I didn't choose all that happened to me, I didn't want it.

so why do I have to suffer from others unhealed pain?

Why did they have to be bled on when it's not my fault they were cut?

Why do I have to be bloody when it's not my wound that's bleeding?

All because of you bloody monsters, I got used to the feeling of being drenched.

I've found comfort in the warm liquid. Like a motherly hug that I never got.

But now that I'm used to it, I find myself cutting others, and cutting myself just so I can be covered in blood.

To feel the warmth that I am just so addicted to, because it's all I have ever known.

I was me.

Then I was not.

Well, I still am me.

But with others.

They're all in my head,

And they all seek control.

To "protect me," they say.

But I'm the one taking the toll.

It's all too much.

I am no longer me.

I will never be again.

"A cloudless plain blue sky is like a flowerless garden." Terri Guillemets

One word is such a vague way of defining oneself, is it not? Still I'll admit it: I consider myself to be a 'cyanic", a person who gravitates largely in this life to the color blue. It can be any form of the color blue, but I particularly like a deep, rich velvet blue that resonates in your vision, seeming to make everything wash anew in rebirth. The word alone has a connotation of color as rich as life itself. We are allowed, after all, to define ourselves in a multitude of ways, so I'll stick with calling myself a cyanic and give due credit to the famous Bard, Shakespeare, for the possibility of doing just such a thing: "That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet "

I am a hardcore, down-to-earth "cyanic", fulfilled by the deep blue violet that blooms or the vast blue skies that loom above us, constantly changing in the array of blues found in their depths. I have always gravitated to rich, vivid blues, surrounding myself with as much as possible; ceramics, crystals, pottery, walls, flowers, coverings, and art. For me, the color evokes a wide range of emotions of well-being and peace. Blue brings wonder and imagination, especially while listening to Debussy. You only need to hear the scattering of fairy like, magical music rippling across the air in Clair de Lune to see a vision of blue painted, tangible enough to reach out and touch. Then there's the cornflower blue found in Van Gogh's Starry Starry Night that brings forth a depth of feeling, taking the viewer into the recesses of Van Gogh's creativity and depression. The pale, delicate blue found in Bernini's dome housed in St. Peter's Basilica is amplified by an array of muted colors while the blue still vibrating regally to stand front and center in his architectural masterpiece.

The color blue takes me into extraordinary realms where I am most creative, comfortable, and peaceful. Going one step further, for me, cyan or blue is represented by the Archangel Michael, known for having a magnificent wingspan that reaches and fills the heavens. He is the head of all angels, a warrior of heaven, and our fiercest, constant protector.

Yes, I am defined each day by blue. It surrounds and calms me as I witness its beauty in dynamic vibrancy in; the skies, the butterflies, someone's eyes, the oceans, the flowers, the fish, the birds, and even food. It would be wondrous to fly about and over this enormous planet, emboldened by all nature that hums and beats with blue at its center. In the end, we are one with the universe - a mixture of blue truth and life - much more than we'll ever realize.

"Blue is the closest color to truth." Steven Tyler

With shadow-tinted skin,

She speaks intimately to the dark,

Timidly reassuring

Her self-mending heart

For one day she knows,

When she cannot see her light

The moon will echo her words

In return for the night

Around the block

and drawn back

into the depth

of fresh grounds

of dark aromatics

of essential oils

of the buried

well anointed

half truths,

that abound

through the jog

at night and

on waking up

the Shadow,

has your back

inside and out.

02.05.2024

Where do shadows hide? challenge @AJAY9979

The car dropped her at the corner. A block away, across the street. The darkness reflected off the pavement as it does after a rain. The moon was full. Its face looking up at her in every puddle. She took a seat at a table this time. Normally she would sit at the bar. Disappear there amongst the row  of stools and mostly men, mostly sitting alone and pulled away enough to bend their knees and twist towards a game playing off to the side. But this time she took a seat in the corner. She felt uneasy and didn’t want her back exposed. She had graduated to taking her vodka straight now. Sometimes on the rocks with a twist but she was cold tonight. She took it neat. A vacancy welled from beneath her soul. Her day taking from her more than what she could keep. She didn’t let him drive her home afterwards. It was over. Perhaps left to rot in a back alley dumpster or maybe it was burned. She didn’t know what they did with it once it was gone. She tried to not think about it. The bar was always quieter on Tuesday nights. The week still fresh, people not yet worn enough to drink. Starting over again. The regulars didn’t know what day it was though. Their golden steins and amber crystals— meditating on a molar of permeable discomfort. Every couple of breaths her chest felt heavy. It felt like trapped fog. Sadness growled from within. Perhaps it was remorse. Or guilt. Or maybe it was grief sitting there at the table with her forcing her to make eye contact. She shot the rest of her vodka and left. She decided to walk home. Exhausting what was left of herself onto the city streets like a virus. Going back home less than she was when she woke up that morning. She could feel new callouses forming. Hardening the soft spots of her that scarcely remained. It seemed that there was almost no space left to decay until now. And it surprised her how comforting it felt. To know now that this hurt could be used as a barrier. A tomb. She decided right then that she would bury it deep. And she decided to never speak of it again.

