It'd be easy to say

it's my mom's fault

for telling me 

she never wanted me

until the day she died

or my father who 

was never told he was loved as a child

so couldn't say it to his children either.

It'd be easy to blame their genes

passed on to make 

mental illness

my one sure thing life.

I could blame it on

being raised poor

never pretty

always plump

without cool clothes

sitting by myself at lunch

never picked for anything

much less popular

first with girls

later with boys.

I could blame it

on all the things

I tried and failed

to fill the hole

in my soul

    sex

      drugs

        booze

          cutting

            and then

inevitably attempted suicide.

I could blame it all

but then

I wouldn't get credit

for the life I made from it all.

Something in me took every

         slap

            punch

                put-down

                     rejection

                              failure

and whispered, "Show them."

and

     I did.

I took control

spreading out

all the crazy pieces

my life had given me 

and

arranged

and

stitched them together

into a zany masterpiece.

I yearn to grab handfuls of control

and throw them wildly to the winds,

unzipping my jacket of solitude,

escaping my alienation in puffs of smoke,

tearing open my ribcage to let blood flow,

exposing my veined soul for world to see,

awareness oozing freely in the truth.

Dancing fearlessly on pin head of control,

bending and melding with cool breezes,

unshackling handcuffs imposed by others,

uncurling my tongue and letting it wander,

unraveling chaos to escape stark madness,

loosening grip to undo restrictions of past,

casting off blindfolds to see light illuminate.

Splitting foundations of backward progress

into pieces, releasing the womb of mystery,

water seeping through roadblocks to its source.

I can’t force the sun to come out tomorrow

or the black storm clouds to dissipate in life,

won’t bow down to false images of control,

throwing out limits of faulty expectations.

Life is not a thing one can control.

Life is alive;

A giant shaggy monster;

A hairy hearty beast.

Some days the beast is tamer

Than other days.

Sometimes it is a slave

To other peoples beasts,

Though often it is stuck

In its own headstrong heart.

Sometimes the beast lays dormant

Till someone kicks its haunch.

But no one can control a life.

The beast can not be saddled.

The best you can hope to do... is lead it.

“Who is in control of your life?”

At it’s heart, this question contains an element of what I subjectively refer to as ‘basic truth’ regarding life. You may not agree, but because of my belief in this truth I am a happy person, and it is one I have tried to ensure that all of my children, grandchildren, and indeed, every young person I have mentored in any fashion, have not only grasped, but committed to heart.

Before we can honestly answer this question of control, we have to agree on exactly what it means—as a concept, “control” is difficult to pin down. Keep in mind that there is a percentage of people who, through physical, mental or emotional disability or immaturity, need others to be in charge of some, or even all, of their daily lives. This message does not apply equally to these folks, whether children or adult.

For the rest of us, the basic truth that I have found is this:

You cannot truly control anything in life, except how you react and respond to what happens to you, and the choices you make.

Please, read that again—it is that important.

Society imposes certain limitations and expectations on us and our behavior, but we must choose to respect those. The law says I can’t speed in my car, but the truth is, I choose to obey that law. If I choose to disregard this societal imposition, it may well cost me my money, my freedom, or even my life; choices have repercussions... most of which I also have no control over. If I drive in traffic, I cannot control how the drivers around me handle their vehicles, but I can choose to get angry and curse them, or turn on some jazz music and relax. That choice is up to me.

You can be victimized by outside forces, people and events, but that doesn’t mean that anyone or anything can dictate how you respond. There are those who are physically, mentally or emotionally abused and imprisoned by others [if this is you, please reach out and find help] but for everyone else, those people you love and/or hate only have as much power over you as you let them have. No one can make you have a bad or good day, feel angry or excited, make you smile or hurt your feelings... unless you let them. We all know of people who let life’s miseries bring them down, and others who rise above the turmoil… for the most part this is a matter of them exercising control of their reactions, and then choosing how to move forward.

As humans, there is very little about the physical world around us which we can actually control. You can’t do much about the wind, the tide, or the seasons. Weather, like most of the environment, is something we can work to modify and learn to deal with… but controlling it is fantasy at best. You can shape your surroundings; you can build a place to exist in which you have some measure of impact on the forces around you; you can choose which people to associate with, and thereby gain a bit of control of the energy (both positive and negative) around you.

The key element is choice—and we must remember that choosing NOT to choose, is also a choice we sometimes make.

In the end, as much as I would like to be able to blame someone else for the bad parts of my life, and take credit for the good parts, all I can honestly say is that I have, with time and effort, gained a fair amount of control over my reactions and responses, and I am actively working on making the best choices I can to ensure that the majority of circumstances in my life are ones that I want to happen.

I choose to be a happy person, and I am in control of that choice... and thereby how I live my life.

© 2017 - dustygrein

Sometimes, it’s Autism.

The girl behind the counter slides me my tray, the delicious scent of my burger and fries invading my senses. “Enjoy your meal.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Oh, God. I screw my eyes shut. I’ll think back on this moment for years to come, and the embarrassment will come flooding back.

..

…

..

I get the dreaded call, which I never understood. Why call those who don’t get the job? Just let me slink away into the darkness; no need to shout, “You’re slinking into the darkness” as I go. I’m fully aware already.

“I’m sorry to say you didn’t get the job. They felt you were a little distant. They couldn’t sense your excitement.”

