

You don’t have to be anything more
Than a friend of excellent quality
Nothing more, nothing less
Than your unwavering loyalty

There is no “next level”
You are on the plateau
The only question left
Is one of trust and control.

Can you be trusted
To cuddle -platonically-
Without an expectation
Or pressure for intercourse?

A friendship as strong
And unbreakable as graphene
Is hard to find -harder still
The unconditional selfless accord.

I am Debating Cryosleep

In the perfect world, I would put all my possessions in storage, freeze my accounts, tell some family members to lock away my government issued identification, and finally be transported to the nearest cryosleep location to sleep off the shitty parts of my life.

Wouldn’t it be grand to wake up just as life was getting better?

For fear of turning this post into a bitch fest, I am contemplating the stretch of my life so far in 2017.

I am suffering from boredom -not intellectual boredom, or lack of Netflix- no, I speak of a lack of stimulating conversation. Talking with people. Being with people. Being in the company of others.

I think I put myself in jail…

And I can’t, for the life of me, find a way to break this cycle.

Go somewhere? Yes, but where, darling? There are no festivals or community events -and I’m not going to an AA meeting to meet people (the last remaining social event…).

Go where there are people? Refer to answer 1. There just isn’t that many people here… I need to move, don’t I?

The wanderlust has been stirring, and frankly, I never thought I could do so much time in one place again. I need to get going…

And yet, there is no one like me. I am dying for some intelligent, impractical, irreverent, and immersible conversation that isn’t about someone’s love life, or their daddy issues, or their complaints about…shit that they started themselves. PLEASE, IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK?

Cryosleep is looking better every day…

On a random note, I recently drove by an old childhood memory site – the religious camp where much of my early years were tainted wasted. It looked so small and unkempt. I wonder what those silly little people are up to now in their tiny stupid worlds…

Probably still fighting over apartments.

Ahhh, let the good times roll…

 

Pic source, Artist Kaek

Not a Dot but a Semicolon

Breath play…
You took my breath away;
Screaming silently like I’d never choke,
You took away more than my hope;
More like my sanity, till all that remained of me
Were shadows and echoes of what I used to be…

Sticks and stones break my bones,
But your words broke more than my soul;
Poisoning the well of my love, I was watered only by
The absence of yours -surrounded by your betrayals and lies.

Breath play…
You took my breath away;
A demon’s child you wished to destroy
Isolation became my only ploy
For peace, and yet your words rained like fists
To crush what little light remained in the shrouded mists;

The hot kiss of pain chased with throbbing hurt,
Why couldn’t you just leave me for dead? Burial dirt
Is kinder than placing your cruelty into my ribcage
To join old wounds rusted into blades planted by your rage.

Breath play…
You took my breath away;
To a moment when I wept ‘no more, no more’,
And weighted my options to seal the door;
There was no raven to quote evermore
Only rain, trees, and a slip knotted tour.

There was no magical light to show the way,
Just black and a thousand gradients of gray;
Tinged with blood, shame, blame, pain only the inhumane
Could carry. A burden carried by the broken and insane.

Breath play…
You took my breath away;
Suckered in by angels I thought would save me,
No such thing, I learned the hard way that nothing is what it seems;
Now every move that I make
Is tinged with doubt, for god’s sake!
Why can’t I kill you? That insidious voice in my head
Echoing every word that you ever said;
With fear and dread, ‘is it worth it?’ I ask the mirror every day;
And why does my reflection never have anything to say?

Breath play…
You took my breath away;
It’s all a power struggle and I refuse to lose,
Not a game or a puzzle, this isn’t even what I would choose;
Inheriting this strife in a broken world filled with danger,
Buck up, little one, you’ve got to be your own lost savior.
And why should I decide to let anyone in? Solitude is my fortress,
Ice is my armor, blades cannot pierce my iron core -hit and miss
I might be smiling, but that doesn’t mean that I am alive
Shell-shocked refugees can only survive. 

Breath play…
You took my breath away;
A coward dies a thousand times, a victim dies every second
Of every day, not just battling aggressors or self, but the allure beckoned
By death. Messages on dead trees flutter away, words like “I’m sorry”,
“I can’t do this anymore”, “I just want it to stop”, stapled to their quarry;
And the few that survive, never escape
Pain-raked souls glued with duct tape;
Then super glue, then gummed adhesive
That could never keep their lives cohesive.

Breath play…
You took my breath away;
Emerging from the shadow of death,
I still can’t breathe, can’t catch my breath;
ANGER seals my shell-shocked heart,
Enclosing the soft with an armor of darts;
A broadsword of sensitivity, attacking preemptively
Sphere of distance, walled protection, guarded attentively
Sworn to protection, the allegiance became a prison
And I was serving ten to life, chained without vision. 

Breath play…
You took my breath away;
And now I know better, it wasn’t just breath, but life
That you stole from me. Joy, innocence, all harvested by your scythe;
Now I am the one who destroys, tainting all that I touch
With the memories of pain. And the fear lingers, like a crutch
I can’t release. Echoes of torment through hollow memories
The light of day forever shrouded by historic enemies;
I am the harbinger, I bring my pain wrapped around me like cellophane,
Tissue paper wrapped, shredded and ripped, piled around the windowpane.

