I'm jealous of my neighbors. Not in a malicious way but rather a slight envy. They however are most likely oblivious to the fact that their life could be desired.

They are a married couple. Married for many years. Years that are evident in the early mornings. My busted back porch the only witness to the wife's arthritic watering can struggle. But it's these years I imagine that sowed the seeds she tends.

The husband is a calm blue collar cut from a cloth that's not made anymore. He wears his years riding the tractor in the sun. Each deep groove in his sweating forehead another memory made.

We share courtly hellos and banter over the chain link fence. Their's a proper yard, and I the neighboring jungle. My yard is striking. Filled to the brim with little tykes plastic and well manicured weeds. They must laugh quietly to each other while I chase after my children.

As dinner time approaches, a storm in my home, the neighbors retire to their porch. Their grill rolling out mouthwatering scents, while I burn the chicken for a second time.

I catch their eyes as I wave my arms frantically out the window. Steering the black kitchen smoke to the breeze. They smile, and I'm jealous. She sits with a book in her hand, their supper finished, as he scans the paper. Their eyes hold mine another minute longer as I hold my breath and turn back to the stove.

She seems to say "I've been there before" and he just smiles. They've seen it all in their years. Their children are grown. I've seen them stop by. This couple I'm sure has burned lots of chicken.

I'm exasperated. Tiny mouths are all awaiting their meal. I turn back to the window envious still of the wife's hands idly resting on book pages. And I catch them.

A fleeting moment of silent speaking that only comes with many years shared. They said "remember when" and she dropped her head. His eyes quickly flashing a time of their family's youth. When their yard held a swing set and a tiny play house. I stood wringing my hands around a damp tea towel. Suddenly very aware of the blessing that is burnt chicken.

Because as I stood jealous of their quiet evening retreat, they were watching reminiscent and they jealous of me.

       “He was a man of few words,” they’ll tell you.

But that isn’t completely true. In fact, it is false to say that this man - boy might be a better thing to call him - was one of few words.

In reality, this boy was a master of words, a practised expert in the subject. But it was not spoken words that were his domain, it was written words. For this boy was an author, as precise and as careful as a painter, his pen his brush and his words his paint. Indeed, this boy had talent! Truly, a quintessential artist of the floating world.

His mind was a powerful machine, creating worlds, bringing characters to life. He would sit alone for hours, never speaking with his tongue, speaking volumes with his hands.

To the few that understood, he was a success. The brilliant mind of a brilliant artist creating art that was a marvel to behold.

But as it is in this physical world, art is as fleeting as beauty, not suspended for all eternity, as it is in the floating world.

He would temporarily leave his words for a while, if he was told he must. He was not one to cause disagreements in the physical world.

Those older than him would smile at him, their wizened eyes and skin wrinkling as they did so. “Do you know what you want to be when you’re older?” they would ask.

He would nod, a twinge of nervousness in his heart (as aforementioned, he was a man of few spoken words,) and reply that yes, he did, he wanted to be a writer.

Their reactions were always the same. As if he hadn’t spoken, they would laugh and shake their heads, saying “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll find what you want to do in time!”

He would smile in return, his lips tight. He would silently assure himself that they didn’t know what they were talking about, that they were just blind. That they didn’t understand his art, that his goal was right.

Ah, yes, truly, an artist of the floating world. Perhaps he would have succeeded, had the physical world had been more kind to him. He had been walking to class when a careless driver, drunk from the night previous, hit him with a two-ton pickup truck, and the dear artist was killed.

Pity, pity, pity.

Pity he didn’t prove those adults wrong. Pity he didn’t become the celebrated artist he had always dreamed of being. Pity the physical world wasn’t so kind to him, ending his beautiful dreams and words with the mistake of another man.

The words remained, their meanings gathering dust. The stories were forgotten. And what of the elders?

They’ll shake their heads and pity the man of few words. “He died so young,” they’ll say. “He hadn’t even figured out what he wanted to do with his life before it was taken from him.”