So I curse my inability to make eye contact like a normal person, I curse my apathy that covers my empathy, and I curse some more for good measure because I like threes. And fives and any number that creates a natural middle point. If I text someone three emoji hearts, the middle one can be another color and voilá, you have a nice pattern.

Sometimes, it’s Him.

“Kneel, girl.”

I fall to my knees and bow my head.

..

…

..

He plucks thoughts straight from my mind, molds them after his desires, and shoves them back in. A look, a smirk, a kiss, a tasty little slice of logic, a word that triggers, a touch, and then I’m spinning and spiraling with his sadistic mindplay.

“It’s okay, I’ll catch you afterward.”

I fall, tremble, and trip, out of control.

Sometimes, it’s Characters.

I could bang my head against a wall. I want them to go there, and they insist on going in the opposite direction. I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready; just obey me, you imaginary people, and they refuse. They go their own way. I write them as they wish, as they set the pace for them, never me. Never me.

“How’s the book coming along?” he asks, and I tell him to go away. Go away, go away, go away. I’m arguing, you see. I’m the one fighting with fictional characters because their minds are stronger than my own.

“I can’t argue logic, okay?” I snap. So I obey characters.

..

…

..

Clutching my head, fingers digging into my hair, I rock back and forth and try to summon the right voice. I need him to speak, but the noise from another heroine is louder. Write me, she demands, and I don’t have time. I’m sorry, but I need that guy behind you; please un-gag him. I need to write him.

“Will you make the deadline?” my editor wonders.

I scream.

Who controls my life?

You.

I gave you the key,

the power over me.

My insecurity

Needing a like,

a heart,

a part of me

craving security

from obscurity.

A comment

on my submission,

to you.

To your acknowledgement.

On my accomplishment.

I'm addicted to praise,

a social media craze.

I'm not enough anymore,

an online whore.

Or maybe I never was.

The insecure child

who aimed to gratify,

 now grown up,

needing a praise high.

Because she's nothing

if she's not seen,

invisible and stuck between,

who she is and who she wants to be.

#poetry #challenge

You can do as you will but not will as you will…

so noted with sadness our dearest Schopenhauer.

… is this not the question of the hour?

… the very fatal limitation of our power?

… that wicked starting point already dour…

So am I in control of my Life!? Or is my Life gripping Me?

Who exactly is Destiny? Will she not my very Death be?

Yet can I help but to pretend that Life is mine to spend—

Every breath to expend for some meaningful good end!

But if it’s not given? Goodness! If it’s just not Given…

And I, nay We condemned to still go on Livin…

… a priori Forgiven?

They say you control me, as I am the head, and You, the neck.

They say that through my stomach, You influence my heart... but the truth of your power actually lies beneath the navel of this boiling tea-bound bergamot orange.

It is only after the moment where the pressure is released...

that You,

are nothing to me.

I no longer need

You…

and You,

no longer control, me.

I can think clearly,

and I, am completely,

rational.

Awaken, and no longer blinded by nature's hypnosis,

I can now unpeel

You,

from your power.

It is solely within this ever-escaping ephemeral moment

where the monkey holds

an unloaded gun…

that I can see

You,

for whom You truly are - -

No strings attached.

Copyright © 1986-2017

Alan Salé

All Rights Reserved

contact: AASalehi@gmail.com

PoetryByAlan.com

That's a piece of advice I've heard pretty often. Similar in frequency to the other dreaded one, "get married and settle down." 

Well, for one, I don't really believe that one needs to be in control of one's life. I mean, sure, control freaks do better in the worldly ways - money, marriage and the works. And yet...

Wondering what I'm blabbering?

See, I don't know about you but I'm a firm believer of Shiva, the most powerful Indian deity or God to be specific, and I believe he has things already placed out there for me. I  just need to rummage through the slush pile or in more sophisticated words, find my treasure through the hunt. Now, the hunt need not be very well thought out or planned. No plan means no control. You just go with the flow discovering clues along the way and hitting jackpot in the end!

(Please don't get hung up on Shiva. It's a belief system, and I believe in Him. You could simply believe in life itself, or not!)

I've done a great many things in life and I'm still some distance from "arriving" in life. But, I don't care so much. I care more about the "discovering clues" part of the game and discoveries can neither be planned nor can they be controlled.

So, if I were to say who or what controls my life; I'd say Shiva does. In other words, life controls itself.

Sometimes

I wonder

about everything

we know:

what is

our purpose

is there a plan

or is it just clamor?

I don't know

where to go

stuck in this mud

no plan, no thoughts

guided along a path

that isn't mine

vacant eyes

glazed over with the knowledge

that this won't change

the path I must travel

with all the others

can't say no

nowhere to go

the mud is too heavy

I'm weighed down with lies

who to trust

who doth know

where do I go?

I open my mouth to speak

but no sound escapes

Fall into the rabbit hole

open your eyes

into wonder, mystery, awe

I'm curious

a piece of me is still alive

I need a fire

spark me, burn me, inspire me please

where do I go

reach for my soul

tell me what I need

crush success

create a path

I know I can

I see the elements

now grab hold and pull

Into the rabbit hole we go

my last string

a puppet's thing

release the rope

bloom anew

DESTINY, FIRE, HOPE.