My Breath ISN’T play…
When You took my breath away,
You killed something precious that I’ll never own
There is nothing you can do to atone
It’s like I was punished instead, I bear the scars
You remain untouched -no one said life was fair, just marred
I’ll never move on, just trying to move
up and rebuild a better self
Every day is a battle, I don’t get my day, just a shelf
Of monuments. And this semicolon is mine to document
A journey of recovery and strength, forgiveness not violence.

I breathe deeply…
Tormenter, you will never have me;
I will have my future of possibility. You may steal my breath, but
You’ll never get the rest of my life. Day by day I leave this rut
Support groups build me up, and I’m so much stronger today
Reborn into a warrior, not a victim, and I shine on, a vibrant sunray.

I continue to breathe deeply…
You’ll never take my life away;

This poem is possible thanks to Morgan Campbell’s afterword in her book “Grayson: A Bully Novel” which resonated to inspired my poem.

“The goal …is to restore hope and confidence in people who are troubled by addiction, depression, self-harm, and suicide… The semicolon symbolizes that the difficulties they face are not the end but a new beginning… By encouraging people to share their marks and stories, Project Semicolon seeks to instill hope and open up a dialogue about mental health.” – Davey Hoen

Project Semicolon’s website  (IE browser recommended).

Musings

Maybe it’s not about what I can do, but what I want to do…

I want to be challenged. I want to grow. I want to learn more about everything at all times. I want to craft beautiful things -be it art, architecture, business plans, projects, data spreadsheets- and I want them to be meaningful.

Planning for impact is pride. Incidentally, impact happens, like droplets on the water.

Test me. I test you. If you fail, that’s it. You have work to do, I have to move on.

For the Ones –who don’t know better…

I used to waste time wondering why.

Why you so mad?
So bitter
So consumed by the litter
You toss around from your mouth?

Why can’t you just chill?
Take a pill
Drink some water
Or some shit, whichever
Comes first?

But, nah!!! I’ve got better things to do with my life.

Better things than ponder your strife,
Wondering why you need a victim
To feel venerated
Why you feel vindicated
On the backs of those you label slaves.
Why you’ll never feel elevated
Unless you’re dragging someone down.

Nope. I’ve got better things to do with my life than wonder why you’re fucking up yours.

I’m not your therapist. So fuck off.

Acceptance

“Because of you I disconnect,
This life is all that’s left for me
Because of you I disconnect;
I’m killing you now”

~Unknown

Sometimes I wonder who I would have been.

  • If I had been raised like a “normal” kid
  • If I hadn’t lost my innocence so soon
  • If I had been raised in a different religion
  • If I had been born in a different region
  • If I had been of a different ethnicity
  • If I had been of a different gender…

But I am who I am. And I have to make the most of that.

The moment you become nothing you can be anything.

It’s like I could open my mouth and drink it.

Bullet casings, flowing into my mouth. Swallow.

Swallows. Against birds of prey never had a chance.

Draw my scabbard from my spine to pierce the eye of the scorpions

The wings of Adonis

Flight of a thousand sword slices

Cluster around the bleeding spring

The training was too specific.

AK rolls 47 times in its grave

 

Life is what you make it

Fear can be the cement block weighing your feet 1000 ft below the surface.
Hope can be the wings that lend lift to your soul 1000 ft above the clouds.
Despair can be the inky scent of swamp and graveyards.
Peace can be the clean-smelling air after the rainstorm.
Family can be a group of strangers with one accord.
Destruction can be a single word of pain and hurt.
Battles can be a single, spoken “No”.
Surrender can be silence in the face of adversity.

Success can be one step, taken every day.
Failure can be one stop along the way.
Birth can be a strangled inhale.
Death, a solemn exhale.

Life can be fear and hope delving into peace and despair wrapped round family and destruction with battles and surrender striving to make success out of failure and celebrate the birth despite the deaths.

Life can be one second, of every hour of every day.
Life can be a laugh, a smile, exhilaration, and play.

Life… is what you make it.

The Way I Are -Right Now

Dear July Vacation

I wish I didn’t have to leave you. I want to go back to the coffee shops that felt so peaceful.

The more I integrate back, the more I realize that I’m so over being in this location -I dream of the ocean. The scent of the waves, the vibration of the shoals, the call of the birds and the lull of the tides. I can’t wait to see a flowing, clean stream of water, without worrying about pollution.

I miss the humidity of the forest, the soft patter of the rain, the hum of my bike on wet asphalt, with no traffic on the road for miles and miles. I miss hiking and climbing in the woods, hunting for craw-fish, and releasing frogs into the wild.

I guess, most of all, I miss the simplicity of childhood. The forgotten years of bliss I will never regain. The blessed ignorance, the myopia, the tunnel vision of youth forever lost with the enveloping mantle of responsibility, duty, and adulthood.

Continue reading The Way I Are -Right Now