(Untitled)

I sail in a ship, not of my design
But of my input
Breaking the waters of a world
I cannot understand
Surrounded by the confusion
I cannot solve
Condemned to a deck
I did not build.

This vessel of mine
I cannot fathom
Raising sails I did not weave
Grasping a wind
I did not request
Heading in a direction
Not of my choosing

As though, of all the directions
It would have been this way
The options naught but empty
Unfulfilled destiny,
For all the choices I supposedly earned
Only one was placed before me
The captain’s wheel fixed
On a destination
I never charted

For all the stars in the heavens
I could only find one
Of all the ships in the harbor
Only one would take me
For all my struggles to alter
The path was set

This vessel of mine
Conveys me by unwilling knots
No more can I assertain
The trickery of fate
When all my decisions
Led me to this predetermined sea.

And what of these bones
And mind that betrays me
What construct is this
In my hands and feet
Fingers and throat
To directly challenge my every desire
With impertinent need.

Advertisements

#MeToo (and 3 and 4 and more)

Do not prod the sleeping beast
Do not come greedy to the supposed feast
Do not disrespect
Behaving like vapid derelicts
Disgrace in every salacious action, word, insinuation, and innuendo.

Do not downplay the frequency
Actions of greatest indecency
The behaviors of animals
Worse than even cannibals
Pretending to be superior, elevated beings.

Do not speak your mind and dismiss
The outcomes worse than an unwanted kiss
Do not become outspoken experts
Thinking bodies are pornography adverts
And flesh another warehouse for your base fantasy.

Because when it’s your turn to defend
And avoid the unwanted attentions of the condemned
When you are trapped and held back
With advances you can’t even track
Tell me how “harmless” words really are when they whisper and hold you down.

Did you know that victims outnumber perpetrators in the end?
In this world, if you contribute to this trend
Best watch your actions and your words
Don’t be swept up in those herds
Lest the sheep you torment grow up to be wolves.

Keep your hands to yourself
Direct that ego to the bottom shelf
You are nobody’s gift
Just another unholy rift
To the shredded decency of society.

Welcome to the face of savagery
With no consequences, it continues unwary
Keep sitting on your hands
Critiquing other lands
When your apathy proves you a hypocrite.

And you, the silent ones
Stacking ignorance like retirement funds
Invalidate reality
Deaf and blind to the scenery
Culpable, approving, and complicit in your inaction.

You are even worse somehow
Turning your back, not making a sound
See, hear, and prevent no evil
Yet another useless medieval
Because you know and still do nothing.

Do not defend or excuse
Do not accuse or misuse
Each being is royalty
Extend support and loyalty
Honor each precious being.

What happened to respect?
Did society destroy and neglect
The very fabric of humanity?
In favor of sordid fantasy?
No, it was in favor of evil, screwed priorities, and pure selfishness.

And you, who know so much
Who never encountered an unwanted touch
Keep your stones inside your rock garden
Lest your words return from the mouth of your warden
Since when does existence equal temptation and breathing equate seduction?

Rant and rave
Against absent justice craved
What a mad world we enterprise
Where the innocents are despised
And the predator is congratulated for their crime.

 

picture credit: http://bit.ly/2y1Fsfz

Trophies

Every day there is a new addition
Another blank spot filled
Every day another addition
To the wall of trophies.

There is one of every race
One of every color
There is a category for every gender
Every age
Every rate.

Every day
So many trophies

And the angel looks at the trophies
And weeps.
With abject sorrow and pain
As the shelves only multiply
And continue to fill

A wall drips down
And the tears fall down
The shelves climb high to the sky
A torrent of tragedy.

Did you know that trophies
Are something that serial killers
Take to remind themselves
Of the moments.

Trophies.

So which killer is this?
With shelves to the sky
Filled with trophies of every color
Race,
Age,
Rate?

This killer is silence.

This killer is hate.

This killer is rape.

This killer is ignorance.

This killer Is Evil.

This killer lives among us
In our silence
And our ignorance
And disbelief.

And until the silence is broken
And love returns
And rape is abolished in word and deed
Until ignorance is washed in wisdom and creed
We will continue to be nothing
But trophies.

Standing on the Bridge We Burned

We cannot return to the past
No matter that the regret lasts
Or that penance drips sorrow

They fear us because we are the shadows
Color of the night
We are the offspring of the stars

But we are not a generation of peace
Misplaced rage
Some say -stupidity-  yet just ignorance.

We don’t think, just speak
We don’t ponder, just tweet
Thoughtless mind, empty chatter.


Image source: https://laitma.deviantart.com/art/Iris-Broken-Bridge-532571670

Iced Fire

I have all your secrets
I hold them in the palm of my hand
Will you stay
Or should I leave?
Or should I never plan to succeed?
Perhaps I will find purpose
In the echo of your steps
Leave me again, leave me forever
Ever undone.

