Uncomfortable within this skin.
My joints complain
and muscles scream.

But people say, "It's normal.
It's more common than you think."

My mind in shambles.
Ideas incoherent
and thought processes
sluggish at best.

But people say, "It's normal.
It's more common than you think."

My emotions are in
total disarray.
I'm not happy
yet I'm not anything at all.

But people say, "It's normal.
It's more common than you think."

My insides twisting,
splitting.
Every grain and fibre
set on fire.

But people say, "It's normal.
It's more common than you think."

If this is normal,
I'm petrified with
the prospect of
what isn't.

The beautiful scars that you have gain from the storms you have endure

Lites up your Most beautiful soul, revealing your strength through it.

Touching the Hearts of those that gain a glimpse of it and knew..

Just how much that you had to endure, with Christ Jesus help.

To see the Creator, in your chemistry connected to Him here.

The same Savior whom went to the cross for us on Calvary.

And then on the 3rd day Risen to rescue us from our Sins.

Those same scars, that hides within you were put there.

Because of the Spirit that dwells within you Protected you.

For in reality you should be dead, and in the bowels of the earth.

But you have been rescued, from death several times here.

Because he is not done with you, Praise our Savior God.

I fear.
Everyone does
I once conquered one,
the fear of being none

Today I fear a lot
I don't fear you, you're wrong
I'm just afraid to be with you
I fear attachments.
I fear moments spent with you
I am afraid I might be used to it
I'm afraid someday those moments
turn into memories
and those memories will haunt me
as I face my next fear
and that is the fear of losing you
for life is like picking a flower from a garden
handle it,
let its thorn hurt you
let it wilt
or let it go

or you can simply just fear it
and be none.

"i will never let you go"
a lie most of us know
they tell us that they'll always be there
then are the reason that knives make our skin tear

An arrow points to the
hole in my chest
where my heart
once lived.

Happiness?
Where have I gone?
Cold and darkness
embraces my mind.

The mirror
shows me as
hollow and dead
like I'm a corpse.

I'm totally disconnected
and disjointed in this
reality, this plane
of existence.

Where has the me
that I once was
gone to?
Where am I?

I feel nothing
tasting only the
loneliness and dust
on my lips.

I've become paralyzed
in the waters of despair.

Sitting at my little desk
cluttered up with nothing real
so it looks like I have work
a little heater on my feet
epitome of luxury - warm feet
how time drags away today
so much behind to do at home
alone inside this little room
where photos line the wall
with other people’s happy day
would it be sacrilege
to ever put a sad pose
in the frame that
held such shining joy
≈≈≈
another wall is cabinets
with everything that
I might need for anything
but where is the band-aid
for today and the
cure-all for tomorrow
as I sit and wish that I was gone
to any place but here
≈≈≈
narcolepsy goose-steps in
battalions of its troops-
a war I must not lose
I cannot leave and
beat retreat
I must stand firm and fight
until the razor
hands of time
cut through the bars
that keep me here
unwilling but required
≈≈≈
for I support the camping trip
that we call daily life and there
are hungry mouths to feed
with names like heat and light and
shelter from the winter
they bring their cousins
food and clothes and
go juice for the car
to stand in line
on my front porch
with hands outstretched
demanding
≈≈≈
sometimes I muse
on what would happen
if i just turned out the lights
and locked the door
against intruders
and tap danced away
would there be a net
to catch me
if i jump too high
or dance along
the precipice
without my contact lenses
≈≈≈
now I recall
the words my mother said
when I would dream out loud
“wish in one hand
spit in the other
and see which one
gets full first”
good ole hillbilly philosophy
≈≈≈
so here I stay with a frozen clock
an antique desk
with a vase of crimson
bougainvillea I snipped
off the hedge
across the parking lot
I must have flowers
on my desk and
in my home
my very soul demands it
but never if I buy them
it requires the vaunted
ingenuity my mother
preached to me  
to keep the vases full
≈≈≈
what ceramic vase
 would I fit in
I’m neither rose
nor orchid
would I be
a whole bouquet
or just a single daisy
silliness to ponder
fourteen kinds of nonsense
≈≈≈
still the pen
stays wedded
to my finger
not yet done
with nonsense rambling
though I’ve said
most everything
I need to say
≈≈≈
I’m over half the
way to freedom
looking for a coin
to buy away
the final hundred minutes
will it be the radio
a game of solitaire
or just more
claptrap from this pen
≈≈≈
the usual fall back
crossword puzzle
points up my aphasia
and I’m in no mood
to face humiliation
once again
≈≈≈
how slowly can I nibble on
the sandwich
left from lunch and still the time
procrastinates
my mind at last is blank
And now is the acceptance
I can’t scribble on forever
it’s time to
put away the pen
and hide this diatribe
out of the public eye
And head at last for home.
                ljm