Things are changing. Do you feel it, do you sense the heavy stumbling, and slowing of the hearts while the rage builds up? The pace is quickening. There's a nation filled with lost souls and so many challenges. Self-importance, entitlement, anger and emptiness. It is all there. Still beats the good...it just needs to be surrounded and joined...it needs to be prayed over and cheered on. We used to could have disagreements and not have it end in violence or insults.

Was there ever a place in time where people were good to each other? I realize there actually were no "good old days" because during every era or period someone was treated unfairly beyond anything our minds can wrap around. Ignorance and hatred has always been present, but good showed up bigger and better. Prosperity has never truly been shared by all and enough has never meant plenty to go around except to "the some" - ask someone who is wondering with a stomach numb from rumbling how their day is going.

I go to work daily and come home drained. I have some kids who cannot read but are getting passed on because they cannot be failed. Yes, I said we are not allowed to fail them, the system says so... So, I watch as they are shuffled through a system that is supposed to strengthen them; but will eventually break them and us all. This system that won't let us fail them is failing them in epic proportions and every educator who wanted to make a positive difference in a child's life.

There are so many places we need to set to restart. Where we need to come together as if our lives depend on it - because frankly, it does. I don't like to speak of doom or look at the cup as half empty, it really isn't my nature. But...it's midnight in our deepest of winters, we are whistlin' past the graveyard and the bucket we are carrying has got a hole in it and we couldn't buy a vowel - not even if we wanted to.

Our future depends upon how we treat others in the now. Our future depends on decisions being made by people that have not got a clue on what they are speaking of because frankly they can't see from their view. Whether it's the "I don't give a damn glass - it is all about me" from which they hide behind or the whatever in their "Nor do I care" dismissive attitude. Accountability needs to be reinstated. Integrity needs to be dusted off. Kindness, humility, y'all come on out too. I know y'all are there!

We are in a battle zone...where we are not safe in our streets...the ones that lead right to our front door. We need to pump the brakes when we cannot be civil to each other in traffic. We have fallen to the point of where common sense and common courtesies are so far back in our rearview mirrors that some of us cannot be decent. Well, let me restate that...where some of us refuse the choice to be decent. Violence is not supposed to be a way of life...one cannot breathe, nor let alone see with their head buried in the sand or covered in slung mud.

Nobody owes us anything...our lives are what we make them and as I age, I cannot cry over the wasted time I spent - because when I give pause to think where all those years went and just how dang fast they sailed - there isn't anything that I can do to recapture that time...but I can do different with what precious moments that I do have left. I am heartbroken but praying for a miracle...because they can and do happen.

I am a true-blue die-hard Houston Texans fan, and 22 had us at the bottom of the barrel. This year the so called "experts"- you know the ones who can't do what they are talking about said that with a Rookie Coach, QB and players that this team was no threat. Something amazing happened...they stumbled, but they didn't fall... they got their footing and then the mindset of "why not us"? It became their motto. Glorious. "Why not us?"

In this moment in our lives, why can't we be the people who change the course of the path we are on? Why not us?

I lay awake,

The days fade away.

I wonder how long it will take,

For me to truly connect with a friend I make.

Effort after effort,

It all leads astray.

They will never understand a mind like mine.

Stick labels on me,

Say they know me,

And make baseless accusations.

Like a poisoned prick stabbed into my skin,

The poke hurts for a moment,

But I am unaware of the poison that will spread through my body.

For years to come,

Its effects will still last.

My trust so easily broken,

I just wanted us to last.

I understand I am different,

But I am glad.

Don't you ever say you know me,

We aren't the same.

Keep my name out of your damn mouth,

You're a fool who doesn't deserve my grace.

You were always there,

With me.

You saw every shade of me,

Every side of me,

Every light inside of me.

You held me through my sorrows,

Wiped my tears,

And made me, me.

But when times come to show,

I go to tell everyone I know,

How great you are,

Who you are.

They look at me strange,

Fear and confusion on their face,

"Who?"

My blood turns cold,

My heart stops it's tune,

You were never real.