a feeling drags the body down, deep into the abyss of darkness. retreat into thyself, into the abyss of the soul. sit there, legs hanging off the bed, eyes locked onto nothing, mind running too fast or saying the same thing slowly.
the mind wants tears to come, but the body has no more to give. eyes dry, mouth screaming, gaping hole aching in thy chest, the body shuts down, wanting to do no more.
the legs and feet move slowly, like a turtle, trudging against the hard floor, to the room where so much has happened. reaching for the handle, cold and smooth against thy palm.
the silver surface on the wall reflects the world’s view, red face, empty eyes, messy hair.
hands fumble for the familiar sharpness, mind knowing that this moment could always be the last.
back against the wall, body sliding down to sit on the floor, cold tile embracing the legs.
the blade pricks the skin, blood blossoming like flowers in the spring, running down the skin of the wrist, like a river coursing over rocks and dripping onto the white tile
eyes look up, familiar white looking back, pain erupting, spreading up the arm like a wildfire.
smoke dances on the edges of vision, the haziness fogging the mind.
relief is felt, but the sick mind cries for more pain, more relief, for what else could make this aching hole better?
the door with the cold, smooth handle bursts open, and a figure appears. the tears the sick body couldn't produce are made by the figure.
the blade is taken from the sick body and thrown in the bin where all rubble goes.
blood still babbles like the creek, but a cloth, like a large stone, stops the river from flowing.
help in the form of a screaming van and kind, sad eyes is called.
the smoke has overtaken the vision, now the mind sees nothing but black, and the body, unresponsive, refuses to move.
the body is taken to the clean place that smells like cleaning products and is taken to be poked and prodded right away.
the body, still as unresponsive as the mind, is pumped with blood from a stranger, the clean people hoping to fix what was lost by the sick mind.
finally, hours later, the body, and the mind, wake up.
the tears that couldn't be produced earlier, are produced now, but in confusion.
the sick mind wanted to die, yet the others wouldn't let it.
why the sick mind asks, why are you trying so hard to keep me alive?
but then, an outside figure tells them that they are loved, and other figures do care about them.
the mind doesn't understand at first but then, they get it a little bit. maybe others do care for them. maybe they are loved.
and they realize, maybe things aren't the best right now, and maybe they won't be alright tomorrow, but it will be ok in the future.
and then the mind realizes life is like a semicolon, it's okay to pause for a minute to recover and take a break to think, but, life has to continue eventually;
Knitting Murder Club
Innocent little ladies, so they seemed
uncorking mouths to let sins out.
Knit One, Purl Two
Knitting virgin white sweaters
covering their blackened souls.
For all the members of sordid group
had pasts kept cloaked inside.
Knitting needles had sharpened points -
Becky used one to do her lover in
a spiked stab to base of the neck
nary a mark to detect cause of death.
Knit One Purl Two
The things they knit were sturdy and sure
but violations they had committed
unraveled as their tales spilled out
many secrets of which they were proud.
Anna bragged she had tightened a scarf
around neck of husband who had cheated
dumped him in sinking sand nary to be found.
“Scoundrel left me!” she cried out to her friends
Knit One Purl Two
Black wooly socks soaked in poison by Lila
absorbed through the skin by her father
death blamed on heart attack by doctors
all his fault because he had molested her.
His passing gave her great satisfaction.
Knit One Purl Two
All the women in the dark knitting group
shared their stories but knit themselves
into a corner when one too many
losses occurred and it sounded like a yarn,
trying to pull wool over detective’s eyes.
Knitting group all convicted at trial
they had blabbed way too much -
jury and judge all agreed on conviction.
The evil little group now continues together
wearing striped uniforms in prison confines.
Knit One Purl Two
in the style of Robert Browning
A soda. There’s a chimpanzee downtown
At Robinson’s, right now, drinking soda,
And all the while reporters scrawl and laugh
To see this monkey—Joe Mendi, it’s named—
With straw in furry hand ten feet from where
I first agreed to do this thing. Is this
What it was for? A headline, scores of them,
To show the circus came to Dayton? I’m
Unsure about it, George, unsure of how
This serves our cause, or Dayton, Tennessee—
Why do you laugh…? Of course I know we’re in
The news! But to what end? Evolution’s name,
And Dayton’s name, are tied now to a chimp
Who sips a soda on a stool, a joke,
A flannel-suited mockery of all
We know is true. …I won’t. My lips remain,
While angry, silent, mum. But answer me:
Am I a puppet, Mr. Rappalyea?
