The existence in which we exist in
Knows we need to honor our cores
We drown in the deepest pits
Hoping someone else will save us
But even deeper than this pit
Is a voice telling us we need to grow
Out of the shambles and unquenchable sorrows
And to let the embrace of self fall in this fall
Allowing you to be healed
Or released somewhat.
"I'm not committed"!!!
Easy in saying... Deep in impact it leaves!
As a "Tribe" we raise... As a "Tribe" we Heal and Grow!
I don't belong anymore to "Tribe"!
Where do I belong then!
Where my soul will be straying around!
Where will be my home!
That is the quest!
Peace be upon you all!
I know your
heart was broken
for I have seen
scar tissue on your
take longer to heal
Some require medicine
all it takes is
a kind word
a loving look
a warm embrace
or a gentle kiss
right where it hurts
© Michael Lechner
i am a mess of
open wounds and
needles that have
sometimes i still find
string and knots in (the) places
i tried to tug shut-
but ended up ripping
from when i tried to cleanse
myself from you,
hurt too much to continue,
and left myself
so i'm still here
letting my veins cry and
my scabs heal over,
my a hole where my
heart should be,
and no band-aids to fix
when you go through something trying all the good guys and do-gooders flock to you. they wring metaphorical hands and ask if there's anything they can do, like some baked ziti or wadded handkerchief will caulk your cracks.
then an acceptable timetable for healing goes by and they lay pity eyes on you give you that how're you doing honey smile, but their baked ziti didn't serve as the salve they'd hoped and you're crumbling fast and maybe that pity smile is your solution so you tell them.
you tell them how many times you count the cracks in your ceiling before falling asleep (27) you tell them how many glasses of wine it takes to feel decent again (at least 4) you tell them how many hours it's been since you last ate (56)
and they wish you ate the fucking ziti and blew your nose in damp handkerchiefs because an acceptable amount of time has passed and you should be healed by now, but what they don't know is your timetable is inverted and you work in wrong-way highways. they don't know that time is scar tissue much more delicate than the lock-box you've put him and all the things he did in, and each second chips away at that box and the essence of him is seeping out like acid that melts through all your barriers.
the good guys and do-gooders don't want to open your broken-heart bank and let all the bees out. they want you to eat the ziti and say thank you like it actually fixed something.
Touch the sky with me
and we can fly, fly, fly
away from these places,
wrong faces, all the traces
of the spaces we created
between our lonely hearts
and forgotten minds;
the parts of us that shouldn't exist
crying in their cavernous
and rupturing in feeling
through the waves of something
more, something undeniable
and true. The pinprick
in which my emotions
is gargling with a blood
that pours black yet,
as it trickles through
me, I can feel it restoring beauty
to the yellowed valleys of my skin.
I'm not afraid of the darkness
For only in the dark can one truly see the light.
Our eyes will adjust to see the stars painted in the sky at night.
Im not afraid of sleep
For through sleep the body gets a chance to heal.
Reducing the aches and pains imperfection forces us to feel.
So don't feel grief if I slumber awhile
For I shall awake refreshed and new.
Do not feel alone for you don't have to wait long before I come back to you.
Don't shed any tears for I am not lost forever
My story has not ended I'm just on a different chapter.
I fought a good fight and ran a good race all thats happened is I just finished a little faster.