You know the feeling of having a word on the tip of your tongue?
You can't quite place it, but it lingers and haunts you for days on end.
When I met you, that feeling went away.
Your name was the word I'd been searching for I didn't know I needed.
Every morning and every evening, your name became my daily prayer.
With one encounter all the words fell into place and my purpose on this planet seemed destined for your embrace.
Not yet Entitled
In the Silence, there was only Cowardice. My own. Bared like a tribal death mask. It is to be sure not the romantic soul that one would hope to uncover behind the clawed vitalistic marks-- but instead the calloused workaholic who casually admits that the Heart has many loves within the Universe, and just one Master: the Work, Itself. Indeed it seems almost criminal. And that is where my tongue has faltered. Upon this desktop alter, I want to say how much I admire the private initiative... The self-sacrifice of the performance Artist, the fight of the Entrepreneurial Spirit! If this speaks to you-- please be humble, and gentle with those unalike. Yes, you are among the proud few. Many would stand as firm if they could, and then won't, for arbitrary reasons. I know because that is me. Ninety-nine percent in, and unwilling to commit to taking that self-lit path to wherever it leads. It is a fundamental lack of Faith (in self, in the greater Good, and in the Almighty). It is my Silent shameful grief, the grasping at the Emptiness, that is Me. True, in this wilderness where I am adrift I am seeking a bond of the like minded, and better yet of those who are striving to advance beyond this dissonance. And I'd like to believe that there is a friendly soul or two here who understands me beyond the confines of the sketchy script. That's it. I have said too much out of hand. I return to blank inward Silence, with its soul splicing Loudness.
Silence challenge @Midnightstars
Will the bruises go away when the pain decides to stop?
Will the rhythm come back in the center of my heart.
Will it be called love when you raise your hand to swing?
Will it be a song that I've heard of a gospel hymn that they sing?
Abuse is not an excuse for trying to take control.
Abuse is a trapped monster in the middle of their soul.
A monster that never had a chance to come to terms.
A monster that expresses weakness as it learns.
I watched my friends die.
I watched them as they ate less, as they let words into their heads and hate into their minds.
I watched them cry and shake with fear as they read the headlines.
"They killed a boy on the street."
"A boy that looked like me."
A boy that was Black.
A boy that was told he was free.
"They're telling everybody that I'm delusional, that I'm a disease, something bad."
"Our former president said we should be banned."
A girl with big, trembling hands.
A girl who was trans.
I watched them as they flinched, those hands covering their ears as the door to the classroom bangs against the lock. I watched them try to breathe, try to feel.
"It's okay, it's just a drill, it's not real."
"They made it legal to carry a gun without a safety class."
"God, this day might be my last."
"63 shootings in 29 days, it's happening so fast."
I watched you promise me life. I watched you promise me liberty. I watched you promise me the pursuit of happiness, press, religion, petition-
I'm just 16. I'm just a kid.
I know nothing about politics.
But you broke all those promises.
And all I can be is silent.
What I'm wishing to tell you,
What I ache to describe
When each moment grows silent...
The world cunningly still
Behind our pleasant curtains, for the moment,
Folded out of our grasp...
...Is that you are as sweet,
As sweet as the strawberry/bananna flavored
Servings you feed our boy
You are as kind
As any woman I have ever had the grace
To know and find...
You are as beautiful
As the beginning of spring,
The birth of flowers and
The best summer days when we are lost
In revelry and praise,
Not knowing where to start our journey;
Because there are so many roads
Of sustenance, and good taste
That this pleasure seeker would gladly take
Within the nature of your face
My love, you improve my mirror,
And you nourish me whole!...
I love you so much,
And you are the life's goal...
When each moment grows quiet,
I try not to bite down
On the root my tongue;
Though too often
When I'm wishing to share
All my blessings that you
Just with care.
And with all that you do...