I could never find the words
That would make you stay
The devil swore I was meant to be alone
And chuckled when he escorted me back
To my cage
I wasn’t meant to be embraced
These arms harbor brittle branches
Never the warmth of a soul.

I hold these memories close
But like ice and snow, I could never
Manage to get warm
When will my bones freeze
Until I cannot feel
All the wounds that never heal?
The only thing more familiar
Than the taste of my blood
Is the gentle caress of your dying love

Like a candle burning out
Cling to the last vestiges of your presence
Before the altar of the forsaken
Ravens wait to pluck and tear
And savor a heart that was never there
Broken like our vows
Shattered with our distance
Did I stay, or did we both walk?
Did you stay, was I the one who walked away?
Did we both go our separate ways
Who stayed and who was left behind?

Repercussions are naught but concussions
A lurid reminder of the impact of your love
Why warm my flesh when you’d only
Freeze my bones with your absence
Take your flame and fire
Leave me to the graven plaque
Let me crack in the silence
And cave in the solitude
Let this stolid breath
Fade away into nothing
The fog of lust against the chilling chains
Of forbidden kisses

The torment of mentioned lines
Review the whispers for lies
Can it truly be so innocent?
As a farewell? A goodbye?
A never see you again?
Just because -what was the cause?
Why did you leave?
Will knowing salve this cold
Or just jut an icicle
Into my veins.

Intensely turquoise and covered with frost
Surrounding the void holding all I lost
The final flicker dies
Crackling shudder
Sprout frigid wings
I’ll be your snow angel
With you I melt
The ice will keep me whole.

A Message to Burn

Image credit: http://www.spokesman.com/stories/2010/aug/15/1910-fire-region-consumed/#/0

They will never know how much you swallowed. They will never understand how much it hurt. Hindsight can only glance at the depths of emotional gradation sinking deeper and deeper in the well of yesterday.

You are completely validated in your anger.

The forest steams in the late afternoon sun, the stench of smoke and ash sinks into your bones. Grey and coals blanket your feet, the stoic fossils of trees list in anguish as their twisted fingers impale the sky. Sparks still pop, but more in hush and awe at the aftermath. Heat sears your feet, the white ash hides the glowing heart of flame hunkering down for the moment but ready to rise anew.

You wonder if it should rain. The clouds froth overhead, fading from light to dark and back again, mirroring your tumultuous thoughts. Should you have mercy or should you add more fuel?

Weariness descends suddenly. The cinders in your palm sting and gnaw greedily at your melting skin. Pain inflicts you despite the death of the forest -as if the trees had infused their agony into your flesh.

Should you persist? Or should you forgive?

Thunder rumbles, lightning forks through the clouds. Darkness falls, a final curtain. A fat droplet slaps your cheek -more follow. Stinging droplets of ice prickle the carcass of the smoldering forest; steam sings as the liquid infuses the veins of fire.

The embers flicker in your hand. Rain torrents with wrath and fury, each drop a tiny dagger of retaliation. You thought the fire to be all-consuming, but underestimated the rage of the skies.

A final song of sorrow, ash slogs into mud, the caramelized trees surrender their orange flame for blacked rags. A cleansing rain that moistens the dust and death with the promise of something new.

You know that it will take time to heal.

The wet streaks on your face aren’t (just) rain.

The Rain Never Stops; So Buy an Umbrella

They said that rain was the tears of God falling from the sky to spritz the earth with mud and reflection. Directors tend to use rain as a tropism for overcoming, for sadness, for hope despite the circumstances. Some countries see rain as the precursor for disaster and devastation.

And yet we cannot survive without water, falling from the sky.

The rain is my favorite part of the day. The sun has its moments, and the soft crystal sheer of sunlit rays filtering through the forest brings its own soothing odyssey. But the gentle pitter-patter of rain on leaves, the soothing hum of water striking metal roofs, and the memory-laden significance in the gentle sway of the windshield wipers during a travel bring forth the kind and relaxing sensation that all is well.

Nothing bad has happened on a rainy day.

It’s the sunny days that bring forth the bold cruelty of distant and now-forgotten shadow people. As if in mockery,  a cheerful day contained the intense sadism of selfishness. If victims are found by night, their aggressors walk unashamed in the day.

If the mind is a body of scars, then the rain is the cooling balm on the inflamed welts of yesterday. Tomorrow is another day, so close your eyes and let the moisture sink into the loam. Water your plants, talk to your plants and give them some love.

Instead of pets, plants are free to house, require no down payment or rental fees, and will not need to be neutered or spayed. They gently turn toward the sun, require watering weekly, and grow thicker, taller, bushier, and healthier over time.

Each with their own temperaments and expectations. Each needing water, but not too much water. Each needing sunlight, but not too much sun. Each needing earth, but the right kind of earth…

Each needing a well-balanced environment.

So balance.

Delicately.

And bring your umbrella.

As it continues to rain.

