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Aubrey Mar 2020
Red dirt ***** dogs
mawing mouthfuls of matted fur
with far more fervence
than the sunset behind them.
Here at the end of the road ...
"Watch this mom!"
I watch.
The trees, the falling sun,
this little boy, my youngest son
and these rust red, mud red mutts
who do not see the sunset slipping
dimming.
They don't see my eyes attempt to hold all of it, infinite.
Feb 2020 · 85
Treacherous Teeth
Aubrey Feb 2020
My mouth is a monster,
howling down houses.
Rotting roofs are no match
for my madness.
Aubrey Feb 2020
Eat you up and drink you in.
I want you
The way I both fear and love the sunrise
The way that mo(u)rning is work
The way illumination
Is painful
And full of hope.
Aubrey Feb 2020
Biting back bile like
When I believed I could be born again and the bible was a buoy
Floating on whiskey breath.
I never could "be good" then.
The only absolution
Is slow execution
Dying the same way baseboards turn brown
The way cobwebs climb corners
Forgotten
Until they're ***** enough
To need attention.
May 2015 · 415
That trailer...
Aubrey May 2015
with the leftover rig of someone’s unhappy decisions
and the smell of animals left too long without attention
I curled up for a few days in the cold on hide-a-bed mattress
like the ******* ****** I never was
only thought about being.
“What was I thinking?”
Fifteen and wishing
I was ****** chic
a “beautiful disaster”
a ******* model painted dead for TV..
~that~ was my aspiration.
Fast-forward to the bottle of whiskey
and the smell of old dog ****
and a lingering need to hear that man’s voice.
I was so angry.
“She ****** me off so much.”
There’s little cessation
from the stream of ******* they spew.
“How could I love and hate someone so much?”
“That’s what abuse does....”
Products...
results...
that’s what we are...
from a mass social experiment gone right.
“They want you fat, lazy, and addicted to something.”
“Well, they have me.”
I hear some people have a handle on things...
got “****” together.
I hear that man’s got a job and is pretending to be someone
for someone’s family.
If I had enough room, I’d weep for them.
My tears are all ******* though
in fear of the future and a lack of control.
What the **** do we do?
Where the **** do we go?
That trailer
I thought I could save it.
Cleaned the walks and the carpets.
Drank myself to sleep,
freezing,
thinking
I was so righteous,
so destined for ...
something.
anything
except
that trailer.
Mar 2015 · 514
Light and Heavy
Aubrey Mar 2015
The problem with being a well rounded individual is
there are less corners, less lines...
and it’s sort of a question of what came first:
the fruit or the color?
How the wind does ravage the mountains
to stones and boulders!
I have wondered
often
about those things...
nature versus nurture,
and who or what there is to blame
for human behavior.....
both the crux and salvation of experience is experience itself...
The journey is the lesson is the reward.
There is no way but through.
“I’m strong enough already.”
The seed
is the tree
is the fruit.
Thoughts on Neistche: "That which doesn't **** us makes is stronger."
Mar 2015 · 409
Feel Free
Aubrey Mar 2015
Remember before this
when faith,
synonymous with bliss,
caught you on the down side,
gave you heart to fly?
The hero isn't the fable,
the circled hands at the kitchen table.
Change isn't just a constant
without it we are haunted

There's more space out here to breathe
the budding branches after fall
that big orange ball
alone, after all,
since there is no more than one.
And, coming over the hill,
I feel free to revel in the sun,
in purple, indigo, pink blazing horizon,
and I choose to smile.
"What's a few more miles?"
Because right now, I am the Soldier
feeling heart and bones get older
ordered by this Sergeant Brain.
But soon, I will be the Farmer,
trading weapon and armor
for soil and grain.
Feb 2015 · 644
A Cool Chick
Aubrey Feb 2015
Accolades.
Titles.
Never did a very good job at running them down.
Just as entitled, in that aspect:
wanting a crown, but no real respect
for the hard work necessary.
Forgive me.
Maybe it's feigned humility that makes me wary.
Maybe I know Liars.
Now that's a label I carried
until honesty
emboldened me.
I preferred when "Good Woman" was said
to  "Cool Chick,"
but those and "Different Than I've Ever Known"
didn't do any tricks.
You know what did?
I'm a fool for not having checked before we left.
Not gauges or pressures
or tires' tread,
and less than half way
the latter slipped from the tire
leaving exposed wire
but enough air it might get us where
it could get fixed.
A fool twice. I didn't listen.
I was told how to fix it
...weeks ago
before the snow.
What can be said
is that I kept a level head
and safely kept my commitment.
What I was told
as I scolded myself on the road?
"You are amazing. Thank you."
For what?
"For getting us through that. You could have done worse-"
which could have meant hearse.
I'm not always slow to toot my own horn.
I can wear the Pirate and the Priest
though, the second, not as well.
And for that title, I made its hell
as real as love is when it is possession.
In my life, two men, and one friend
called me that name: Cool Chick.
One was being slick  
and I didn't believe the other two, until today.
If, of the three,
the liar had been
in the passenger seat,
how the words would have flown
like shrapnel.
Curses or praises,
they'd tear me to pieces.
When at last today
I saw your face,
you looked good,
but not honest.
It was awkward but nice
standing there knowing
whatever the price we are paying
it's worth it
to know what it's like
to feel worth it.
Aubrey Feb 2015
I still wonder if it's me who was the dys-
in our dys.functional family.
I sit atop guilt
as though it were a fine bed.
And bed is where I stay, most days.
I am the same.
Could the future be the past--
since time's not linear?