I thought I joined a team that day, but shots
Are fired about my head and I call none.
You set the meeting, asked me there,
Contrived arrest for something I’d not done
And I agreed, to end this backward law.
I will not spill; the story’s safe with me:
“A drugstore argument, a broken law.”
And not at all confederacy, and not
A plan. None will admit the origin.
They can’t—ungilded candor lacks the shine
Demanded by ambition. Robinson
Is slinging drinks all day (his drugstore will
Replace its fountain when all’s said and done,
Just wait), and Bryan wields his Bible, verse
By verse declaiming holy words in town
So people nod “Amen.” And Darrow, he
Spins yarns and charms and holds his court, a king
And clown commingled. George, I’m nauseous. I
Just want to swim. July’s thick heat just grows
Unbearably, and swim I do, but they
(reporters, always more reporters) stand
With notepads. I can have no peace. It’s not
Your name they know, the mastermind behind
The scenes. It’s mine. You choose to speak
But I am forced to hide. I’ll always hide.
You knew that, George, I think… a brand new hire,
Fresh out from university... The books
Will say that Tennessee v. Scopes took place
In 1925. That’s not the end
For Scopes. They print my name, not yours. The case
Soon ends, but I will never teach again.
Some days all I do is search my hair for split ends. My head starts hurting and I look up to find that the whole damn earth has smooshed itself against my bedroom window. No thank you, earth. I’m already a planet. I close the curtain. My lighting is screwed. Conditions are no longer optimal. Earth is petty. The wayward corvids that visit my yard need rehabilitating. They call me shiny but can’t cache a planet. And here’s this hushed calamity. Dirty and wet drip, drip leaking into my cochlea. It's the sound heard in strip mall parking lots on those days when the brown snow-sludge has been shoved into corners. The trees are sweating. And the sun is blaring down like, this is a fucking interrogation.
Many have been through trials
Battling to win the game of:
With chaotic pride
In the parade of
Jumping over hurdles
And dashing to the finish line,
Only to come up short.
Join along in the struggle
To breathe a breath
Of broken hearts.
Ignore the bright bold colours
And come into the dark,
The shadows that hold secrets that will never be brought to light.
My trials hold truth,
And I will weave you out
From behind your mask of deceit,
Because I bet you
You’ve only beat the others racing
By taking knives to their backs.
For ignoring the pain,
For ignoring the hurt you’ve placed on others or yourself.
Look past the illusion of the parade:
With the brightness,
There is darkness—
Life is more than the bright shiny typical future,
There is the pain,
The emotional game of fulfillment.
And I’ll be watching your parade,
As you dance on to the end of your “trial”,
Because I once,
Was naive like you,
Naive enough to believe that:
Playing the game of love, life, and lies,
Was the hardest trial I ever had to overcome.
But it’s in the shadows
Where the real struggle begins.
Court is Now in Session
IN THE CIRCUIT COURT FOR FICTIONAL CITY, USA
JOHNSON’S INNER CHILD
v. Conscious Docket
JOHNSON, ET AL. ,
OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT OF PROCEEDINGS
(JURY TRIAL – DAY ONE)
Fictional City, USA
January 25, 2020
THE HONORABLE GOD ALMIGHTY, JUDGE
The Clerk: All Rise
The Court: Good afternoon everyone and everyone be seated. Now calling for the record the case of one Inner Child Hurt v. Johnson’s Heart & Soul, et al., it’s a dire matter 01-2020. And if Council would identify themselves for the record.
A. Grace: Good afternoon, Your Honor, Amazing Grace here, on behalf of the Defendant, Inner Child.
F. Time: And Father Time as well, Your Honor, on behalf of the Defendant.
I. Child. And, Your Honor, Inner Child on behalf of the Plaintiff, Johnson.
B. Heart. And good afternoon, Your Honor, Broken Heart here, also for the Plaintiff.
THE COURT: And good afternoon, everyone.
A. Grace: And, your Honor, seated to my right is Jane Doe (phonetic), a paralegal at our office, and seated to her right is the Accused, Johnson.
