I remember when I was lost in depression and self-loathing,
how alone I felt.

Even when I was surrounded by people, who I loved and loved me, I felt disconnected and numb.

This poem is a small message to all of you who felt and feel this way that you are not alone.

No suggestions or advice.  Often the friends and strangers that helped me the most when I was really lost in myself were the ones who drew near and were just with me.

A silent loving presence means a lot when you feel numb to life.  A simple tender touch might not break through the walls of depression in the moment, but I remember those warm touches in hind sight.  

Loving presence were subtle lamp posts that guided me out of the darkness of depression, resentments, self-pity, and hate.

All I have are these words as totems of a loving presence given to me by others that reminded me that I am not alone.  A gentle touch, a silent smile, or just hearing the breath of a loved one sitting quietly next to you.

To the far reach
where the soul is frozen
and the sun doesn’t know
a rise from a fall
dark nights are unsettling
and the silence is cold

but the sun doesn't know
what the sun doesn't know.

Borealis burns
to thaw out a feeling
and you ride with the flow
on a southerly heading
as the sun stays low
beneath a fire-kissed sky

and you ride the flow
to ride with the flow.

Till warm sea winds
and calm sets you down
as the rain settles in
with a comforting sound
evening will fall
on Bocas del Toro

as the rain settles in,
as the rain settles in.

r ~ 7/11/14

Throwing words
like tossed pebbles
at his window
in the clouds-

no one home
but the rain
and the wind
that blew once-

once for you-
I threw pebbles
at the clouds
just for you.

r ~ 7/10/14

Still,
I rise.

By the power of God,
I sheath
The knife
That was once pressed
To my neck.

That falls to the floor
With a resounding
click.

Rusting. Tetanus shots. God.

Somehow I saw
Jesus' face in the blade's
Own,
Ruddy red hair and
Scraggly beard.

And.

Voice cleaving through
The darkness—
a whisper.

For the first time in
A while,

He spoke to me.
Still,

I rise.

I was cursing on autopilot,
not reay taking responsibility
for my life.

I lived a decade or more in a daze
and confused by my own illusions,
thinking somehow I was in control.

I was lucky enough to be given a moment of grace,
a tiny window where I surrendered and cried out
for help and actually took the help offered to me.

Three years ago I was alone drinking myself to death
in my basement apartment, bitter and resentful.
I was praying everyday for God to **** me.

Today, I am grateful that I am alive.
I am free to make mistakes, but more importantly,
I can be grateful today for my life with all it's beauty and pain.

I am grateful that I got to see my baby girl for the first time,
in her mother's belly and that I am alive today
welcome life instead of trying to end it.

The yellow eye
of the sun,
like the ancient eyes
of an old man
who's seen too much whiskey,
used to brown my skin
now just dries me out
like an old boot
turned the wrong way
on the post out by the highway.

r ~ 7/8/14

My dad dug his foot into my back like a shovel breaking soil.
If I do enough push ups, can I put a smile on your face.
If I move the earth for you, will meteors stop me.

I carried sparklers in my hands while cannon-kisses erupted in the sky,
and my cousin swore that I'd hurt myself.
But I explained to him that history repeats itself,
and that my hurt is unavoidable.

Like the hug of a grieving grandmother,
and the staring off into space,
as her tears stain my white oxford lie.
There's no way to get out of this place.
Finding new ways to live in death.

I don't want to be cool. I don't want to be cool.

And her fingers left a ******* on my back.
And my mouth melted onto hers.
I love her until my eyes **** in sleep.
And it's deep. And it's deep.

The swirl of the ceiling sank down
like a child being drowned by his mother.
And I missed my brother, and I missed it all.

I don't want to be cool. I don't want to be cool.
No, not anymore.