Escher struck me
not because of his geometric impossibilities...
incredible symmetries...
but my wandering mind was drawn
to the pattern, repeating...
sinking together pieces in a puzzle...
             you know the feeling.

I know it may not seem clear
but there is some stability
in fear.

You should always know what can or is killing you.
We can argue if fear is a choice,
and maybe the usage is wrong,
but death's voice isn't truly welcome
until you've seen it's face more than once.

And what do I know of facing death?
Nothing.
Standing at the razor's edge
and a stick-up and Eye-Mart Express are as close as I've come.
So,
it's fair to say
that fear, for me,
sometimes isn't a decided election.

It's a place.

The sleep-with-one-eye-open,
pray-for-omens,
waiting-for-that-other-s­***
place.

The optimist says,
"I will be prepared... A beast of battle."
The pessimist says,
"A meeting with the creator is best."
The realist says,
"Get over it."

When I watched that fly
on MTV
buzz about that ****** chic
Deftones video...
when I heard the stories
of money and glory...
and power...
and of the sour...
I knew I was done for...

It's so 'Romeo and Juliet'
except
no one will sing about my love affair
with the warring houses
of drugs
and self-worship.
Aubrey Feb 2015
And there
tied at my feet
that ****** weight
held fast to the stone.
Though not tied
tethered
to both rope
and statue.
"Anchored"
should be a welcome feeling.
My mooring is a heavy yoke
and the future is itching,
stabbing,
tearing
through my shoulder blades.
Who could have thought
that thought
would begin this battle
and win it
with wings?
Jan 2015 · 303
One-O-Four AM
Aubrey Jan 2015
I remember tracing the lines of her veins,
the hills they made in her thin skin,
purplish flesh and wrinkled hands.
I loved the way
the vein gave
under the gentle pressure of my finger
and thinking of what my hands would look like
when, at last, I was old
and sat
with a child in my lap
letting them explore the map of my wrinkles
and slow the river of my veins.
Each winter
my knuckles remind me I am a year older.
At each joint
the skins darker and dryer
and the wrinkles deeper.
I have longed
for slender fingers and painted nails,
but I find such pleasure now,
seeing the age in my hands.
11/5/14
Jan 2015 · 335
Untitled
Aubrey Jan 2015
That growling voice
raspy
bronchial tubes screaming under
cakey mucus;
feelings are thrown around here,
jutting out of auras
like flood lights.
We all need things.
What would it be like if we didn't?
Can you imagine that?
Everyone
having everything they need
to feel safe,
secure,
loved?
11/3/14
Jan 2015 · 343
Panic
Aubrey Jan 2015
The fibers of my being were imploding:

a sudden descent into internalized vibration at incredible speed, shaking loose the atoms and sending waves in and through the space of everything;
the perpetual now becoming so intense and real
and unwelcome
in its familiarity.
10/29/14
Jan 2015 · 268
Untitled
Aubrey Jan 2015
Seems my M.O. lately to flit away
a frightened wing
but the metaphor fails me.
Fear is not the word.
Intimidation comes closer.
Toying with phrases like
"meant to be,"
and
"creating reality,"
has left me only less jaded than
"God's will."
Maybe I should have heeded my own advice
and stayed simple a while.
I made myself a hypocrite,
speaking those words
before I could have known
they would one day be true.
How I spoke of myself so highly.
Gave myself all the credit-- undeserved.
10/25/14
Jan 2015 · 228
Untitled
Aubrey Jan 2015
These hills and trees shelter me
Their valleys and shadows, comforting.
The fog fills in
it's covering,
healing these roots
and making them real.

I see them sleeping here between three places...
and my heart tells them,
"Your dreams are mountains
climbing high into the wispy clouds."

The seasons are changing.
The cold night is frost bite
to the balmy day.

I feel expanse in this beauty.
10/18/14
Jan 2015 · 1.4k
A Pirate's Life For Me
Aubrey Jan 2015
I was always a pirate,
but I cried when my mother made me apologize
mouth sticky with taffy
standing, chubby and head hanging at the register.