 

Cold Searing Reality

He dreams of blood and knives all the time
In waking moments the copper and iron mix to taint his fingertips
At night, he’s surrounded by strangers; he is a stranger to himself
The mirror is a fog of gray and blur-
There is nothing to see that he wants to see
There is nothing he can say to make himself real.

Less of a who and more of a what
Busy shuffling life and drama to the front
Once more drowning himself till the end
Until he, again, doesn’t know who he is
But part of him wants it that way
It’s just too complicated, there are no answers
And no one to put his questions

He’s tired of being just another brittle cup
To eek out another drop of water for the starving souls around
How long until the sun cracks these fragile edges?
How long until they realize he’s not just a tool for others?
They slice him up and divvy the spoils, everyone gets a piece
All that’s left are the bones of anguish, no silence or peace.

He is alone.
That is the worst part of it all.
Everyone has someone and he is just one.
Still.
Again.
And he doesn’t want to wallow in self-pity
But, he can’t help how he feels and he’s tired of being silent.

He dreams of darkness and red
A violent demise to this fear and dread
A soft and muted gray nestled on the sunrise of
Each and every day.
He doesn’t enjoy being despised, he just wants to be
Himself without being penalized.

Why do hurtful people always have power?
Why do they always need a victim?
Don’t they know he has more important things on his mind?
Than wasting energy just trying to survive them, and himself,
And this godforsaken world?
Busy delaying him with petty battles when he’s trying to win
The bigger war.

What is he becoming?
What is he supposed to be
Where is he going?
Is this ever going to end?
How can he make a new beginning
When he doesn’t know where or who or what he is?

For someone supposedly smart
He never has the answers to the questions that plague him
He leaves the room for a cage, the cage for a glass box
The glass box for a room with walls
No windows, no switches to unlock
Nothing but a series of boxes
An echo of chains.

And he must put this away now
He must fold all this away into yet another safe
Housed in the closet
At the end of the hall
Behind the barricaded door
In the abandoned mansion encompassed by the impenetrable forest.

He has failed again.
Containment has been breached, and the agony pours out
In waves of fury, in ice trailing through his veins
In the kiss of Judas stealing the breath from his soul
In the hands of betrayal wrapped around his neck
Grin and whisper that they want him to stay
Then wake him up to kill him again.

Sometimes it’s like he’s not even there
Unless they want someone to blame
He’s not even there
Unless there is someone at fault
He’s not even there
Unless someone needs to be punished.

He isn’t even there.
You have to be a person to be real.
But what does it even matter?
People have no rights at all.
He’s just a leftover script
Of their desire
Just a robot’s soul that they killed.

Damnable Cannibal

Utensils, just so.
fold the napkins
decant the wine
lay the toast
crumble the sugar cubes
that’s the water glass
sterling silver knives.

Aerate the stemware
polish furiously
the butter pat
gleams in the candlelight
ceramics, not plastic
please seat yourself
ice and champagne.

Smile and steam
the platter arrives
salt and oil
the meat is resting
cloves and thyme
would you like red or white?
toss a salad.

Scream, Grace
the head of the table
chiming glass
shiny serrated knife
carving fork
yes, medium rare
thin strips on her plate.

A hiccup in silence
shred a dinner roll
curiously red
he prefers the white
have a bite
his lips stain the rims of the glass
she swallows.

Happy Anniversary
she tries to smile back
shaking fingers
pain and numb
a sip of water
missed you too
may I carve you another slice?

Nauseous and faint
she chews delicately
napkin folded neatly
sweaty forehead
mismatched earrings
his savage smile
bloody ring.

The fading blue and purple bruise
matched his tie
it’s perfect
but today can be a good day
another bite
couples compromise
plastic laughter.

Made it myself
a new recipe
how’s the temperature dear?
best meat in town
the heart beats loudly
carve off another strip
the muscle stutters.

Laughter
the chandelier winks
lay down the fork
empty chest cavity
he can’t help but grin
her tears
blood taints the white wine glass.

Yet another slice
her heart labors now
another strip of flesh
he wets his lips
it’s almost gone
want the last slice?
the fork jabs the meat.

Lovingly fed
they consumed
the final pieces
of her heart
tenderized flesh
the heartbeat finally fades
he licked his fingers.

Clear the feast
she collapses
white wine splashes the floor
blood pools
we can get that stain out
hiccup and choke
she didn’t need it anyway.

He poured her a glass
this time of red
drink
the taste of copper
with plum highlights
she couldn’t drink fast enough
no more pain.

You missed some
he smiles again
the tablecloth will never be the same
flickering candles
I don’t have a heart, Charlie (she gasps)
I know, Grace
you didn’t need it anyway…

The cleaned dishes sparkled
cloying bouquets reek
mourners in the plot
walk through the valley
cloudy sky
black satin gowns
wet dank soil.

For your loss
attendees trickle away like sand
he stands alone now
leaning over the pine box
carves another strip
the hole bleeds in the dull light
bye-bye Grace.

He always liked her heart the best.