It’s like I offered myself on a silver platter, holding all golden thoughts
It wasn’t until I was close that you saw the tarnish and scratches
You immediately wanted to send it in for cleaning and touch-ups
Was it so dull that you couldn’t see your own reflection in the silver shine?
Or was that your method of dissociating your own harsh blemishes
But some things can’t be touched up and some things remain bent,
even if they were never broken to begin with
Do you remember what you look like in the mirror?
Perhaps you don’t, because you love to call the kettle black
I embraced that darkness a long time ago,
But you are still at the edge of the encroaching shadow-
a flashlight shaking in your hand for fear of self-awareness
I pray for that day you shine that light on your own red hands
and see the word “duplicity” scrawled across your palm
I think you forget you ever wrote the reminder,
or it was your second personality who got the memo
The persona you choose to put on seems to overlook their own shortcomings
as you love to rewrite rules for lives that aren’t yours to live
I swear when you see me, your skin itches with unrelenting anxieties
I feel like you look at me as you would look at an unsolved jigsaw puzzle
You so frantically want to find all the missing pieces to see the perfect picture
I am so sorry but all of those tiny puzzle pieces were lost so long ago
but don’t you dare try to jam in new ones that don’t fit because mine is vintage
There are real tears in the cardboard and memories in each warped corner
What you can now buy in bulk to make your scenery look historical,
is nothing but a plastic collectors replica of those who know that reality
The reality of being held in various hands, in different places at different ages
each individual seeing who can play this puzzle through the fastest
Although no one has taken the time to decipher the full enigma of this heart
And my heart is not a mirror, nor a puzzle, and you can’t find yourself in me
You can’t expect to just trace the lines on a map and claim you’ve traveled those roads
Because roads less traveled are hard to find and they happen to detail my skin
It’s unfortunate that you’d rather focus on how unpaved trails have thorns and nettles
Rather than how bewildering and humbling it can be to get lost in the woods
When I turn on the air conditioning to fight the heat,
You declare it becomes too cold and you step outside
You mention how you need to defrost from the cold blast
But why change a climate when you are wanting to leave
The next time you came over, I had a fire and blankets
Including my favorite worn blanket, ripped at seams and stained
Then your fingers touched the fringe, and you turned up your nose
You said it was too rough against your skin and much too warm
But I have nothing else to wrap around you but used quilts
My quilts carry a history that causes you great disgust
You said they were much too dark, much too damaged,
Much too chaotic in pattern- and that caused you headaches
I wondered if a down-feather, pure white blanket suited you better
However, I never buy them anymore because I’m allergic
And we all know I’m clumsy, so white is a color that I disagree with
I thought about what I could do to meet those standards of yours
If I changed the thermostat again, would you finally find your empathy?
But I could buy a thousand feathered throws or an industrial fan,
And I’m sure you would still find it at an uncomfortable degree
I apologize but I can’t keep wasting my electricity on disagreements
The cost is way too high and you refuse to split the bill
So when I stepped outside to the sun that burned my eyes and skin,
but it still fell at that perfect August sunset;
and the grass feels like the rough edges of my blanket,
but it was cool and soft between my bare feet;
I was reminded of the imperfections that grow in the ground,
they fall from the sky, shine in the moon and bloom in the Spring
So if the earth is pardoned and forgiven for it’s faults,
if I plant myself in the soil- will I be infallible and unwavering?
Never lose that curiosity
The curiosity that causes you to dig deeper
Refuse to settle for a simple answer,
always ask further questions
then step further and decipher it again
Because if I ever leave
Or if he were ever to return
I’d rather cry on your shoulder,
telling you why
Than stick to an easy lie
and never know what should have
AH. I have no inspiration to write lately, but I know I need to. So here’s a rant entry.
Reading the news depresses me. Even more so, our state of affairs with other countries depresses me even more. I don’t want to be associated with a country that is seen as racist, bigoted, unfair, unjust, sexist, agist, and just ugly in general.
I saw the headline to an article stating that “illegal immigration is surging due to the US’s demand for Mexico’s drugs”. Exactly, look at the latter part of that statement. WHY are we focusing on immigration when we aren’t even focusing on our drug issues? As an addict, I can say I was born an addict. I chose, in a way, to be an addict. A Hispanic drug lord didn’t force me to start using heroin; I ordered it online with no idea of the race, creed or origin of the dealer (thanks modern technology for making my vices more accessible).
So often I hear the blame shift to the Mexican border, immigrants and their home as the cause of Americas drug crisis. It’s sick, twisted and unfair. They are going by, if anything, supply and demand to make ends meet. Just like we all are, they are finding means to make money. To support their family, their house, their own drug habit- who knows. The point is: what our neighboring country brings into our states is not the issue. Because if we didn’t have drug addictions, we would stop needing to buy said drugs. We are creating our own issues and not taking the blame. EXTRA POINT: we are the ones making Big Pharma dish out pain medication like candy which then leads to street drugs usually, in those with addict genes.
Thinking about you now just brings pain
It’s as if whenever a memory you comes across my mind,
A tiny string tugs at my heart, begging it to break
over and over.
You are fine now and I am fine now but,
There will never be a day that I’m ‘fine’ with the outcome
There are tears set aside for each time I mourn
what we could have turned out to be
You are not exed out, you are not the past, nor are you history
You are a stain which will not wash away
This world makes me extremely sad sometimes. I can’t even get through a full page of the News without wanting to puke and scream.
I wish I was a safety net for the innocent.
My stomach feels somewhat unsettled. Similarly to the feeling on gets from seeing grey rain clouds from afar as you drive through the sun. You aren’t to the cold, dark place you are headed yet- but you know it’s there and you know it’s coming.
This is what anxiety feels like.
It feels like beads of sweat that sting your skin because every part of your being hurts. It hurts to breathe, hurts to move, hurts to think. And how can you begin to plan where to make the next move, or how to plan your safe route, if you can’t even untangle the map provided. Pages stick together, roads and rivers are smudged, and there are tears in the corner.
So you channel your inner “carpe diem” and use shortcuts the passenger is yelling over the ear-straining music. Life is really just a crazy road trip, with no sense of direction.
Being that way, I’m left at the infamous crossroads of life- enjoy the ride or stall the trip. I still don’t exactly know how to get past this stubborn fork in my path.