Fast forward about 15 years and the bag was full before I came in...
sort of...
with each five-fingered purchase,
I flattened filling and raised awareness.

That '86 Royalle Olds' might as well
have had a Jolly Roger on the break light.
Those lawn-lovers had no idea; the gnomes stood no chance.  

The refrigerator in that apartment was a shelf of empty bottles.
My mouth was a shelf of angry urchins;
prickly, and poisonous.

Age made me less salt than ore
and I tried to love the land
with fervency and fear.

Clinging to the pews, the fat lady did sing,
and sing, and sing,
but not the ending.

Once you earn the salt-sailor's badge,
there is no convenient way to dress it up,
but boy does it make a good story from the pulpit.

I can't boast of robbed riches or daring escapes.
My ships were sodden floored and taking weight.
My homesteads, still, were fractured living.

So, no, instead of calling the name a fate, I'd rather gloat.
Raccoons, clever bandits and plunderers they are
do not make excuses for their nature.

They are who they are,
and I...
am a pirate.
Aubrey Jan 2015
you have married me
married my spirit
called it to life from death
and bound it to you
flaming
hot
waking each limb
sensation
thought
vibration
atoms in unison
singing the cosmic rotation
"You make my life a love poem."
Aubrey Jan 2015
Dread,
excitement,
like the
adventurer,
or the train-hopper;
that sleep-deprived,
hold-open-one-eye,
I-need-a-warm-bed-and-then-cof­fee
feeling.
Used to being given just enough rope to dance the gallows.
The textile burn is nostalgia.
Makes it easy to forget.

Surreal
and
serene.

Maladies are not cast about like celebration announcements
and apologies are not confetti.
The bribe cannot be taken.
No longer a burdened beast, the bit and reign are testament under foot.
There was no choice.
There's left none now.

Sinew gripping bone,
I fly into the storm.
Jan 2015 · 275
On Writing
Aubrey Jan 2015
I get an itch sometimes, and the keys won’t do.
That muscle memory is more fresh
than the long practiced
pen in hand.
There are times it can be sated with a brush
Or some other act of color.
But the prickle for the pen
Creates appetite
gratified
only by
The scratch of the paper.
The ball rolls and glides
with ease it swirls around sweet letters,
Or flies swift and hard,
digging grooves in the surface.
The paper is my skin
And I tattoo with nostalgia or vengeance.
Like therapy,
Like masochism.
An assignment.
Jan 2015 · 388
i have two lovers
Aubrey Jan 2015
I lost that Mountain Goats mix tape one night under the influence of Oxycontin and alcohol and beautiful men and a woman I longed to own.
"The only thing I know..." rings in my head every now and then,
reminding me of that van, cluttered, and that voice sort of rapid and quick to make assertions. I heard you say you loved me. You never said it out loud.
Fractal-ed brain seeing so much I cannot. The view must be so different in there.
I imagined (more than once) being used by you in some punk van, with pin point holes and nowhere to go as you disappear... maybe meaning to leave me, maybe not.
"I need four white walls..." and I'm standing in your wife's kitchen holding stolen car keys and sweat.
Feeding me and telling me there would be another side.
I had no ability to see past little white piles of pain.
Even then, you loved me. I was whole to you and sinless. "Goddess."
No need for explanation. I am myself and you are you.


Half of the house stays cold. Capitalism strikes the poor through monopoly of resources. Ages old.
That's what we are.
He and I, transcended, and beaten. Enlightened, and nubile.
I remember that hair tied back with several ties and thinking how silly you were for thinking I could be interested.
I let you have me, over **** hits and more than one bottle of dark liquor and in three days you just had to say, "I love you."
"Don't call me."
I imagined more than once you in my bed and those well-placed tattoos.
Voice like conviction and hope. You wouldn't be the one.
"Don't call my boyfriend looking for drugs."
Fast forward.
"I would **** that guy so hard."
"Am I annoying you?"
Saying those words like a well known drive down a country road:
fast and careless.
It's how I drop bombs, you know? I do that with all the people I love.
I see your struggle. Hold tight the bed sheets in the morning.
Never a fight. Hardly an argument. Submission becomes me. Becomes freedom.

