Of Life

I keep having thoughts about this book I'm supposed to write. Am I a good writer, "yes" even i'll say that; great like the like's of Poe and other's? great in a sense that I believe my best stuff comes out when I'm fucked up. I've been struggeling with this for quite some time now. afraid to write unless i had some form of chemical substance in my system. altering how I think, and my reactions to certain situations; having now come to the conclusion that i would not have adapted to these situations as well otherwise.

I Have Fallen

It's getting more difficult to breath and lately, giving in to the urge of dying feels easier than that of living. Vague, I know, but for some reason the hold this addiction has on me won't allow spoken words about the angry facts; that I'm driven to insanity, everyday, until there's just a shell with my fading shadow at the helm of my soul. I am in pain and I'm not still young; I look it and act it, but it hurts. It's been a long time since I've changed who I am but this is the first time it's scary. My imagination and intellect used to astound and now, my mind... it's pale with trivia and popularity. I have succumbed to my faults, no better then they.

Every now and again I still see Him through fogged glass and sloppy flecks of tiny droplets splashed onto my window during a heavy rain. Each pearl of water, a memory, living out it's purpose. Tumbling down the window, burning the reason of His importance on the sill of my mind once again. And I wonder what he's thinking. Then, to myself, I say, "It'll never change or get better unless I force it. When did I become so afraid and weak? I just don't want this to be the end of my life."

Break and Release

Have you ever met someone who could change your entire being? It's not fair sometimes the way things work out but you go with it. When you want something so bad you'd completely rearrange the way you think and become someone so completely different, is it fair, to the person you are at that exact moment, the person you have been, to make that decision? Are we all limits or limitless.

Someone once told me that I should take care of myself more; be better to my psyche. I come out at night because this is when I can most feel my desire for the light. A direct line to the past and future lies within the trail of stars overhead. A pathway to thousands of lives. My life has been destroyed by the one living in this body. Time is dwindleling ever faster now and hope is ethereal freedom.

Within the events of my heart dates have been removed, lifetimes changed. A part of me has disappeared, once forgotten, remembered for you, now forgotten once again.

There is a tree, a cherry blossom, from which my heart hung. Picked; pink and solitary. Even away from the branch; at your touch, your taste, life was sustained. Upon your release; the thought of you wasn't enough. Decay, not ideal enough for how this heart feels. Without passion this heart ceases to exist.

As many times as you were right; this hurts the most to acknowledge... that you are serious to speak, "never together," My heart is broken and beside it leaks my soul. Pretty, red and ending. But I am strong... the one thing you were wrong about. Now, the only thing I have to live for are those once misspoken words. 

I will move on, survive... love again. 

Dreams from a simple heart

lightly crying, letting it all out. he sits there blankly in mind. the idea that he would give up to be with me. trust me this hurts more than you think. The simple mind could find no fault in the man with a great heart. To walk away would be keen in the absence of love. To surrender and live; dreams from a simple heart. The tears are drying now, cheeks rosy, lips... moist. With the flick of his tongue the salty residue is brought into his being. How could something as sweet as a tear cause more harm on a wound? Along with memorable kisses and divine speech,  swords of effort and courage given once to you now slice through the bars at chained emotion.

vulnerable

When exactly was I supposed to know? They say, "When the earth trembles," or,  "You feel it in your bones." When a rainbow cries how do you stop it from ripping the fabric of reality? Each tear, a wave of pain, crashing against the backside of the moon, pulling us closer. A sign to continue. A threat that this could be the last time for help. Thick billows of silvery grey smoke escape from my ears, releasing pressure; allowing communication. Technically, I'm fine. But from another angle issues run around poking closely at the scars from yesterday.

At the heart of this body exists a room with a thousand doors; there is only one for you right now. The rest are battling back tides from oceans of emotions. The doors holding them are degenerate and failing. I have only enough strength to hold them back for the one who will one day open them all,  release the pounding evidence and hold me close as we take on the fight together.