Stop generating hate

& be instead

An example of love

Learn the truth

Stand up, stand out

Question what you see

& what you hear

Don't follow the masses

Or get lost among the sheep

Be an advocate of change

An ambassador of life

Be unique

Be bold

Be wise

Speak up, speak out

Don't press mute

Don't press stop

Don't ignore the consequential facts

Disturbing though they may be

Reach up, reach out

Take the higher ground

Don't give in

To the fear they feed you

Fear is a mind killer

A means of control

It shuts down the rational

Starts up manic delirium

Delusion & panic

Yes, we live in a world of terror

A nightmare of pain

Of chaos & war

We cannot let it overcome

We cannot let it win

Where darkness reigns

Be a light

Promote love

Peace

Truth

Unity & hope

Show strength

Show courage

In the face of this adversity

& dream

Dream big

Dream life

Dream love

Dream as one so that together

We can make the dreams reality

©CJ

*I wrote this on the morning of the Paris terror attacks. There is so much in this world meant to incite fear in us. We have to be stronger than the fear, stronger than the hate & stronger than the lies. We can't simply turn a blind eye to what we don't want to know. Nothing will ever change that way.

Chan xx

Everybody has a darkside, I know this to be true, I can lend you my mirror so you can see the darkness in you. 

Behaving myself, pretending all is good, when deep within my thoughts I'm doing things I never should.

Watching other people as they walk their way through life, seeing that their actions are anything but nice. 

Living in a world that has placed them where they are, only darkness has surrounded them, the light they seek yet seems so far.

Finding myself in a not so appropriate place, the people I'm with having a dispirited look upon their face.

Barely a glimpse of light ever appears, only the sadness of day-to-day trials and unwanted fears.

Back to the good, time to do the right thing, leaving the darkness behind me, seeing what the light will now bring.

I look across this vast ocean

This sea of storms and heavy rain

Here I’m trapped with no escape

While the waves crash down upon my pain

I cannot tell which way is clear

I cannot surface, can’t find air

I cannot breathe, I’m suffocating

Drowning in a black pool of despair

Have you ever been sad enough

To make your stomach feel sick?

So lonely that you want to die

And you pray to God it’s quick

That’s what it’s like, here in this place

With my stomach always churning grief

My soul is broken, my heart is torn

Stolen by some violent thief

I need to find where I belong

Then maybe, maybe I will feel sane

And maybe there I’ll find a smile

To break this opaque window pane

But I don’t know where this place is

Does it really even exist?

I’m so far gone, three times removed

Is there any point for me to persist?

I know how this sounds to everyone else

You who judge and sit on your horse

But you don't know the sorrow I feel

You cannot know it’s muddy course

Unless you’ve been here at least once

You do not have the right to judge

And even if you’ve been here before

You know you must not hold a grudge

You cannot blame a soul for dying

You cannot blame a heart for bleeding

You cannot blame the one who cries

You cannot blame the mind receding

There is a stigma attached

To the face named depression

That the people who wear it

Should just change their expression

But it is never that simple

And it will not ever be

So these people wander aimlessly

Searching for hope they will never see

If you know someone stuck in this curse

Do not let your judgement near

Instead try lending them a hand

And help them through the maze of fear

Depression is not a dirty word

It is not looking for attention

It just needs a tender touch

Don’t hurt it with your apprehension

It is not something make believe

The monster is not under the bed

This monster is indeed quite real

It lives and breathes inside the head

Do not avoid it, seek it out

Show it that there’s another way

It should not have to hide in shame

Thinking that life is always grey

There is a light at the tunnel’s end

If people drop discrimination

And reach right through that solid wall

With love and without hesitation

By: Me (Chanelle J)

15th Oct 2016

©CJ

For all my fellow soldiers struggling in this seemingly endless war - I love you, I stand with you & I fight with you. You are not alone. Know that. You. Are. Not. Alone.

May God bless you & keep you safe.

Chan xxx

I have a confession

See, I battle with depression

I fight a war of contrition

While lacking ambition

The sun stopped shining

As I was consigning

Words that were rhyming

To a heart that was pining

It was my own assignment

At attempting alignment

Without malignment

As an act of refinement

Yet, I failed

& my sanity bailed

The train derailed

Into oblivion I sailed

What went wrong?

How did I start this song?