Even now, you love me.
Never judgement. So few expectations.
Who are these extra-terrestrials?
Maybe,
I am one of them.
Dec 2014 · 563
Wanderer
Aubrey Dec 2014
No desire for stone.
Growing cold
and wearing away over time.
Stationary and strong.
or flaky.
Fresh from festive
the winter is itself again.
And I am cold, wearing away.
I view the mountain in transparency.
"I see plans inside of plans."
You should never run on the ice
and I have never been fond of the thought of freezing to death.
When fertility is in the air again
and we see flowers...
then flying will become us.
We will be as fetching as the sunset and as fierce as the storm.
Nothing will stop us, short of death,
and then,
only a little while.
Aubrey Dec 2014
Nailing it in
and the hammer slips
and I lose my verbal vigor.
Right now is when you catch me.
Of course,
I was caught before I started.
You've long had me pulled under the swell of your flow
and I cannot be the sword-tongued aggressor.  
We became friends this way.
You must keep worthy contemporaries
and I only lose the Battle Tongue in Cheek
to you and a few.
Ten years is a long time
and I can't expect,
much less expect you to apologize.
This Chia Pet, I don't know if it'll grow, but
I'll take the peace pipe.
It's none of the dog's business what the cat had for dinner,
but the nosy mutt eats that **** anyway.
Like I said,
gum on a shoe, man.
Aubrey Dec 2014
I am most collected with brush in hand, messy strokes flying and gliding, music playing, and a mess on my hands and shirt.
I process most while cleaning and organizing
the compartmentalizing of my things and thoughts at once.
I am most vulnerable singing
laying bare my heart and soul void of emotional levies.
I am most at peace dancing with my babies and holding them in my arms
seeing my future in their eyes and knowing theirs is worth the fight.
Dec 2014 · 381
I Knew Better Than To Call
Aubrey Dec 2014
The whiskey helped me feel like maybe 50/50 was more like 25/75
and I walked right into it.
Or called right in.
I guess five months is not enough to cultivate honesty.
And here I am feeling almost sorry for you or your portrayal
and your colors fly out like my tears had just before...
I asked for this.
I wondered is it was what I wanted.
Probably, I am more disappointed in myself
for wishing
and for calling
than I am with you
for lying
and for being who I knew you were.
Dec 2014 · 459
Making Space
Aubrey Dec 2014
The intensity of hearing your voice for the first time
                      (since you threatened to **** me)
the familiar growl and curt tone
                      (sounding like a teenager rolling their eyes)
and all this time I thought I would be unafraid
all
this
time
I imagined how together I could be.
Siked myself up.
Prepared for the worst.
And all I heard
was adolescent attitude and no room for compromise.
"I'm really busy on Christmas."
                (Too busy with your new meal ticket to talk to your children?)
One minute
Twenty One Seconds
And even though you didn’t yell or call me names or call me out
I still felt timid, cowed.
I still pretend I am hard
unsuccessfully ignoring you in the halls.
Making awkward faces.
                       (Not used to not feeling guilty.)
I just can’t talk yet.
                       (I can’t and I’m okay if I never do.)
I can see your anger, though.
My awkward grimace sparking a tongue in cheek, “Felisha.
I loved you....
                       (I still do but I'm not after your hand.)
And our soul friendship is real.
I fear
carrying these two endings with me for a long time
A little break from the rhyme factory to enjoy some raw and excruciating relationship ends.
Dec 2014 · 260
Pessimist's Optimism
Aubrey Dec 2014
Flying down the sleet covered ground.The stop is suggested
and I flip off my brights to see the other directions' traffic
and I wonder,
'What will our kids think? How will they feel?"
I mean
ten years from now,
will we sit together for a family meal?
I mean, I get that you're angry and hurt and ****** off and, if we're honest, it's only a glimmer of thought in the vast sea of doubt that covers hope for you.
The feeling I feel when I walk in from work and I take off that shirt and see all of their smiles, I could walk for miles on that feeling. Endure torture, starvation.
I couldn't go back to that lower elevation.
I know you'd abhor me to hear that I mourn us, our future. But Justice is served with both eyes just like yours that drew me before, and I know you'll be sore for a very long time.
I always try to level the gravel with my moving tires in my driveway,
and I think, 'What would it be like, if we could be civil and happy one day?'
Has your sane worn too thin? Is there no salvageable man? Have you so lost your way?
Dec 2014 · 379
Now is More than Ever
Aubrey Dec 2014
what are we
but moments caught in eternity
there is no linear
there is no clear
thought
i am fraught
with anger and pain and perseverance
the height clearance
snaps me in half
let me catch
my breath
and ready for death ....
there is no pain like the present
Dec 2014 · 612
Vs.
Aubrey Dec 2014
Vs.
I'm listening to opposition.
Is there anything else?
The bird perched on the winter branch
cursing itself?
I've got two hands filled with empty,
like distance relates to envy.
And in the quiet stillness of this Midwest winter night
my shoulders become heavy.
My heart flirts with steady.  
My head calculates ready.
You wipe tears from my cheek and nose.
You're telling me to let them flow.
"Don't wipe them away."
I have nothing to say but that I am
afraid.
And I can't even say it.
The words are a bayonet at the end of the gun I hold to my head.
Is there requiem here?
The forest trees made clear in the fog of my disillusion?
The clever twist of fate that thickens my confusion?
Sometimes I doubt if I were made for this life.
I doubt the strings that fate has wound around our hearts
and save for my frown, my face seems to show the world
nothing.
Who or what am I becoming?
No longer the grouch, the fastidious mouse, or the the hermit.
I can not be the addict or the martyr in the skirmish.
And I am not in search of identity. I know me.
But I don't know this place inside of all the waste that has been this life.
I have only two things that are worth anything: their lives.
The courts are waiting, but the jury's still out on the verdict.
Not "Do I deserve them," but, "Do they deserve it?"
Aubrey Dec 2014
Moved from my home state.
Got a job doing **** I hate.
Got five kids between you and I.
They are ill tempered sometimes and we are on the fly