In the middle of disaster, there is one thing that grows. A single seed that survives, branching out and rooting in every memory, past or present. It invades confusion and breathes grace into it's lungs. It, is Love. Trust it. Unconditionally. Be willing to take the risk.

this is me... vulnerable

I already can't stand being away from you and the thought of loosing you to someone else or a mistake i've made weighs heavily on my conscious. I hate who I am when you are not around, the lack of characteristics upon my shoulders humiliates me. when you are gone I am more than alone. since I've met you, when i am alone, it's constant heartache. When you asked if i would marry you I meant it when I said yes even though we had only been on three dates. When I tell you I love you it comes from the one place I can't fully access unless you are there. I do feel safe when I'm with you. to give up addiction for your love is a fight I willingly gear up for.
I see you and nothing else matters. I want to be the best for you but I'm afraid im not. good enough. I feel like i could never understand why you love me. tonight i went out with you with the thought in my head that you were going to ask me to marry you. I would have and still will quit my job and leave my life to be with you. does that make me vulnerable, am I stupid to have the thoughts? Is that what true love is. desiring to be with the one you love, always? but I'm not going to. won't give into the lies that I can't find love with a man. because if i could, I have. so when I left the official third date  I was lost. heartbroken. I want to say that I knew you weren't going to ask me. and good. because I know now that you weren't ready to. me either. but the pain i felt when I went home without you. perfection in emotion. I guess I really did want you to ask me. more than I knew myself.
Sacrifice is next on my list. I need to feel the life I have snuffed out burn warmer now. I will not loose you to a mistake or a lie.

When we kiss, your lips glide across mine like a finely tuned dance. I love it when you pull me in closer. I get so nervous when you touch me still. your hands are firm and gracious as the hold me. your kisses to my forehead drive me wild.

so how am i the only one that has stuff to work on? just because i opened up to you about my life and issues means that you get to keep your shit private?

did you know, like I did, the first time we really met face to face. Boy you were cute. I couldn't even think. goofy and real. humbly sweet; a man with a child's heart. When people say they've found their other half... it makes so much sense now.

did you know like I did, when i saw your face for real the first time w actually met. I get scared knowing that you really want me the way you do. already comfortable, this relationship had gone from good to great. A constant state of aroused awareness. you are my other half. And around you I feel whole. It's a story or fairytale that's been told, heard and passed down for generations. Love. 

It's a long drive and the wait, unbearable. I love you has already been spoken and now we fight to see if it last. But that first impression, to live or die for love. The best impression. Serious looks and fumbling hands. Something has kept us from meeting before now... fate. I never believed it either; never though I could be 'The One' for another. By the end of lunch I want nothing more than to be wrapped in your arms,  movie in the background, asleep on your chest. You said that night you could feel my heartbeat. I say right now that I will always feel yours.

Parts of me are confused. I shouldn't be saying these things yet. Maybe I am vulnerable. But... I love him. there is no one else but him.  No one, but there is a bane, it's me. My addictions are guarded for now. Friends say to tell him, I say if it works then the changes I will make for him are welcomed. I don't want him to hurt.
I'm going to keep this cup we got on our first date together, maybe it won't work out but god I hope it does.

When to Wait (This is for you)

When we first met it was simple and I trusted you without fail. Modernized pen pals, personal but safely guarded. Buckets of emotion tipped for you. With some common ground we grew. Years past and still, I barely know you. Through personal thick and thin, you were there when I needed, with the right questions answering  my thoughts before I'd say a word. Just talking to you made everything better. And you were right you know, when you said, "Our time apart before we really knew each other brought us closer."

It's been a long time since I felt this way; a beautiful cliche and simple is suddenly perfect. That adrenaline rush you get from telling another how you feel. Like I've stolen the stars, saving them for a night with you. The comfort you get in the passenger seat while the one you love is driving, windows down, slightly chilly; a summer night but cool enough to embrace head on. Or a hike through the forest until all else is gone. Just you and me. Taking deep breaths, the scent of an adventure with you smells as sweet as morning dew on soft petals.

With others it was quick and painful. nothing prevailed and I was left wandering, twice. I've taken  long walks, where wooden planks are dangerous, but to hold your hand and take a different path would be perfect because now...

 I have more to give. Much to share. Time to spend... With you.

Atop a Bridge

The wind shivered, gently questioning my face. Softly, warm; like a breath of air it caressed every crevice I never knew. Intelligently enticing my ignorance to the tip of each hair. Neutralizing my intended lean. Begging my attention, It spoke. Asked of a relationship, one to die for. Dwelling, sharing prismatic horizons; a spectral journey away from the setting and into the rising sun. Two days in a day; twice the amount of candy colored stars. Twice the amount of sky; dappled by stormy quandaries of life and otherwise, paired with a carbonating generation  and a twenty-twelve atmosphere. All the justification needed for one last adventure.

"See all of  it, everything," generous words understood in my ears as spoken by a gentle beast. How could one refuse?