THE COURT: Okay
A. Grace: Thank-you, Your Honor
THE COURT: and, are we ready to proceed or are there any preliminary matters?
A. Grace: I believe we are ready to continue, Your Honor.
OPENING STATEMENT BY BROKEN HEART
May we speak now, if it please the court, good-afternoon. What brings us here today to this Fictional Courtroom is the law of consciousness. And it is the law that protects inner children. But only if corrective measures choose to enforce the law, shall it be so. And, what you’ll hear from the Judge are a couple of terms. And, you’re going to hear the term “unconditional love” a lot. And, basically this term means one important thing: Inner children have a right to depend on their caretakers to provide the attention and love they need to be happy. This is a trial of consciousness. It’s not a criminal case. No one is going to jail. No one is being punished.
OPENING STATEMENTS BY INNER CHILD
THE JURORS: Good Afternoon
As the Plaintiff, I am Johnson’s inner child and, on this day of January 27, 2020 in Fictional Court, USA, I not only represent myself, I stand in defense of all the other inner children of the world. Some may select other titles to describe who and what an inner child is. Many people might think that the inner child is the better part of the dreams and challenges that live inside of the soul. Others think it is simply the instrumental flow of consciousness that defines the meaning. And, still other folks often say that the “inner child” is simply symbolic of better wishes that don't always come true. The wishes sometimes not granted because of the fact that our caretakers give up on themselves.
Your Honor, realistically speaking, I know this Court cannot force the Plaintiff to better love herself and bring out the best in her inner child. I ask only that the Defendant, Johnson, is required to take a clearer look at MY need for her attention and care. Let it be known that all the Jurors selected for this trial are, in fact, secret angels that have been in the Defendant’s life since birth. Amazing Grace and Father Time are on Johnson’s side. I, too, as well as the broken heart that comes from years of the Defendant’s self-neglect, love my caretaker. Your Honor, this trial isn’t about pointing fingers of guilt or sentencing Johnson to a self installed prison. The Jurors do not have a single vote cast as a “guilty” vote and the only hope set forward is for the Plaintiff to love herself and change.
THE COURT: On the record of this matter of Johnson’s Heart & Soul vs. Inner Child’s Right to Live, Conscious Docket 01-2020, are we ready to begin?
A. Grace: We are, Your Honor.
THE COURT: Okay
A. Grace: And, of our only witness today, I call
A witness, produced on call of the State, first having been duly sworn according to law, was examined and testified as follows:
BY THE COURT
Q. Miss Angel, if you would tell me your name for the record:
A. Guardian Angel, the mom.
Q. Would you tell the Court what your relationship is to the Defendant, Inner Child?
A. I am the Defendants guardian angel and beloved mother. I was also the Plaintiff’s loving, earthly parent and cared for her, from diapers to adulthood. When I reached the age of eighty-seven, I went home to heaven to be with the Lord and my beloved husband, Kenny, and continued to do my work. As of today, I am the guardian angel, watching over both the Defendant and the Plaintiff, 24/7, and I do so with a willing heart, your Honor.
Q. G. Angel, for a verdict to be rendered, would you please tell the court in what
ways the Defendant has harmed the Plaintiff?
A. Yes. There have been many times that the Plaintiff did not love herself enough
and, in turn, failed to see she had an inner child within that needed her. Even now, at age-62, the Defendant still has the same inner child that is often left alone in the world. Let the Court know that Johnson’s unhealthy habits have had a bad affect on the little girl that lives in her: overeating to the point of obesity, starving herself when she was near anorexic, her excess worry, self-denial and shame. The list of “sins” could go on and on as it is; we all fall short and make mistakes in our lives. As Johnson’s mother, I have returned from heaven to testify to the fact that forgiveness is in the Hands of the Lord.
SENTENCING AND CLOSING STATEMENT FROM THE HONORABLE GOD ALMIGHTY, JUDGE
IT IS THE JUDGMENT OF THIS COURT:1. For the neglect of self and lack of self-love, the Defendant is sentenced to instant forgiveness for all of her sins, past, present and future. 2. For the cause of creating a broken heart within her inner child, the Defendant is set free of guilt and sentenced to serve a term of lifetime friendship with said Inner Child, seeking guidance from above and finding mutual harmony. 3. These sentences are to run concurrent with each other and the costs are waived. Sins are paid for in full by the Son of the Honorable God Almighty Judge. Both the Plaintiff and Defendant are unconditionally loved. Unconditional love means that I, the Honorable God and Almighty God, will always love you, in spite of your mistakes. I find true pleasure when you care for each other with unconditional love as well.