coming up with ways to handle the stressers
of food and shelter.
Why...
can't we leave today... Enter the fray... the edge of culture...
and make our own future?
I am caught in the thought
of my hands in the dirt and the sweat in your shirt
and no relief from the work of growing our own food.
Would it be rude to say that I've had enough of the days
of "super" markets and moving targets
and job interviews that bring hope and then bad news
when you find that it will never be enough to sustain even you, alone?
And really, what do we own, but ourselves?
Can it not be shared instead of set on shelves and hidden away in accounts that have safety nets and passwords and relationships that leave regrets and bridge-burns?
Could we be all-for-all?
Is it possible?
Dec 2014 · 356
Holy Math
Aubrey Dec 2014
"No. It's okay. Sounds like you need somebody to talk to."
That's true. Just like, the wind here is biting cold.
My ten-times-broken knuckles make me feel old.
I always know when the weather is changin'.
I brace the gale with practiced patience.
Just like, if you hear something often enough, it cheapens.
"You're so strong." 'You're stronger than I am."
Just willing enough to be wrong, that's what I am.
Willing enough to see me in you and know that it's true that we are the same, separately.
The weather up here is different.
For the first time in my life, I see seasons.
"Everything is connected. We are parts of the same whole."
Just like, when the neon leaves fade to death
to live in perfect spirals...
giving the frozen air a soul ...
I see the parts dance together.
My peace is in these trees and hills... in these winter chills.
I could be free here.
But there is real fear
in harboring that escaped chaos.
Dec 2014 · 561
Narcisist In G Minor
Aubrey Dec 2014
shifting those tectonic plates
throwing that weight
as though it's common place
to cause earthquakes...
been called a tornado
a horn supported halo
not completely without faith
though
if we're being honest
got the temper of a hornet
and the bear in the forest
don't **** with mine
if anything really is "had" here, it's time
riding that fine line between reason and rhyme
finding pleasure in the prose
that's sniffling from the nose
of the one that, suppose,
may be destined
(more like impressioned)
to be tumbling in questions
from insipid
inhibition
emerges clear decision
pointed vision
there is space beyond this place
of missed revision
Nov 2014 · 3.8k
Focus
Aubrey Nov 2014
I'm not sure how old he is, my step-step-granddad, but that's the advice he gives that fixes itself on my psyche.
Focus.
The act is the goal.
It's the thought of having been and becoming whole.
Focus.
Each event is like a pebble in a landslide.
I take it in stride.
Focus.
I am everywhere and there is no center, no home base, no dock on this river. I'm caught in current. Stay calm. This is perfect.
Each twist in the flow, every rock of the boat, every splash in the face, my being gives chase to  possibilities in consistent inconsistencies, sacred, eternal, geometries. Do our bodies disperse like the leaves that traverse from limb to ground, spiraling down?
Focus.
Where are your shoes? We're running late, and there's no time for another drink. We're out of milk? Look at my sink. It's piled high and I can't think with you  making all that ******* noise. What time is it? I forgot to call... that bill is due tacked on the wall. I wonder if we'll talk again. There's spam where your email should have been. All this time I thought that we were friends. I can't sleep. I'm up too late and I can't sate this need to see what I can make of missed phone calls and mystery texts. That write up? No, I haven't seen that yet. But don't forget, I told you, "I can handle it." Remember? Double. Oh. Seven.
Wait.
Focus.
Breathe in. I'm calm. That's resurrection.
Breathe out. I'm smiling. That's reconnection.
Aubrey Nov 2014
It's like
that bed is calling my name
"There's no shame in going to sleep early,"
but there's a room full of kids back there and I'm pulling my hair trying to get them to feel the same.
So, I have a drink
and think too much
and get on to them over and over
and my daughter begins to cry to yours about her "Daddy."
"I wanted to give him a hug and a kiss!"
Those sobs are real and deep and I turned off the the TV because they wouldn't sleep and she wouldn't have had this moment if I'd just let them stay up watching Howl's Moving Castle for the second time in a row.
In about two hours, she's five years old... at least she knows his face. That's more than I got until twenty-eight.
And, I know that you say I'm a great mother. You tell me I'm good to her and her brother.. but when she was crying and asking for him, the whiskey speech kicked in and I told her I didn't know. Not where he is or what he was doing. "And these kids wouldn't be here if your dad was here, do you understand? I don't know why he hasn't talked to you. I don't care if you cry but you can't keep screaming and keeping everyone up."
Tough luck for that girl having me for a mom. It's not the worst she could hear by far... but a hug... maybe that's better for her heart.
But instead,
I'll let her talk to her four year old friend in the bed.
My head has no answers. My heart crowds out comfort with hurt.
There are books about this.
Psychologists
counselors offering advice.
I just have vice
and you to offer the soft kind of love I can't give.
I never knew the donor
that was my father
and the pain that incurred was hard to bear from the time that I knew two parents could be there...
And only time made it better and worse altogether.
09/03/2014
Nov 2014 · 502
Shoulds
Aubrey Nov 2014
Should be using this pilfered and minimal wifi
and, man, it seems that time does fly...
while I'm procrasti-time-wasting reading bad (well, most of it) poetry.
You see I'm used to feeling like I've missed the boat
and shown my hand and slit my own **** throat...
"It's his own fault."
How terrifying and amazing (faux)freedom is...
blood and water and choices.
Life is frosted and sort of sleeping
but not shivering
enduring.
It's too bad I identify with the grasshopper more than the ant.
I can't be bothered with preparation
because Right Now.
Right Now is full of hows and whys and whens
and so many that depend
upon shoulds and coulds and ifs
and I-need-to-make-a-lists.
It seems that I prefer the anxiety of what could be
to what is.
Control freak.
Sitting here, with my cold nose and sore bones
and more than my usual non-layer of clothes
with two very interesting up-past-their-bedtime individuals
there is no regret.
