Stevie Ray

Stevie Ray Aug 2019

~

In a constant state of slumber and waking.
Being the same being,
being everchanging.
Losing myself and searching,
stumbling upon and finding.
Drifting in the shadows,
face changing with different lighting.
I can't explain. I'm silent.
Strings attached to violins.
Sincerity masking violence
from inner strings that chime in.

Everything feels connected
but the space between my face and mask
is a layer of self rejection.
You can see I'm sometimes vacant,
that's when my emptyness is present.
Thoughts that stir a fog,
adding another layer in a second.
You can see I'm trying to wake up,
yet love has trouble reconnecting.
That's when some of you say may name
and bring me back and that's my blessing.

Stevie Ray Jul 2019

Peeling.

I peel layers off of me
bit by bit, flake by flake,
thought by thought.
Deeper.
Until blood drips.
Wounds fester.
Tears flow.
Salt burns.
I peel.
I dig. I struggle. I lose.
I dive.
Deeper.
I doubt. I fear. I crave. I long.
I need.
Deeper.
I reject. I loathe. I hate. I forgot.
I despise.
Deeper.
I run. I Lie. I manipulate. I escape.
I cry.
Deeper.
I obsess. I regret. I confess.
I detest.
Existing.

Deeper.
It's empty. There's space.
Room to breathe. I'm there
A presence.
I understand. I fill the space
I have with me and stretch.
There's room to grow. I plant a happy tree. A seed. A present.
I dug so deep, in the soil of me to plant a seed that lasts forever.

Stevie Ray May 2019

Little pockets

little pockets of dread.
Grey and cold.

I'm a withering leaf,
in the painful process of letting go.

My skin tears.
Flakes of despair falling in winter.

My heart cracks,
bark besides the road.

Came from far turned into a long way home.

Footprints through the mud,
woven shoelaces from dried grass.

An abandoned heart.
Soul shelters in an empty chamber.

Tears in a storm.
Grief hiding amongst drops.

In the presence of lastig absence,
thoughts staring at an empty canvas.

Little pockets.

Stevie Ray Sep 2018

Candle

An immortal flame
Absent, yet enkindled
It resides in me and you
An awareness we gave
eachother when our eyes met
When our smiles opened
the windows in our eyes
and we could see the same candle burning
How could we forget?
We never have
It's just the drama of going through birth
The fleetingness of life
and the wisdom of us as a child
that was washed away to time
Because let's be honost
we both were a long way from home
But our candle still burns my dear
And our home is still ours
let's spend some time together
I've missed you and I wonder how your day went.

Stevie Ray May 2018

A small note on a park bench

The cold rain
is a pleasant companion
compared to the ever absence of drought.
The settling dust just dwindles around
it provides no coat of comfort
like the countless raindrops that are crashing upon me.
I miss an arm around my shoulder.

Sincerely yours,

Vulnerability

Stevie Ray Mar 2018

A broken well

A broken well
that I was really fond of
sharing.

Worn, moldy wood.
And an old bucket
that had so many trips
to get the tastiest water
for the thirstiest people.

Beautiful.

But over the years
the water started lying down
The mold took over
and bricks started
falling in it.

I pondered for days.

What else was there to share?
How could I reïnvigorate
the worn out travelers?
Who was I
without my well
that others could tap from?

I'm defeated.

A broken well.

And here you come,
YOU,
Drinking from my well
but choosing an other.
But missing mine
so dearly
it hurts you.

It hurts me.
And what is a well,
that doesn't carry
the desire to be pure?
To be clean?
To be drank from?
By you. An exhausted traveler?

My rejection
is met with
your desire
for my water
once more

But tell me!
What is a well
but there for the thirsty?
What can a well do
but indescriminately give?

A broken well
that drowns
in it's own water

My apologies
the water might taste
a little bit salty.
But feel free.
That's who I am.

A broken well.

Stevie Ray Mar 2018

Layers in my flame

Shallow beyond measurement.
I shed you from my light.
Stand in the changing shadow of my inaction.
As my warmth slowly slithers away
and darkness crawls back to you.

I talk with masks
but listen to layers.

And they
tell me I'm wrong
in all ways.
An apology would
suit me.

My measurement of depth
should not lay
in the layers of my light.
Because that is for you to find
and decide.
My actions
should not be based on you
but based on inner motions
moving me.
It would suit me
that my warmth
should move accordingly.
I'm sorry
for imposing my expectations,
coming forth from my own dependancy,
on to you.

Layers in my flame

A poem inspired by an interesting conversation that sparked some insight.