Matcha and Ibuprofen
Lucy's medicine cabinet was stocked almost completely with herbal remedies and handmade soaps from her mother's farm. My bottle of Ibuprofen on the shelf beside a tin of homemade dandelion lip balm looked out of place. I took it out.
With the small bottle of pills in hand I decided to try the kitchen. But, of course, among her jars of granola, dried fruits, and unlabeled containers of various aromatic, varicolored powders, it stuck out even more. I don't think she'd care where I left it so long as it wasn't sitting out on her countertops, but I just couldn't sit it down next to her matcha powder in its pretty Mason jar with a pink cloth between the ring and the lid.
She cleared out a drawer in one of her nightstands, a small wicker basket in its tropical-feeling bedroom. Well, she almost cleared it all out. There were a few rings left in the bottom: gold bands, one with an opal in the center. Probably some that she made. I would often catch her at her little refurbished coffee table sitting cross legged on the hand-tied rug with a pair of needle nose pliers winding wire into an earring.
I dropped the Ibuprofen in the container along with the socks and toothbrush from the plastic Walmart bag in my left hand. I set the rings on her dresser.
Between the gaps in the wicker, I could see the glaringly white bottle of Ibuprofen and the neon green of my toothbrush. I balled up the plastic bag and shoved it in my pocket.
Lucy didn't like plastic. She was too afraid of the turtles dying or something. She didn't eat meat because, she'd say, if she wouldn't eat my pet cat, who was hissing from his carrier in the kitchen, she's not going to eat a cow. She exercises and does yoga every day, but she won't get a gym membership because their carbon footprints are too big and the guys at the front desk only have plastic cards to give out.
I like Lucy. I might grow to love her, but sometimes I wonder if it would be worth the work. She says she doesn't mind if I order a steak, but I can't do it around her. I hide my plastic packaging and pretend I don't need Ibuprofen and Tums to stave off my headaches and indigestion, using her herbal remedies daily and acting like they've cured me. She's too sweet to say no to and too gentle to hurt her feelings. Honesty is hardest with the people who are kindest.
I take my Ibuprofen out of the wicker basket.
Flowers of the field
Blooms and buds dripping with dew
Colors of pink, yellow, and blue
Swaying softly in the morning’s breeze
Life shudders within the still green leaves
A butterfly lands softly upon a silken petal
Floating, until finding a place to settle
Drinking in the nectar and ambrosia
A fine course of tea a-la Rosa
As it flits away with the suns retreating rays
The flowers remain, the field is where they stay.
A Brief Phantasmagorical Campaign
Thus begins
this peyote journey
flowing down the
river of consciousness
with kaleidoscopic thoughts
in a hallucinatory fire
where vague ideas
burn like wax candles
as effulgent imagery
reflects in the mirror
of the mental canvas
creating surreal lucidity
so the mind is clear
and the soul begins to
enjoy transitory madness
Cold Turkey
April 1, 2022
In the shower
First attack in years
Pressing face against tile
Praying to porcelain
Silent scream
Deafening emotion
Water beating
.
.
.
Down
.
.
.
Weaving around
The gentle swells of a small and
Knotted back
Chest heaving, hardly breathing
As I unbar
Air caught, at last
Forehead to basin
Both hands pressing
As if keeping this heart inside,
Like a storm
Pulling at the tethers of a memory
I have welcomed forgetting
Every moment weathered
Because some spiraling hope
A promise of a consistent state of being
Of finally feeling
.
.
.
Together
.
.
.
Without the arsenal of dope
This
Is
Not
Supposed to happen
Here’s the joke:
I have a cabinet full of
CAREFULLY
PRESCRIBED
ANSWERS
To help me believe like any of this
REALLY
FUCKING
MATTERS
For without
I don’t particularly have anything
On which to hold
Except doubt
Do I really need another friend on social?
Another idol? Boy/girlfriend?
Do I need another inspirational book
To tell me how to reach my life goals? (Goals?)
Because honestly
There just aren’t as many bridges to cross,
As there are to burn
Not as much to keep,
As there is to let go
Not as much to gain,
As there is that can be sold
In fact, seems—
Around every fucking turn
Every bend,
Something else to dread
Something else to break your heart with…
Yet another life lesson
LEARNED
Or tragic END
And I need more like-education
Like the world needs another lost cause
Or hole in His hands,
Like we need another self-satisfactory,
Spoken-word benediction (sans action)
Just to be able to sleep again
Why didn’t you leave us in darkness
In fabric laden with Stars
These are
The things that keep me up at night
The things that hold my breath prisoner
My thoughts, in my throat
By knife
And just like that, it’s over
Body unfold.