It is, and it isn't, over yet.
Supposing pity isn't the word choice,
how else would you say, "I feel for you,"
without that voice?
And even saying it is a choice I'd rather not make.
That's the thing about leaving the cage and toeing the line and finding the road...
there is no map.
You can either enjoy the journey
or feel like, "It's a trap."
Sep 2014 · 651
Deafening Silence
Aubrey Sep 2014
I want to scream it
like the sunshine gleaming in the window
like the movement of the moment
the descent of time
streaming slowly into never
... so loud...
... so eternal.
I want to scream it
like the whispers in your ear, persistent
the tick-tock
the rustle of the sheets.
I want to scream it
like the creaking in the branches
the footsteps in the hallway
the clatter of the dishes
the closing of the door.
I want to scream it
like shattering glass
the chatter in the distance
the twisting tornado
the breath from your nose...
the slip of that tear...
the quiet of this moment...
It's screaming at me.
Around 2010- 2011
Sep 2014 · 379
Sometimes
Aubrey Sep 2014
Your eyes
                        see through me.
Sometimes they*
                                  catch me off guard
                                  and I stumble over my words
                                  and I have to catch my breath
                                  and I know you see me fumbling.
Save
               for *maybe
the sun,
               I've never seen anything
               shine so bright.
Me
            and you,
            I see us in those eyes.
10/11/08
Sep 2014 · 446
The Journey
Aubrey Sep 2014
I imagine us
dwindling a paper trail to nothing
our footsteps are shadows
our pictures the only remnants our families have
until we call from a land line community phone
and tell them where to go
for freedom.
I imagine us
burning collection notices and old receipts for things we never needed
the smoke is our journey
disappearing into nowhere
having ourselves, our brood and our tribe.
I imagine us
our souls no more like candles that flicker
but stars that shine
like guiding lights to show the way to shore.
I imagine us
forever, before and after, and infinite
having no beginning or end
having everything inside of us
and us inside of everything.
I imagine us
whole and unfiltered
lasting and ending daily
destruction and chaos as beauty....
I imagine us
                                  and we are not ourselves...
                                  and we are not each other....
             we are whole
            the boundaries of existing like dew
                     like fog...
                                   there and gone
                                         old and new
I imagine Us.
Aubrey Aug 2014
Barely money to pay the rent
grocery money's spent
no car, holes in my shoes
***** socks, single cigarette blues
and my only request
my only desire
is for a ******* stereo to set my ears on fire
An admitted "noise-aholic"
an open "quiet-aphobic"
I want to tear my neighbors peace to shreads
and clear the chaos in my head
let me be beaten black and blue
by those brutally angelic tunes
Please,
let me blot out all existence
let me shout out my penance
under that blanket of deafening lyrics
Please,
let me blot out the world with music
2011
Aug 2014 · 307
Once
Aubrey Aug 2014
Used to be
anger made all those other feelings disappear...
I could mask sadness and fear.
Now, anger just falls away as fast as it manifests...
and I am left
with pain.
Even if you were awful these last two months
I loved you once.
I was lying when I said my heart wasn't broken...
I know, the queen of tactless truth...
I lied.
I don't miss you.
I miss the delusion of love and comfort
and fatherhood.
And I just wish it could have been different.
I just wish you could have been different.
I just wish you could have raised the white flag
and gave it all you had... or nothing at all...
I gave so much of me to you, and I thought that was forever, and you pushed and pushed and pushed thinking that I'd never...
and now that I'm through, you choose to hurt me even more
as if in some way you are evening the score.
I wish I didn't have to make the choices you forced me into
but don't think for one second I feel any regret.
I just can't forget that I loved you once.
Aug 2014 · 331
Believe me...
Aubrey Aug 2014
I get it.
Your heart is ripped out and it's me that took it... forced you to take me back against better judgement. I trapped you here with me for years.
And now, I've torn it from your chest and laid it to rest under my heel.
*******.
**** your broken heart and your empty sobs and your selfish pleas for me to take you back.  
"You never loved me from the beginning!"
ALL I EVER DID....
                                        was love you.
                     ******.
You had a chance to make it right.
You had the choice. You chose to lie
and steal and have no respect for our lives...
and then, as if that was not enough for me to see through your sad eyes and sweet smile...
then you said you would take my life
out of fear and guilt and pain and desperation...
*******.
**** your pain and your incessant need for gratification and validation...
"I just love my wife and kids."
LOVE is not a word you throw around to make you look the part.
You are no husband and father.
You are no man.
Entitled like an adolescent and selfish like a child,
you would rather tear these kids from my arms and send them to the abyss called OKDHS than call ONE time to speak to them.
Believe me...
my veins pump bile strong enough to blot out your face
my heart is full of unbridled hate
when I heard what you did today....
the piece of my heart that was for the father of my child died.
That will never heal.
That part is gone.
You haven't broke my heart, you gave it the most beautiful battle scar.
Believe me...
if I see your face
after all of this is done
if I have any chance
just ******* one...
I know you believe me.
I'm no liar.
Believe me...
I have thrown myself into the fire.
Aug 2014 · 414
There Is Another Side.....
Aubrey Aug 2014
It's the waiting...
chest still heaving
heart still beating waiting
the long, hot days spent in stress
and even longer nights
and the choosing...
to live in it
the pulse causing goosebumps on dry skin
the sigh giving way to sobs and fright
caught up quickly once in sight
of that little person watching cartoons.
It's the feeling...
every breath and beat and pulled heart string
every guilty shuffle
every fluttered eye
feeling the wind like a knife in my back...
the weight of the dishes and laundry stacked

