A Painful Discovery

Reappearance of the Past

No explanation.
No words,
other than the ones
I already left there.
It seems you're no longer
comfortable with them,
what they mean,
what they say.
So you've left them behind
for me to stumble across
so it might rock my world
as it once rocked yours,
but not in quite the same way.

I'm still unsure of what
I'm supposed to gather from this,
so I fill in the blanks,
but I'm unsatisfied
with the words I choose.
Seems like not much has changed.

This Wall I Keep Running Into

This Wall I Keep Running Into

I've been running for so long,
trying to catch up,
keep up,
hold on to whatever it was we have,
we had,
I wish we had,
but no matter how far I've reached,
there's this wall
I keep running into,
a line of bricks
that stymies me
every time I go near it.
I've tried vaulting over,
digging under,
charging through it even.
Yet all I have now
are scratched hands,
aching arms,
and a throbbing head.
Why did this buttress
have to appear?
Where did it come from?
And how,
for the love of God,
can I make my way past it???
I won't give up,
can't give up,
will never bring myself to give up.
Somehow,
I'll find a way,
even if I have to grease every brick
with my blood and sweat
so I might simply
slide over the top.
And, in the end,
I may find myself
on the other side
finding something I didn't expect,
something crazily different
than what I was expecting.
But.... you know what?
That fear only pushes me
to reach higher,
push harder,
try that much more
so I might find my way
to your side
before you leave me
and that wall behind in your dust.

Warped Cat and Mouse

Escaping the Maze

For the longest time,
I have been the mouse
chasing after the cat,
battered away time and again,
toyed with repeatedly,
simply a side attraction,
an amusing game to play
until boredom sets in
and ignorance becomes
the newest pass time.
And now I limp to my hole,
battered and bruised,
done with this vicious cycle
I keep pushing myself through.
No longer will I reach
for the delicious cheese
wedged between the supple lips
of this feline,
for the fangs
have cut me too many times.
I shall escape this maze
while I still can,
what's left with my tail
between my legs.
But at least I'll be alive
to some degree.



This will probably be the last post I make in a while, as I am working at Johnsonburg right now. I'll post when I can and hope to produce more work soon.

The Crashes Outside My Window

The Storm That Starts

And with a crash,
a bang,
and a flash,
the storm begins,
calling creatures
far and wide
to marvel at nature's glory,
at these moments
when everything is on the line,
when are lives are flashing
in our faces
and we have to decide
whether we approach with caution,
skirting low across the plains,
averting your gaze in fear,
or stand bold amid the madness,
looking God in the eye
with your hand extended
for him to take hold of
and help you on your way.
I'm done cowering like a craven,
done feeling sorry for myself,
done driving myself
to the brink of destruction
with my own haphazard doubts
and foolish self centered pleas for attention.
Though timid at first,
I now stand firmly
in the open plains,
throwing away all facades,
all falsehoods,
all foolish ploys I may have employed.
I'm ready to face the world again
and show it my worth,
because I know it'll be worth my time.


"Never forget who you are, for surely the world won’t. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."
-Tyrion Lannister

Losing Trust

Who Can I Trust Anymore???

I keep looking
to my friends and family
with doubts and hostility,
having to wonder
whether what secrets
they hide beneath their skin,
waiting to crawl out unexpectedly,
sending shivers down my spine.
Yet, why should I even think
these beasts of deceit exist?
What pushes me to question
all that is told to me?
And then I remember...
and I don't feel so bad
for looking for the motives.
For looking for
what are really behind those words,
what the flowery scent hides,
what the cloth conceals.
Is this all a magic trick,
and you're awaiting the right moment
to reveal all to me,
or do you plan to keep me
in the dark forever,
taking my lantern
and leaving me in the dark?

The frustration is unbearable.
For, if I can't rely on my allies"
to tell me the truth,
who am I to turn to
for honest answers?
Who am I to call on
when all else fails?
I can't go through life alone,
with all these emotions
bottled up like angry bees
stuffed in a sack;
I'm about to burst open,
yet there's no one but myself
to look to,
as so many drift
further and further away
on the currents of life,
swimming for their own paradises,
as I dog paddle out to sea
with no map and no boat.


"She was Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, khaleesi and queen, Mother of Dragons, slayer of warlocks, breaker of chains, and there was no one in the world that she could trust."
-George R.R. Martin

Wishes

Wishes

We spout them constantly,
never ceasing long enough
to wonder what we're doing
really means,
that we simply put off
what we could do tomorrow
with promises to ourselves,
words of comfort and certainty
that vows for changes
of the now that is always the future
and never the here and now.
And what do they mean in the end?
Do they count for anything
besides a tally of the foolish wants
we have from day to day,
coming and going
faster than a train
through a subway station.
If only these hopes
meant something more...