The moment where destiny teetered
When you looked into my eyes
And I wanted to tell you
I love you
We skitter around the topic
It comes out in the strangest of ways
in little hints in conversation
in a touch, a smile
And then when we really
the elephant in the room
Silence stretches its weight
Like an allergy
the subject itches
as we stare across the gap
incapable of saying the words
And so they hang between us
Reality that never begins
keeping us together
yet forever and always apart
When the Record Stops
Life is good
& creative fortitude
we are living in
in the auditorium
of closed eye
Revelry. . .
Reverie. . .
Reveling. . .
are Springing in
in purest silent
Imagery. . .
Silence challenge @MidnightStars
The pounding in my head is almost like a metronome. It continues rhythmically over and over until the ringing in my ears sets the only tone I can hear. Voices around me fade and faces start to blur. It becomes a pixelated slow-motion show and I have become an observer. I no longer exist, but I'm watching from the sidelines as images that now are unclear frantically dart around. The chaos distorts my mind in an act of protection until my brain can process what is before me and start to catch up.
My heart rate slows, and I can feel each breath fill the lungs in my chest. In that moment it all comes into view.
So clear, so fast and loud. It is almost deafening to rejoin the mess before me.
Just as quickly as my world went slow and silent, it sped back up with the volume on full blast. I am then thrown into the action and moving right along with the pace. The fight or flight phase my sympathetic nervous system engaged has once again come and gone. Leaving me to fight my way through another tragedy that I get to call my job.
It started out like a fairytale. She was showered with gifts and poems and false hope. He came onto her strong, he came onto her fast. The word Love was spoken early on. I’m not sure when it became so horrible.“If you don’t stop crying by the time we get there, I’m slitting my wrist.” He threatens her. And these kind of words weren‘t unusual, but yet they stung differently this time. She wanted to cry louder, she wanted to scream out to the world she was a ghost to, she wanted to yell “Get me out of this Hell!” She wanted to yell, “Stop doing this to me!” She wanted to fall to her knees and let the tears escape her even faster, even harder. But she blinked her eyes and stopped the tears. The silence was deafening. She became ice cold and numb to the temperature, numb to the feeling of anything at all. A slave to her own lover, she was. A slave to the person she thought would never hurt her. But his words cut so hard that she shut it all off. In this moment, she gave him power. She gave him evidence that she would do what he says, including telling her how to feel, she would do it. How do you write about something so big? How do you talk about something so big? When they look at us, at the restaurant, they cheers our love. They buy us shots at the bar and tell me I’m so lucky to be young and in love. And it is perfect… for him, because he got his way. But Love isn‘t threatened. Love isn’t, if I don’t get what I want, I’m taking away someone you care about. Love isn’t, ”If you ever leave me, I’m killing myself.” Her stomach sank when he spoke these words. Her stomach sank when he did cut his wrist, when he told her it’s because he loved her. Her stomach dropped to the floor when he told her, “You make me do this.” This is what happens when she doesn’t listen. This is what happens when she tries to run. When she tries to run far away, just like her own therapist said. And so she listens. When he tells her to be happy, and here are some drugs, she takes the drugs and is happy. When he tells her to stop being so mopey, she takes another bump and smiles. He can take her job, he can take her car, he can cut her off from everyone in her family. But will she let him take her own soul? Her own dignity? Will she let him have it all, all of her, and more? What will it take for her to listen to herself, listen to that voice in her head that’s saying “Get out!” “Escape!” Her life isn’t so dreamy anymore, her life is Hell and her life is reality.
Words and Silence
There are words on the tip of my tongue.
But to silence, I've clung.
There are words of happiness,
Words of grief and sorrow.
Words that I'll never be able to tell tomorrow
The world is changing and the future is coming near.
Closer and closer, I find something to fear.
I fear the world as it crumbles beneath our feet.
The news brings the anguish of the street.
I fear to never be complete.
Words have failed me again.
When I can't say what I feel to family or a friend.
I fear my end when there is nothing more to the world I can send.
But until the future will commence,
I will hang onto my safe silence.