A melody so long

I've lost where I belong

Storm clouds darkened as they came

To play their grotesque little game

& though I tried to douse the flame

I knew I'd never be the same

I don't know why

All I can do now is sigh

& think of every plausible lie

To tell them when they see me cry

I used to laugh

I wore a smile as my scarf

Then my heart tore in half

Now grief is my autograph

Everything I loved

I boxed up & gloved

Pushed aside & shoved

Till they became lost & unloved

I just want to scream

I'm ripping at the seam

Contained like whipped cream

Inside this hellish dream

It's so empty here

No hope, only fear

& the Reaper will leer

As his demons jeer

They will mock you

Massacre you through & through

Chain you to their prison crew

& there's nothing you can do

Im all alone

Shackled to this stone

With every move I groan

In this pain I've always known

I long for the light

That once shone so bright

I crave it with all my might

But its forever out of sight

My only friend

Is a bitter end

A pill to send

Me round the bend

I feel nothing

Yet I fear everything

Terrified of something

That is forever coming

It is worth it

To keep getting bit?

Should I just sit

& take every hit?

It's an endless procession

A masochistic obsession

To numb the expression

Is this a transgression?

I don't want to fight

I can't see the light

I see black, not white

& it's a ghastly sight

I'd love to see the sun once more

Remember what I once lived for

I used to drink sunlight through a straw

Now it's regressed to beguiling folklore

There's a song that sings

Of taking the weather as it brings

Whatever it would upon its wings

Instead of choking it with strings

But, maybe I want to choke

& suffocate inside my cloak

Breathe in the poisonous smoke

Like its some fantastic joke

My life is a nightmare

& I'm trapped in its snare

Caught in its lair

Does anyone care?

Among the clouds I'm lost

Frozen by frost

Into despair I've crossed

Into anguish I'm tossed

I've fallen down the rabbit hole

Probably even lost my soul

I stabbed it with a rusty pole

& replaced it with this lump of coal

If only I couldn't feel pain

Then maybe I could stop the rain

Wash away the bloody stain

Get off this suicidal train

But it's moving too fast

So many stops I've passed

& the weather's overcast

I don't think I can last

BY: Me (Chanelle J)

26th July 2017

©CJ

I wasn't born just to die

I'm here to write to live

not live to write

Being a poet takes all your might

You express your pain

and hope you find light.

there, it lingers

beading, gathering

there, it remains

increasing, dangling

a droplet, alone,

exhausted of

accumulating,

yet not falling

a droplet, swelling,

caught by a thread,

leaving potential

in suspension,

sorrow surges

depression drops in

for fear it may

never fall freely

Say that you will die

for me, and I will lie

down in your waiting grave

Say that you will die

for me, and I will sigh

long enough to smooth out

the letters and the dates

that bookend your life

Say that you will die

for me, and I will cry

out against you so to

set the heavens into such

commotion that they

should refuse you entry

and send you back

to your empty flesh, swell

your limbs with fresh life and

bright blood hot enough

to chase the chill from

your clouded eyes and

raise a pink blush at

the points of your fingers

and the tip of your nose

Say that you will die

for me, and I will reply

            “I am not the kind of person

             who enjoys sacrificial offerings.”

One, two, three, four

The beast is knocking at my door

Five, six, seven, eight

Sorry, it's already too late

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve

Its a beast no one can shelve

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

It will take me where I can't be seen

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty

Where insanity grows aplenty

One, two, three, four

Why bother counting anymore

Five, six, seven, eight

When nothing ever comes out straight

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve

Into the abyss it will make me delve

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

From it, I will never be clean

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty

For its owned me far too long already

But maybe if I keep on counting

I can delay the inevitable from fully mounting

Somehow ignore the rising waters

All these massacres & slaughters

Only... I cannot think as I once did

I cannot see through this sealed eyelid

I cannot breathe this putrid air

&... I don't think I even care

Wait...

Does this mean...

No.

No, no it can't.

But I really think it does.

It seems the beast has already won

& now I'm starting back at one.

One, two, three, four

The beast is knocking at my door

Five, six, seven, eight

Sorry, it's already too late

Nine, ten, eleven, twelve

It's a beast no one can shelve

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

It will take me where I can't be seen

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty

Where insanity grows aplenty....

One, two, three, four...

By: Me (Chanelle J)

27th July 2017

©CJ