Gaping, fathomless depths filled with the stench of nature, harboring in memories of chromatic sunsets, blanketed by a million tiny diamonds blinking a lullaby; milking you to sleep. Traveling lightly across oceans spanning miles; whittled down to rivers, delicately maneuvering through mountains and canyons. Kicking up sandstorms stories high. Playing under the Northern Lights. Visiting the entire great space... and then back. Humbled by memories that snatched me from a reality atop that windy bridge. Dangerously fighting a falling dream, when our time is over I feel desolate. If there were an option I'd follow the Wind, into It's sunset. Uniting with the night; shrouded in stars.

But He's not really gone. We are a whole. I've been handed control and responsibility.
Atop that bridge there is another. Leaning against my rush.
It's my turn to show you the world now.

Masquerade

            Recently, there are doors that have shut, doors that.., secretly, I never really fully expected would one day actually deny admittance. Awareness begets hostility. Fevered questions arise and land arrogantly across unwelcome mats woven with a strand of confusion. I've become unrecognizable as current characteristics being to play heavy on emotional levees.
            Even my reflection is a different person with another thought, a suggestion really. I no longer recognize myself, each feeling is a different face. Every passionate emotion; a gamble. It goes something like this:

Reality isn't fake just not of concern. Presently a child-like idea. Consequently consequences . Existence imitates ingenuity and the world becomes a haven for the mad. Imagination buds with blood on it's petals. Death, in the portrayal of a child's rhyme.

            A second; just a split, twinkling in an eye. There are chances and decisions that beckon passionately. Redemption swarms. This time, wrist are up and ready. Each mask falls. Laying bare are the complexities of someone familiar.
            Recognizable now, doors open suitably. Doors which deny the admittance of those I carry. Trivial frustration. Practice to perfection an elated life. Defined by the universe as unmasked.

Masterpiece.

I painted yesterday, and the day before. Understand that sometimes it just doesn't feel right and then nothing comes out. No picture in the final product to express what you were feeling. Because when you go to show what you feel, you paint and paint until the colors run together; until nothing about what you have felt can be determined. Nothing except the color black. A pensive soul. But then... how could you paint anything other? A color a day. Absent a color a day. Oh, master of grey, the shiniest darkness. A seemingly empty canvas. You live like a man whose been ruled by 'the faith' his entire life. Somewhat like me; that timeless 'likeness.' But I at least stand proudly, freely I live or at least I try. Sacrifice is no longer up for negotiation. And... when questioned about 'what to do' or 'what do you do?' Tell them you live, refracting until right. The perfect color; your reflection. A masterpiece.

Coming Home

I'm scared, not angry.
There's a journey afoot, distances closing on our meeting place.
I feel you think too much, do you feel me.

Confusion surrounds what "this time" means.
Always making amends; never mending.
Snarled faces peak from beaming countenance.
The evidence of love granted for title.

The living room where we played. 
Outside, the swing and field.
Simple and charming.
The moments we endure before pain.

That maybe we still are...
Just on our way home.

Coming home.

...

Why would anyone want to be here, where I am?
Here doesn't look appealing from anywhere, I say.
They say, anyone from here can attest to there.
Those who left from here appeal me to there.
Why would there be better than here?
Who are you to take me there?
Why am I the only one still here?

The Bad Three Leaves

The Bad Three Leaves

            As we all know disasters are imminent in high school; the forgotten fly: walking forever with your zipper down and nobody says a thing, embarrassing. Dropping your tray in lunch, followed up by the student body applauding your ability to be clumsy. Accidentally letting the fart you've held clinched between your cheeks since second period, because you're too much of a pussy to face the school bullies in the restroom, slip out during class receiving absolutely no sympathy from anyone, teachers included. If this has ever happened to you I'm sorry, you probably transfered schools or moved to a different state.  Kids at this age are cruel; your own best friend will probably consider and most likely choose to disown you if you publicly shit your pants.

P.S. never tell a thirteen year old, friend or not, that you are constipated, period.

            My aptitude for personal embarrassment is a privileged; you can’t learn my kind of misfortune. You see, growing up, the alley across the way from my parents house was the hangout place for our street. And there, in plain view, yet hidden from young eyes, was a shitload of poison ivy; a venerable cove of the stuff.
            It was like our own jungle back there. While we used to play here when younger, in middle school this is where we would come to smoke, hidden from  our parents, this is where my rebellion began. This is where I was introduced to poison ivy. Why we stood so close to the stuff I don’t know, someone once told me that poison ivy has three leaves… a lot of plants have three leaves. But somewhere between the Marlboro reds and Newports I touched it. I mean, I didn’t touch it but somehow I did.

