Dragons

The whole joke about dragons is that by the time you slay them, they are already dead.

I think that for so long I was waiting in suspense. If I finish this, then I can do that and that and that. A whole life on hold isn’t a life at all.

Dragons can’t stop anyone who means to accomplish their task.

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Squandered

Picture credit: https://mentalnote8.wordpress.com/tag/betrayal/

The thought slammed into my brain moments ago. A cumulation of rumination, you could say. Friends fade and fall away like the petals of a dying flower in the fall. We were never ready to commit, that or I had committed too soon. To stay. To patch your pieces, to hold you down, to back you up, to slay your dragons and watch your back.

I was the only one who whispered forever when you called us best friends. An incomplete vow of one-sided loyalty. You would abandon me to the fall, let the dragons surround me, let my enemies tear me asunder, and leave me alone on the battlefield of your intention. Like a fool, I rushed to your side when the enemy encompassed you, threw myself between you and disaster, nursed you back to health by feeding you broth from my very bones. But I would be alone in my darkest hour when the cold clasp of defeat would chain me. My summons for aid would be ignored. I would be left in the cold. You would replace me at your table with another; I would be your forgotten knight who no longer served a purpose.

You would fail me in my time of need.

I have learned these lessons well. Trust none, guard your heart, keep the armor wrapped tighter than skin. Await betrayal with expectation.

Loyalty… An abused principle, meaningless in the face of self-preservation. A slaughter of lies -tell me again that I am nothing but a ghost who refuses to see the truth.

We were never friends. I was just your shield, your sword, an arrow in your quiver. Just a tool for you to use then discard.

My life is not a cloth, to be used then tossed away when it pleases you. I am not your toy that you can bring out then put back again. I am not an orchard, to be hacked down and shredded when it seems good to you. I am not yesterday’s fashion to be donated and tossed into the past.

I would have given so much in exchange for a solid shred of loyalty. It is frightening the currency I would pay to secure such a bounty. As such, it can never be purchased, only earned and won.

I’ve learned to hold back. You. Taught. Me: to wrap my intentions tightly to my soul and give nothing away; to house every innocent thought in the banks of Switzerland, and hold my very soul on a distant, unreachable planet; to entrust my virtue to a tower of solitude and my honor to the depths of Atlantis.

You taught me to erase my face. To collect the masks that emote beyond what I could ever hope to express. To abide in shadows and feed on the dregs to soothe my pain. To shy away at a touch, a word, a breath on my skin. You taught me to stain my teeth in my own blood for your sake. To strip away muscle and sinew, tendon and veins, and grind my bones to dust.

You taught me that I was nothing. I heard you when you said that I was worthless. Read your lips when they spat at me with venomed fervor. I witnessed when you took my hand in yours and nailed it to your wall of trophies. I felt the knives go in, felt them slip through my skin, glance off bone and punch through my organs. I swam in the lake of my blood, a carcass stripped of every useful component.

I know your kind. You’re no friend of mine.

Even after I have long since departed, why do you imagine my shadow in every crevice? I would never return, not for all the gold possessed by the Vatican.

You can be the sun and burn yourself to nothing. I care not. I have resigned as your messenger. This whipping boy is on indefinite furlough.

The fire immolates the empty frame of what was. A hollow mockery chortling on the back burner of our past. I only like the scars that remain, for they remind me not to play the fool twice. The story tattooed on my skin spell the tale, a lesson learned without remorse. I do not mind the pain when the moral is taught.

I only regret putting a face to the name

Betrayer.

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