COURT IS ADJOURNED. YOU MAY BE DISMISSED.
One more day
Individually invisible to the naked eye, collectively the slurry of filth permeated the room as a blanket leaving everything to chance. The dead tiny soldiers lay silently, longing to be put to rest, desperately clinging and cautiously shifting with the subtle movement coming from under the sheets; a toss, a turn, a constant shallow breathe in, breathe out in between fitful nightmares. To the words engraved into the surface of the dusty silver coin by the bedside, life would go on whether or not it’s recipient interpreted the symbolism, or valued the significance and followed through with his promise. It was the 29th day of a 30 day month, one more long excruciating day to go for the red coin to be pulled out of the bag before the group confessional and handed over, entrusted by covenant, defined as daily crapshoot.
Slow to leave slumber, nonsensical images flooded the mind of the body unable to grasp the newness of the day, or the incomprehensible desire to leave his demons behind. He reached towards the bedside where there would surely be a bottle to be had with something left, if not vapors, knocking off the dusty silver coin and it bounced. Light as it was, the sound was enough to remind him of the words he thought would never be his to embrace, 24 hours of sobriety. And then it hit him. “Get up, get showered, get to work, get to a meeting, don’t drink and one of these days, find the strength to clean up this mess.” But as long as he continued to clean up his act, the dust would remain settled, and a new milestone awaits, if only he can make it one more day.
You were put on trial but got off scot-free.
I received no jury but was put in jail for your crimes.
Love and hate
Where passion bleeds
Love and hate
Its truth and vine
Poured, our souls
When crushed like wine
Love and hate
The nail and stone
Flesh and bone
Love and hate
To bless or curse
Tried by fire
Ink and verse
Love and hate
Bear fruit and seed
Squeezed like jam
Comfit of deeds
Love and hate
The flower press
Still, preserved in death
The crowds bellowed, chanting a reverberating chant, stars dancing across the night sky; joyous, harmonious, and unified. The ruler decrees a notorious sentiment, a sentiment unacceptable to the land the people claim as their own. A superstar, a politician, a journalist, an academic, and a citizen unite till their last breath. Standing in solidarity against the despot whose tyranny claimed the life of many. The streets are laced with the blood of the fallen, the innocent, and the judged. Without trial, without repose. Violence rules over the miasma of the night, stunning even those that stood ignorant on the sidelines. The lurkers and the watchers, unaffected no longer. The time on peace ran out when the despot took the throne. Now, the crowds shout and scream, their fists in the air with chants of freedom. The freedom they deserve, the freedom that is their right.
Thousands across the land stand together, bound by the same cause; freedom. Once again, a fire is ignited in the hearts of many. Every person comes out to drag the despot himself on the stand. No one stands idle, no one watches from the margins of privilege. The veil is pulled away in the most scathing manner, leaving nothing but perforations in its wake. The portal opened and the demons stepped out, and the crowds shout. They shout for the land, they shout for the end of their suffering. The land that once was, no longer remains. Changes, a little in a name here, a little in a song there, destroy the fabric of what was once a most majestic part of the world. Tethered by the ropes of greed and arrogance, blinded by the glimmer of untouched, unchecked power, the land now stands as a mere shell of its former self. But, hope.
Hope, because the crowds gather. They continue to stand together in droves. Stadiums, parks, schools, and monuments reverberate with the sounds and shouts of freedom from oppression. Students do not hold back, parents do no hold back, and while the unsuspecting leader, the despot, sits in abandon surrounded by mirrors to celebrate his narcissism, the crowds gather to bring him to trial. A hammer and a nail. That is all it takes to break the mirror. The despot is brought back to his place on Earth that is our land. The crowds tearing apart his arrogance and his unaffected daze, his imperviousness and his thick skin. He falls.
Not a drop of blood is shed. No violent calls echo in the now mirror-less room. Only the crowds who stand, their heads high, palms together as if in prayer, and a ghost of a smile hinting at days to come. Days full of promise. Days full of hope.