            It would be weeks before I'd show my fucking face in school without damaging anyone's sight. I remember this one morning clearly; ready for school I stumbled downstairs late as always, “Mom we need to leave.” Usually I rode the school bus but this morning I had spent too much time comforting myself in the mirror, insisting that I didn’t look that bad and could brave going to class today. My mom, bound with brutal compassion, allowed me to be confident and said nothing as we loaded our selves into the minivan. School was just a few blocks away; I could have walked if I ever woke up early enough. We rode in silence and at the first red light the rearview mirror laughed at me. I decided that I should take one more look at my face. “Shit,” I thought, “I am not going to school today.” My mom could barely contain herself when I grabbed her arm, looked at her with my crusty swollen left eye; the elephant man face we called it, just on the left side but the whole left side and I pleaded, “I CAN NOT GO TO SCHOOL LIKE THIS!” I thought I was going to pee in my pants laughing so hard. Stewing with amusement my mom turned the car around, we both knew damn well that I wasn’t going to make it to school looking the way I did, but she sure was going to let me try.

             

What Flesh Denies

Precious, is the flesh that life denies.

Hearing only this heartbeat, time repeatedly serves the thoughts of freedom.
Questions arise for the existence of skin. A partition between souls.
Multiple emotions join forces, raising goose bumps, dilating pupils.
A dripping chill edges down as the layers are removed.
Cautiously the soul is bared.

Humble, is the heart for housing a soul.

There's disturbance on the faces of the moral passersby.
Their fluttered beats appeal to fingers within for warmth.
Only, they're just a cage; inanimate.
Without life they're fragile and useless.
Manufactured respectfully for appearance.

Sweet, is the mouth for speaking the truth.

When was the first time you heard someone say , "The truth will set you free?"
Lies unfold, entangled in the throats of hateful leaders.
A twelve year old girl puts them all in their place.

Isis.

Isis has taken flight. The attack, a fool's surprise. Their army, great. Thousands await secure in hiding for our cities reaction to the first wave of warriors. On my horse, as yet unstruck by the arrows peircing land and flesh all around. Nearby a woman needs help. Swooping her up behind me, we ride. She's showing no fear, only faith. This is Isis, Goddess that she is; running with her people, fighting by their side, unknown of course but equal in honor.

She's begun to guide my way, we approach a nearby hedge maze leading out of the city. There are many routes to choose, but she knows the perfect way.

We dismount and run. The citadel has been taken and the lower town overrun. My only duty now is to protect her. Following closely behind her. Faintly catching the delicate, otherwordly scent of her skin for brief moments when she slows down to take a corner. She looks back from time to time and there is almost a hint of playfylness in her composure.

Not a wrong turn. Just out of luck. They're closing in from every direction. Everyone is looking for us; for her. Horses armed with men armed for battle. Other's hacking their way, slicing directly through the hedges.

She turns to look at me and the fear subsides. She's not crying but there are tears, sweat and blood. She pulls me close. She kisses me, then we explode.

We are safe.

Watching You

Watching you

I do, I do,
I know you who,
watches the stars watching me
watch you.

Breathe in precious air,
then exhale letting you...
hang in dreamy memories
and live to tell the truth.

What do you feel?
What you do.
What you do feel.
What do you?

I do, I do,
I know you who,
watches the stars watching you
watch me.

Swallow hollow thoughts,
with formal bows I plead.
Never too much to live for,
in the end I'm simply me.

We watch.
We breathe.
We live.
We do.

I do, I do
I know you who,
watches the stars watching me...
love you.

Tried and Tired.

I am an emotion.
My body begs for distraction,
I hate it.
Expression's fade.

Mentally, I bash myself;
I'm never good enough.
Physically, I push myself,
run until it hurts.

Abuse is appealing,
I've loved it.
Drained life goes everywhere.
Time served.

Tinkering with feelings,
I wake at night with thought.
Fallen emotions rake my heart,
I take a stance and fight.

The scent of replenishment
lingers in the morning.
I am an emotion.
Revive me.

Stardust.

There are several shiny slivers of stars all around where I stand. They cut with a sense happiness; self-sufficient and short lived as it is.