and the air in here gets thick
with children running and screaming and needing

and I
just keep breathing.
Taking one breath,
one step,
one thought,
just being.
Aubrey Aug 2014
You said, "How do you react when **** hits the fan? When you're under stress?
Do you go to work,
or hit the dirt?"
The truth is
I am transformed by the glory of battle
into shining metal
into this beast of action
that's not bad... it just is.
I remember my Dad telling me to "Be prepared.
Be aware.
Stay calm.
Don't be scared."
                           (He also taught me  how to take a hit
                            and return the favor.)
You said to me,
"Maybe,
you are not afraid.
Maybe,
you are excited.
Maybe,
when you feel that feeling you call fear
your spirit is responding
with acceptance....
Maybe, you were made for it."

It may not be fear today...
or excitement...

Today I am the villain.
I am taking them away from him.
I am breaking at least two hearts...
and pouring salt inside of mine
                                                        for endurance
                                                                     for preservation...

I am the hard stone for flint to strike.
I am the rushing floods and the strong ****.
I am the hot concrete and the melting tar.
I am the engine and the speeding car.
I am  adrenaline in the soldiers veins.
(Long since wasted and drained
from too many fights.)
I am the candle's burning, flickering light.
I am present, and aware.
But I am not scared.
I am ready.
Aug 2014 · 12.4k
What Are You Doing TO Me?
Aubrey Aug 2014
I'm trying
to read poetry...
a new love for me.
My critic's heart
is not so harsh
since you came to me.
             You've freed me.
                                              But...............­...
I'm distracted.
I'm stuck...
thinking...
your hand in my  mouth...
the other on my wrist...
the blankets falling down...
There's teeth inside that kiss.

                         Even now
my breath is ragged...
my heart is quick
to send oxygen to my
                       (you know what)
and I....
know I love you for
          far more than this...
              but..............
OH
my
GAWD...
Did he just?
Yes he did.

And a smile wouldn't cover
how I felt with you last night.

Sounds like some ****, right?
Like I'm lost inside
some teenaged *****
and thinking only of my groin
but you know me more
than I know me.