But alas,
wishes, like words,
are simply wind
slithering from our lips,
creatures of our creation,
writhing in the air for a moment
only to disappear in an instant
the moment a gust passes through,
ripping the life from our mouths,
leaving cuts to adorn our faces,
reminding us of our brief trifles
before they heal,
fading from memory.
It is actions that are recalled
years later,
actions that make the words
worth what they say,
actions that separate
the truths from the falsehoods.

And it's about damn time I take action
instead of moping in what I wish was
and not what can be.
I just need to get up
out of this puddle of self pity
and press forward
with every ounce of strength.
Just promise to catch me if I fall again,
because next time I crash to the ground,
I fear my back might break,
leaving me stranded
on the cold and bitter ground
to drink from the dirty puddles
of the lies and hurts
I tell myself
when lying with the past
instead of looking up
at the present
with a goofy grin spread
across my face,
readying me for anything
the world might throw at me.

Holes

Holes

I've been digging
for quite a time now,
searching constantly
for the answers
that I've believed
to be buried
in my own backyard,
so close
I could almost feel them
worming around in my brain,
tunneling through my thoughts
until I thought
I'd never find them again.
Yet all I'm left with
at the end of a day
are a plethora of holes,
making my world
a maze of pitfalls
so deep
I may lose myself in one.
And until I find a way
to fill them back up,
I'll forever be tripping
on my own distraction,
tumbling out of sight
and out of mind.


"If only, if only, the woodpecker sighs, the bark on the tree was as soft as the skies, the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely, and cries to the moon, 'If only, if only'"
- Madame Zeroni

Like A Thunderbolt

A Realization

I have been consumed
by my own mindless thoughts,
my own search for
my holy grail
that I forgot
why I was here all along,
my goal buried beneath
a giant pile of emotional paperwork
that I've been reluctant to fill out.
But, out of no where,
a gust of wind has blown it all
off my desk,
revealing that illusive task once again.
so I might take up my mantle
and charge forth
in hopes for victory.
And in the end,
there will be arrows
cutting into me,
prodding me repeatedly
as I press onward,
daring not look back
on what may have been,
for at that point
they never could have been.
But I'll wear those feathers
as badges, emblems
of my trek.
Whether I will want to remember
what they all will mean
is yet to be seen.

"Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own."
- Kenny Edler

"If I Look Back, I Am Lost"

Entering the Unknown

It beckons to me,

calling out to my soul,

dragging my heart

by its love-clogged arteries

into the depths of the unfamiliar,

forcing me to

enter the unknown.

I've avoided this gateway

for so long,

terrified by the blinding blackness,

leaving me in the shadows

I have been trained to fear,

as I always come out

with something missing,

and more often than not

a hole in my chest

where it once had settled,

nestled comfortably in my bosom,

ever contented to

proclaim my passion.

But, alas,

it has already been stolen

out from under my nose,

and now I must delve into

the dank darkness

to retrieve my heart,

damaged and disheveled as it is;

you only get one after all.

I can only hope

that I won't find it

broken and bleeding

beyond my reach,

spilling my life,

feeding the dusk.

For if a man dies

in his own desolation,

does he make a sound

or cease silently

with only the silence

to keep him company?

"If I look back, I am lost."

-Daenerys Targaryen

The Rock and Hard Place

Trapped

Like the falsely accused,
I find myself stuck
between a rock and a hard place,
with no finish line in sight,
only the harsh, rocky pavement
that my body embraces
like a long lost relative,
reluctant to let go.
Because at least I am stable here;
at least I know how things are,
no matter how uncomfortable
it may be.
My emotions tug be back and forth,
to and from the edge,
to the point where I wish
I would just fall
and put an end to this
maddening game of tug-of-war,
so that some closure
might shut Pandora's box,
with all its false hope and suffering,
remaining out of reach,
out of sight,
out of mind.
But if wishes were gold,
we'd all be suffocating under the piles,
higher than Mount Olympus,
wishing we weren't buried
beneath our own wants,
adding to the pain
every moment.

I've tried shutting these emotions away,
but they keep breaking out of their cells,
distraught without each other,
no matter how much they might fight.
I'd stop them,
but I know how they feel
and can't bring myself
to cause them hurt such as that.