“The only way out is to step back into the darkness, the light will come later.” This giant voice explains. Authoritatively It booms directions to relax, my head swirls from the sound in the room. Or just in my head. A dream or, how did I get here? Suddenly I’m sick and want nothing more than to not be wherever it is I am; insanely surrounded by these addictive shards of happiness. Multiplying now and sharper than diamonds, my skin is cut. This fragile flesh, stabbed, cut and sliced; gaping holes dripping sunlight. I cannot help but to look where I have been sliced, hypnotized by the light infecting my eyes, I can’t control my desires. I want nothing but to die here unable to have any other thought as my last. Blood falls as softly as snowflakes, smacking the darkness beneath me with stains of bluish-white lights. This time I can feel him before he starts speaking.

“They're addicting and pleasing aren't they, these lights?" They are pieces of yourself, tossed aside at times when you felt a part of who you really are had died. Bonds broken within you; only, the hope in these pieces never fades. That’s the light inside. Here, they wait to rejoin with the first light of your existence, the light in your heart.” “Step back into the darkness, fall. Leave every thought behind in one leap.”

 I don’t even hesitate and without any knowledge of what is actually around me in this dark besides the pale lights and this voice, I step back and feel nothing. Complete darkness actually looks grey when your falling this fast. I have no fear. And then, like a bomb; ripping through every fiber of my being, my chest explodes light, flashing in the wake of my fall and for a brief moment I wonder if I might be someone’s shooting star. There is no pain although I can feel everything. More brilliant now are the shards of stars, the pieces of me I had lost. They are chasing after me now and closing in quickly. At first chance the light I’m emitting and the parts of me that are catching up connect. There are fizzing sounds, fire is ripping through my veins and I feel whole again. I hear my name...far off. I don’t know where I’m headed but it’s got to be better than where I came from. My eyelids are heavy, but am I falling asleep or waking up? I am afraid of losing myself all over and fear creeps in before, again, I feel their voice.
 Then It says..,  "Do not fear, trust the light you possess."

dreams to realities

When I’m cold inside, you know, like in your body, I take long walks through the city, usually at night, and in deep thought. This city is confusing; lots of bridges and buildings that intertwine and swirl together with the natural din of humanity. During the day, I traverse the life of this city, stopping frequently looking for shortcuts and back alleys, running into people that don't know me from Adam. I am nothing like Adam. I have more secrets than the Vatican. A deeper reality than any philosopher could fathom. I am great and small, valiant and humble. Invisible if you are not aware and indefinite with reason.


In the middle of this city is a plaza with white marble squares, elegantly laid in the directions of traffic. Vanishing points are viewable from every angle made  by paths of crisscrossed bridges, seemingly toppled or stacked on top of each other, outward from the center of the city in different directions, a finely tuned manmade valley. Although the feeling is that an earlier more, advance culture built this place. The bridges are ornate, somewhat Victorian in style with lamp posts on every corner boasting fleur-de-lis entanglements, set in silver magnifying the luminescent glow that paints the streets and lower levels of the buildings. At night, shown through the spaces between the bridges and buildings, the light cast shadows that frighten even the sanest of entities. I get lost in the maze of streets and alleys at night on purpose. I’m never scared or haven’t been, not in a long time.

The only difference between here and your world is that this world is made completely of alleys and backroads. Every door here is a backdoor. And I fail existance in your world.
Orange light spreads into the street from a door left open a gap. I don’t live here and they are not really expecting me. As I step into the light the vanishing begins. From head to toe I am no longer visible. Just here to watch, just to witness. Every night is different; some good, some bad. The good nights are always consistent good never changes. But on other nights things can turn evil real quick. I can’t react or interact, but if I am not present, someone’s life changes in vain. They make a decision but still doubt.

There is blame and hate in everyone, along with love and acceptance. Faces and shadows follow me through the night. This is my job, make sure that life keeps moving; they way I do it... by eating the doubts of others.

Writer's Block

I can't seem to get my balance in life, at least at this moment. I haven't been able to write, pressing pen to a short stack of paper. I feel like it's my version of what the Chinese do when they paint the symbols of their alphabet. But lately, nothing. Well, not nothing, there is something. What it is..? I couldn't tell you. It's like something really is right out of sight at times, and there are shadows that shouldn't be. The spots that open in my vision are getting more frequent and although I'm sure it's nothing it still freaks me out. This is what I have been dealing with and have wanted to write about for months. Now here, in a few sentences I have lain down what has been my burden. I'm either going crazy or somethings really are true...

JDC