"they" say it's easier
to rip off the bandaid quickly
presumably because the pain
is so fleeting
but is it okay by "they"
if I scream my hurt
drawing out every syllable
loudly, complete with raging
spittle and seething emotions
throwing buried truths
into a stunned face
that can't wake up
or shape up, or shake off
shackles of an insanely lost
predisposed personality
Is it okay with "they"
to hurl obscenities
to those that have been defeated
in their own mind
"they" say to rip off the bandaid
quickly
but I've found, by doing that
the wound bleeds more profusely
and it's harder to heal
for the bandaid,
"they" reviled
was the only ******* thing
holding
the deepest cut together

Neem mijn hand
wieg mijn hart
Geef me leven
Laten wij niet deel
Als wij vallen
Terwijl verdeeld
Wij mogen nooit
worden herenigd

Take my hand
Cradle my heart
Give me life
Do not let us part
If we fall
while divided
we may never
be reunited

As sure as I am that I'd need several paragraphs to dance across the page it simply occurs to me that I'm not only a single player upon the stage but one of many that dance within this troupe and if I had to say something I'd have to step outside the group and pronounce soliloquy except that's not what this is about because I'm not the star upon this stage and I've never really studied the page but in this single sentence I've bought about a truly remarkable find insofar as I find it's easy to write a single sentence and make it work almost as easily as Miley Cyrus can twerk except it's December you see and at the end of the ignorance and loneliness it's just me.

'tis the season
to be holy
'tis the season
to be jolly
'tis the season
to have fun
'tis the season
to be done
'tis the season
to feel stress
'tis the season
of such duress
'tis the season
of such renown
'tis the season
to seek ground
'tis the season
for the ultimate test
'tis the season
to seek final rest

time zones and timelines
endless times on wifi
phone lines and emails
plotting packages
through snail mail
sharing lives in tidbits
being comfortable with habit
chasing smiles, producing laughs
sharing tears inside silence
knowing without having to ask
messages and photos
jokes and remarks
making sure the night time
is not swallowed by the dark
saying good morning or
saying good night
is such a blessing
knowing tomorrow is coming
in a message

everyday she asks
Are you alright?
Do you have a headache?
You're very pale, are you hungry?
Would you like a cup of coffee?
Do you feel okay?
What's wrong?
and everyday he says
I'm fine!
and gets frustrated with her asking.
Everyday she opens her eyes
her first sight is him
breathing next to her
Everyday she proceeds with
housework, bills to pay
jobs to find, demons to slay
Everyday day she will ask
Are you okay?
While every night
she lies quietly
while thoughts riot
with tears on her lashes
and screams in her soul
waiting for his voice
to question the toll
Every night she lies silently
waiting for the axe to fall
Every night she hears
*nothing at all