"Where do I go? Where do I stand?
Where can I find myself again?"
-Relient K

The Blame I Cannot Hold Anymore

Again and again
I've turned on myself,
stabbing my own back,
ripping out mine own heart,
leaving my cold corpse
in gutters cluttered
with the blame I've clutched
like a mother does her child,
putting my love and passion
into pent up contempt
for myself.
But this is a blame
I cannot hold anymore,
too scalding to touch.
Sliding through the blood
it left on my palm,
it now falls at my feet,
glowing amid the rubble
and turmoil of my past.
I feel the pit
that has settled in my stomach
lift away,
crawling out of
piles of partial digested food,
a blob of self loathing
whose exit mat finally
allow me to eat without fear
of nauseating emotions
settling in my food,
a new species of fly
that feeds from your torment
rather than your table.
It sloughs off my skin,
this agony that has
clutched to my chest,
a festering wound
that refused to heal.

And as I step away,
struggling to turn my back
on what has become
a part of me,
I see that this blame
was never mine to keep,
no matter how much
I might try to convince
myself otherwise.
It had seemed so much easier
if I could pin it all on me;
then, it could be something
that I might fix,
a broken toy
that could be rebuilt
after finding some new parts.
But I've shopped for long enough,
and those pieces will never
reach my workshop,
as they were never meant to.
I'm done repairing
that which was never cracked,
as there's nothing more I can do
to mend the damage.


"No, I don't hate you,
don't want to fight you,
You know I'll always love you
but right now I just don't like you"
-Relient K

A Few Chapters Ahead

The Unwritten Book

My hand caresses the binding
as I shut the book,
cradling it in my arm
as I reflect on these final moments
that have been presented to me,
etched into my mind,
drawn out before my eyes,
lives I never lived
but it almost feels like I have.
Stories of fantasy and majesty,
failure and defeat,
some that mimics mine own;
whether it be in jest
or it is simply mocking me
I am unsure.
What I am sure of
is that
as I slide this novel
into its faithful slot
on my shelf,
it's time to start a new book,
new chapter,
new page.
Time to find some fresh pages
filled with the wishes and woes,
happiness and hurt,
liveliness and languish
of yet another author.
Except this time...
this time I am the writer,
and this story started long ago.
How long will it last?
Where will it go?
Even I don't know,
and I'm the one who has to pen it.
But what is clear
is that I thought I had
all the chapters written out before me,
ready to be shipped off
and sold by the hundreds.
Yet this isn't even a rough draft,
merely scratchings of dull ink
on an absorbent page,
taking in all the words
to save until the full picture is revealed,
until the entire tale can be seen.
Perhaps then I will read my work
and cringe and cry,
laugh and love,
for I'll have lived and learned by then,
and all that will be left is to look back
and pray it was enough.

A Strange Companion

Acceptance; A Strange Companion

Out of the shadows
comes a surprising friend,
taking me by the hand
as a leech does its host's blood,
with an entitled swagger.
I try and shake it off,
but i clings to me,
a squid's sucker
strapped to my face,
trying to blind me
from what once was.
But, strangely,
I begin to grow a liking
for this strange companion,
as he seems to make the days
feel like days
and not years.
He makes the meals
times of peace
and not nauseating roller coasters.
He makes sleep
visit me
rather than run when I call its name.
Yet, it still scares me,
this sudden ally,
as it has injected itself
without warning,
a criminal slipping through my security,
stealing something most precious to me.
But if that something
has sat broken and dusty on the shelf
for so long now,
was it really worth holding onto any longer?

My Bourbon and Bleus

My Bourbon and Bleus

I just sit there and chew
on my bourbon and bleu,
as you, all nonchalant,
flaunt
how fine you are.

She sees through the ruse
through the bourbon and bleu
asking if I'm alright,
sensing my blight
and sparking my sight,
alight
with a burning desire.

I mumble, subdued,
alongside my bourbon and bleu,
so lost in thought
my words caught
taut
in my throat

I am no guru
with my bourbon and bleu,
my understanding lost,
wanting to accost
with such frost,
yet I finally exhaust,
cost
for such a gamble is too much

I feel so withdrew
holding my bourbon and bleu,
trying to stay calm
but there's an explosion of napalm,
my stomach feels a sudden qualm,
balm
nowhere to be found.

I ignore my curfew
smelling my bourbon and bleu
never wanting to part
as you hold my heart,
as you did from the start;
depart
and I may never find it again.

The realization ensues
as I eat my bourbon and bleu
that I am glad
that in contentment you are clad
even though I may be sad;
had
I only been enough for you.

The pain pursues
around my bourbon and bleu,
cutting at me
until I can hardly see
the picture of he
you adore so willingly,
free
from the haunting hurt.