I spent six years waiting  for this...
                                like it could be cultivated..
making love
instead of
making love.
Like the goal
was feeling satisfied
instead of
feeling **loved.
Aug 2014 · 1.6k
Late Summer -Oklahoma-
Aubrey Aug 2014
These cicadas,
their transformation is mine...
leaving behind
the exo-existence.
The inside is out.
The vibrant vibration...
the truth is in my mouth
and on my face...
The beginning
is fruition.
The world is Alive
                                       and so am I.
I feel everything.
I am everything.
Aug 2014 · 9.0k
Martyr (Victim) Complex
Aubrey Aug 2014
I am not this person...
Correction:
I was not that person.
Every pacifying sentence,
every empty promise,
every apology,
every manipulation,
they made me her.
And I don't blame you
as much as I
blame your words.
I admit
I play the martyr
and we all know
you play the victim.
We deserve Oscars.
We play them so well.
You have to admit
you want no part of this.
It has been obvious
for more than five years.
Now I have to listen
as your daughter cries for you...
saying you are gone...
saying she needs you...
saying I broke your heart...
and I must comfort her...
saying you love her.
Tell me why
that feels like a lie?
Aug 2014 · 839
True Love Is Free(dom)
Aubrey Aug 2014
I try to keep it under wraps
this haphazard mess:
my insides, my everything...
but you're so proud
so satisfied...

I try to keep these walls *****
when we are face to face
but as soon as you are in my gaze
they are falling...
the defenses subdued...
the troops refuse
to fight.
I'm standing in the light
of your acceptance...
Aug 2014 · 500
Twin
Aubrey Aug 2014
The air is muggy hot
cicadas buzzing, whirring
I like the white noise
when my head is churning.
The whole of existence
the current of time
it loves me with insistence
that I listen to the rhyme
of beating wings and
wind blown leaves.
I hear it like an infant
nubile (new bile)
and the anger creates dissonance
a counter to my smile.
And I cannot ask.
I cannot need.
There is no mask.
I am just me.
The Universe is pleading with my heart to see...
and I see it.
I feel it in my being
like current rushing
strong and steady.
My hands become heavy.
My feet become roots.
The soil is my boots.
And there I hear you calling...
that invocation
my elation
... and I have always known it.
Your voice is like a mooring dock
I am fixed upon it's spot.
And when I feel it
I know
you feel it.
Aug 2014 · 813
Thank God.
Aubrey Aug 2014
I want it to be like
you're in the guestroom
like we had a "guestroom"
or second restroom
but the focus then
is on earning potential
on gain
on capital
instead of the lie
still stuck in your throat.
I smell it: your gullet...
the living room is rancid with it..
the rot still lingering
on the barely shod
curtain rod.
My senses have no room
and the anger is in my tongue and fists
and I am writhing
and punching
SCREAMING
and you...
are finally
leaving.
7/17/14
Aug 2014 · 880
Follow
Aubrey Aug 2014
I want to follow.
So I can lead.
So I can encourage.
So I can
breathe
and show the way
to the breath of life.
But the words
seem hollow
and my works
are like the products of inept inventors
falling apart before inception.
They tumble from my mouth
and rattle through my brain
never reaching my hands and feet.
My heart
still healing
sometimes flutters with doubt.
I try to shut it out....
but, God, please!
I'm not asking for easy
for less pain
or more progress.
God, I just want to know you.
Don't let my sometimes hollow
plea to follow
betray my plodding feet...
If I should stumble,
let me stand again!
With you, I can.
My life,
so short,
so miniscule,
but not meaningless.
Your plan is too complex;
the jigsaw of your perfect work
the infinitesimal steps
leading
one by seeming insignificant one
to the final future for us all
where we will bow before you!
Crying out praises!
Singing Hallelujah!
Let me be that small part you have for me.
I want to follow.
5/11/13
Aug 2014 · 1.3k
Mouth
Aubrey Aug 2014
I
see
nothing
staring into the gaping maw of this relationship.
No teeth.
No dangling tonsil.
No lolling tongue.
Just empty space
... and a foul smell.
Putrid
like the teeth left holes
ripped out root and all
and festered.
Hot and wet
and fogging up my glasses
bringing tears to my eyes.
I wrinkle my face in confusion,
frustration.
I am not going to just
sit back..
but that is what you are expecting...
and maybe
what you want.
So, I will sit agape
at the mouth we've rendered toothless;
a union unable
to speak
or eat
or grow.
Just watch
and wait
even in agony
or anger.
I've got time enough to decide
if we can heal this
or put it down...
like a lame horse
a dog with a twisted stomach
a bad habit.
I'm more patient,
more able,
more changed.
I'm more
than you realize.
4/8/13
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