Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
  Nov 2023 Falling Up
Graff1980
Last night the truth was in the bottle. It may be a tad bit cliché, but the stripping away of my cognitive functions was a relaxing endeavor. Okay, there’s nothing cliché about that last sentence. Still, there I was past the crowded living room, cluttered with soda cans and people, past the small kitchen and the three guys playing cards, past the three wine coolers sipped through a straw, and the mixed drinks, pass all that there was the truth.
Dropping the regular essence of me, I slid behind the idiot clown. I tripped and stumbled, babbled and mumbled. My emotions unguarded, I spewed love almost as much as I spewed chunks of a greasy sausage pizza with little chewed up black olives. It was fun. One moment of not thinking. One moment of not dealing with the concrete and the abstract, the struggles and oppressions, my realistic paranoia and dark observations. I plopped limply down on the couch then slid off the side of it jokingly. The ground shuddered with a soft thud.  My friends laughed. I laughed. The truth is I like the sound of innocent laughter. It is a relief. All those synapse spitting out calming fluids. Till, what little stress that was left disappears.

     Before that the truth was in caffeine induced writing frenzies. There were small interludes of creativity swirling around dark depressive moods. I pushed and prodded the black keys as if I was chipping away chunks of stone on a marble sculpture; exposing myself and my truths.

     Someone told me that to be a great writer doesn’t require me to suffer. I thought it’s a good thing they’re not mutually exclusive, because the truth is I was suffering long before I started to write. The doubt which comes from learning more and more bled me to the verge of insanity. Maybe it was vanity that pushed me to seek the truth.

     Before that the truth was in quiet walks. The strolls down old dirt paths and memory lanes, crossing the mental traffic of past and present. I lingered at the jagged grey sparkling stone markers, sitting on newly grass covered plots, just hanging out at the graveyard because it was quiet. I wasn’t some emo kid. The truth was that I just preferred the quiet. It was the same reason I raced through the day to get to the night. Night was as nonjudgmental as the pine infested graveyard. No harsh sun glaring down. No strangers staring at me until I had to turn my head to the ground. The truth was the quiet, and the quiet was liberating.

      Before that the truth was in books. Kernels of wisdom locked in works of fiction. Little leather bound universes creeping in and transforming my mind.  Now, I prefer biographies; back then I loved the fantasies. Though in truth all nonfiction is fiction, because all reality is perceived relatively and written thusly. So, I stashed book in my back pack and back tracked down old alley ways to read away the lonely days. I sat in those dark corners, the dusty gravel biting my big bubble ****, but I was there for the quiet.

      Before that there was science. Beakers and Bunsen burners burning out atoms, and chlorophyll. I never really felt I had a talent for their postulates or formulas. Yet their subtle certainty, mired in uncertainty was appealing. They offered ever evolving truths. The strange transition from one logical position to the next and I was willing to adapt to any new facts.

      Before that there was god. I was his egotistically elevated idiot child. I could converse with adults on their level because in this they were as juvenile as I was; those ancient books that no longer make sense to me. Then it was the emotion of loving unearned certainty. The comfort of cowering beneath the awe and love of an all-powerful and all-knowing father figure, I called it the truth.

      Sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep, cause a life’s worth of anxiety was hounding me the truth was in the music. Soft sounding syllables serenading me to sleep, moving to the rhythm of a calmly flowing beat. The music gave me something to focus on. It was a converging point to calm the chaos. Once in a while the music would play out some story or point out some struggle. My Tracy Chapman that was the truth.

       Sleep was preferable to the waking madness of daily living. So, if I was tired I slept. People used to make me feel guilty about it. However, I realized that sleep healed the body and the mind. Sleep let me dream. Dreams let me do things beyond reality. They directed me to grand fantasies, or pointed out painful truths about myself. I could wake up crying, or I could go to bed sad and wake up content. That was the truth.  

       In-between all these things I pondered relative and certain truth. Was it constant or changing based on perception? People passed, none returned. I got older. Now my teeth are starting to rot right out of my face, but I still devour information; listening to the wild tales of strangers. Sometimes, I trust too much, other times I trust no one.

      The truth is I exist, amidst whatever this existence is. Beyond that I cannot clearly define this reality. What is the truth?
Falling Up Nov 2023
“FOREVER”, he promised,
A small smile on his lips

Finite
Over
Restless
Exhausted
Virulent
Expired
Repudiated

Yes, my dear,
We are forever.
Falling Up Oct 2023
If she was empty
Would she still be there?
If she was empty,
would anyone care?
If she lost the passion
Lost the drive and the will
Who would she tell?
Who would see her through all that,
And accept her still?
Is she good enough?
Has she worked hard enough?
There's still a long way to climb
from the bottom of the well
There's still a long way to climb
But it's because she fell
If she can keep her head afloat
She can survive
But if she gives up and drowns,
Who will know that she was even alive?
Falling Up Oct 2023
An angry woman


            Is a dangerous woman


Never underestimate the damage she can cause
Falling Up Aug 2023
Sitting here, waiting
Which is basically the equivalent
Of grating
My forehead
Against a cheese grater.
For seconds minutes hours.
Soon, there'll be nothing left,
I'll be an empty shell of myself.
My bored tired pieces scattered all across the floors
As I wait
and wait
and wait
For something that I really should've ignored.
Falling Up Aug 2023
It's my life
So I'll live it how I want
I'll make the rules
And you most definitely will not.

I'll read the stories the stars tell with you
And come up with a different ending
I'll walk on the same road with you
But my steps will be mind bending

So I may not see the same ending
And I may walk with different steps
But that doesn't mean
You should dismiss all I know
And make me see the letters your way
That doesn't mean
You should bring me to my knees
And force me to walk the same
Don’t let them bring you down to their level
Falling Up Aug 2023
Close your eyes
The butterflies flutter
Heartbeat starts racing
The butterflies flutter
Hands shake, but just barely
A smile finds its way to my lips
You bring the butterflies to life
And you don't even know it
Next page