So I sit there and stew
with my bourbon and bleus,
almost wishing
I could stop loving you.

Almost.

Facing My Fear

Facing My Fear

Will you great me with open arms
or looks of apprehension,
regret,
hurt,
or, worst of all,
without emotion at all?
What will run through your head
as I run to you?
Do you feel a pit swirling within,
the reminder of a time
when all of this was so much simpler?
Do you feel the hesitation,
confusion,
pain,
and desire
that radiates from my breast?
Do you feel anything at all
for me now,
or have you locked away those feelings
in a place that I can never retrieve them?
Will words spill from your mouth,
a fountain of happiness and hope,
or will the dams remain shut,
cutting me off from the water
that keeps me alive?
I don't think I can go through
another drought
without my world
turning into a barren plain,
the crops I've tended to for so long
turning to dust and ash,
choking me with the vicious sting
of a bitter end.

I leave it to my fears
to sort out my future,
for what am I
but that which
frightens me most.


“Bran thought about it. 'Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?'
'That is the only time a man can be brave,' his father told him.” 
― George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

The End of the Beginning

The End of the Beginning

I start at the finish
to look back on the start,
seeing who I was then,
finding a stranger staring back,
a me of another life.
A me who was so alone,
so unsure,
so unprepared.
And here I stand tall,
surrounded by those who care,
certain of a better tomorrow,
ready for the unknown.

I've trudged through many swamps,
the muddy waters suffocating me,
dragging me down into my sorrow,
tugging at my throat
like a needy lover,
but the real lovers,
the ones who truly care,
they've tossed me the rope
to pull me out.
And I've slowly eked my way
to the surface,
but my feet are still cemented still,
so used to this new home
they would rather not move.

So I'll stand here for a time,
and give my feet a chance to shed
this new skin
before I give myself up
to the future that hovers over me,
awaiting me with open arms.

Deciphering Codes

A Game of Wits

How confusing it is,
this game that we play,
so many rules to follow,
pieces to remember,
moves to make.
And I find that's it's my turn,
but I've lost my cheat sheet,
so I look around,
trying to remember how this works.
It's been a while since you last played,
but now it has started again,
and I can't bring myself to stop it.
Yet, how am I supposed to continue
if I don't even understand your move?
I flip through my codes,
trying to find an answer,
when I realize this is a problem
that no book can solve for me.
So I'll be working day and night
to translate this foreign language
you've shoved in my general direction.
Hopefully I'll learn the right dialect,
but even then,
will I know how to react
or simply flounder about on the floor,
a fish out of water,
gasping for air
as it floats about my head,
mocking me.
So please,
be patient with me,
I'm rather new to this game.
But once I get a hang of it,
expect me to strike fast and strong
so as to keep your attention on
our battle of wits
before it whittles away to nothing.

Unanswered Queries of My Own

Answers Lost to Me

I awake from this

lengthy operation on my life

to be told that it was all a great success.

I ask of all the pain,

the sticks that had prodded at my innards,

my screams that had rung in my ears.

The doctor gives me a funny look,

shrugging,

as if that would make it all go away.

I look down at my chest and see

where the incision had cut through me,

down to my soul,

where they did some searching.

I ask for the results,

yet the clinicians shift their eyes,

look away,

as one mumbles that their findings

were lost in my heart on the way out.

Grabbing at my chest,

I try to rip it out,

that angelic paper

that might explain all of this to me.

But alas, all that remained

was a blood-stained rag,

weary from its stay within.

In my frustration,

I toss it aside,

letting it smack against the wall,

leaving my hopes and hurts

dripping away to the floor.

But I think better of this quickly,

scrambling to drink it up,

a putrid medication

that burns as it slides down my throat,

dribbling into my stomach,

etching in hole where it claws

at my flesh,

reaching out for the home it has known.

A part of my creeps along behind,

hoping to slip in unnoticed

and perhaps understand the madness

that boils in my blood.

But, as I walk in the entrance,

I am swiftly brought to my knees.

Looking up, I see a sea of mes

standing over me,

angry etched across my faces.

My hands have never felt as strong

as when they were picking me up

and wrenching me from my sanctuary,

a place so pure even I cannot step foot within.

I look longingly at myself as I walk

again and again back into the land of answers,

and, realizing that this Eden has been closed off to me long ago,

I return to reality,

knowing that I must face the world

with an understanding of never understanding.

Perhaps then the answers will flock to me,

a sea of ravens.

"Dark wings, dark words."

Credit of the quote goes to George R.R. Martin, author of the Song of Ice and Fire series