Gather self.
Stop the pour.
Towel.
Time to go.
Close the door.
Take your pills.
Hang-up self-will.
It’s a new day to chase the dollar bill.
Easy, when you have no more dreams to follow.
And, please, don’t forget to swallow.
J.M.Liles ©️2022
Writing Process
Every blank page is a mystery
A hope
Despair
A light
And a disease
That can fester inside
Feed on you
Until you feed it your words
Creativity is either stifled, suffocating like a late august afternoon
Or flows freely, like autumn leaves dancing in the cool breeze
No in-between
No negotiations
Not knowing which one will come to fruition
Is
Agonizing
But when it flows
It flows
And
F l o w s
Pours out in an abundance of
Life
Love
Fear
Ache
Agony
Pain
Everything
Pours onto the once blank page
And for that moment
Everything that burdens and encumbers you
The thing that causes that tightening in your chest
Your breath to catch in your throat
Is laid out in black ink, pencil or type-face
Filled to the brim with y o u
Every desperate thought and feeling clinging to your insides like tar
And all at once
You ignite
Feel free
Until
You turn to ash
Just to
Do
It
All
Over
A G A I N
Sadistic isn't it?
The sky is still blue
I am no longer pure.
Even though the sky is still blue,
Yet I am no longer pure.
The fish swim in clear waters,
But I am no longer pure.
Dew clings to the petals, only to slip away unnoticed,
And I am no longer pure.
Raindrops trace their inevitable descent, unyielding to their fate,
But I no longer care for anything.
I am no longer pure.
Pleasure and despair,
Courage and fear,
Continuously fill me, one after another,
With a suffering that knows neither end nor respite.
It’s a feeling that makes me utter a prayer,
One that I wish to whisper softly:
The one standing beneath this vast sky, who has never forgiven himself even for a moment,
Hopes that God too will never, even for a moment, forgive him.
This escaping self,
Fleeing from anything that could remind me of how I lived,
Finally, a part of me,
No longer cared what would happen to him.
Finally, it no longer mattered
Where his emotions resided,
Which path they took,
Or where they were drawn.
He existed in a world
Where his heart had long ceased to feel.
The flickering light in the air, which made him wait and hope for a dream to bear the weight of the greatest impossible chance of his life—
Had lost its meaning.
That light would never shine for him again.
The impossible desire that once deeply affected him
Was now a vague memory,
A memory slowly fading away,
Of someone who, from now on, could only whisper in shame:
"I am no longer pure."
Even though the sky is still blue,
Yet I am no longer pure.
Love
I need a love so strong
it can withstand anything.
love is not meant to be cruel
deceiving or laminated to fit
what you want to hear.
love can be seasonal or for
a simple reason. I needed you
the most, and you never sought
to see my side of the love story.
I needed you to be strong
you fell short and grew weak.
you broke my heart in two
now I'm bruised and broken
and can't see with a blind eye.
giving away hearts isn't always
the best gift love has to offer.
it's too fragile
my checking account needs a safe word because she’s getting wrecked
I don't give a shit
Which political party
You have
A hard-on for
This economy
Is fucked up
I just spent $20
On two items
At the grocery store
My splurge, you ask?
One bag of cherries… $12.99
And four nectarines… $6.99
*on sale*
(and not organic, mind you, and not from some pretentious store, either)
Fuck this economy
Where produce
Is becoming
a luxury item
Closed doors
In life, there are things from which you cannot escape, cannot move past, or make a right decision about. You merely hope that all of this is just a dream, a fleeting moment that, fortunately, will not have significant consequences, without having any idea of how it will continue. Eagerly, you surrender yourself to them. Moments of brilliance where yesterday and tomorrow will no longer have any meaning. A place where you lose yourself, and the only thing that can bring you back to reality is the very thing that shattered you from the beginning. While you cannot move a step forward from where you stand, you simply surrender yourself to the now shattered and disturbed flow of fate. Even though you know it’s foolish, you still long to have them. Like pounding on the door of misfortune. You still stand behind that door, knowing that it will never open again. Because waiting has become one of your inherent habits. With memories and feelings you still lack the courage to let go of, you continue to wait. While every corner of your heart is cracked from past remnants. You still cannot refrain from plunging the knife you have driven into your heart. While accepting that from now on, the only thing you can wound is yourself. The place where you can be sure that your heart, once filled with joy from having such feelings, is now broken.