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Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
I don't need a home
              I don't need a husband
I don't want kids.
          I don't need a six figure salary or fame
                     I don't need a pet
                                     or a place on the lake
I have but one request, one love, one desire; to see the world

So, please, keep your ring, your family, your home, your money, your pets, your vacay places, and dear God,

- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Jan 2014
I miss him. I love him. He was never mine.

I miss him
because I loved him; love him
without understanding the
or why

Lord, help me, I found the best kind of connection in the worst kind of unavailable.

No, really,

Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
I'll be pretty this time,
I promise to a room that never loved me.
      I'll be better.
Less of everything I am and more of everything I'm not.
               I'll even be someone else I promise,
           as a request - forgive me my sins,
                                                forgive me my birth and love me one more day.

I want to want life - but I can't and your love - the love I can never have
      keeps me here.
Please, one more day, cause this ledge is ******* cold, and I don't wanna go just yet.

One more day.
    Just one.
love - please?
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
You tell me I'm too flirty,
              but with a ring on your hand you hold mine?
Friends can't nudge each other, but they can hold each others hands?

They can't playfully tousle each other's hair, but they can touch each other's legs?

I'm trying real ******* hard to put you first.

                 you and your wife.

   Ignore all the signs that point to us and support you and when I hold back my habits of playful friendship swats


you hold my hand
       and she's in the room.

I loved it, and I hate myself for that.
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
An emotional investment left me bankrupt, things shattered
Apart we’re left in pieces on the floor shattered once again, once more
The shards of the past touch my trusting hand not to touch in the end we understand
But at present state we’re lost among the shimmer
The shimmer, sparkling face of a porcelain doll, painted to please, hallow, spots missing, taped up, broken
Take up the drug of Gods, sanity’s sweet nectar
Fill your holes with liquid and be fulfilled.
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
As day hazed over to night somewhere over my home I sat in awe during the midnight flight how the ground became constellations of civilizations
     And cities flickered like embers
                      From a fire ready to ignite,
Awaiting a reason, a cause to be in awe at, to fight for, to be vibrant with life for
    Thoughts over seconds in a sky took shape and now spark my soul, my dulled living,
                                           To be more
To look for more
      I’ve had too many weeks of mundane that pale in comparison to those few seconds
    Like the horizon haze there has to be a way to blend and thread those seconds through those weeks to create a life better lived
It’s a spark worth pursuing and this,
               24 Is the year
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
We grew up together
In sunray symphonies and sleepover sunrises, we grew
Only as children can, without regret of so many yesterdays or fear of the future and it’s guaranteed pain

We played together
On glimmering snowy hillsides and golden pastures
You pulled my hair and I cried, years later you lost yours, and I cried

We’d almost done it, made the passage to adulthood
And then it was the cancer that grew
Without fear or regret you fought
It took away your youth but you only smiled, the smile of faith, of angels
I cried the tears of lost yesterdays and dark tomorrows, I cried the selfish tears of people
And when the prayers and medicine stopped helping, it was you who cried
The sorrowful tears of the heavens, of the loss, of the end
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann May 2014
In the name of health I stopped bandaid-ing with busyness
      with food
          with spending
               with caffeine
                   with you
and it stripped me raw
        back to a preteen self before the trauma really came
and a preteen me after the waves hit
                                                           year after year of desperation soothed by self medication

Exposed without crutches I find a dull pulse of someone who wishes to be rotting
      because to rot suggests life and I feel like a statue in pieces  that never meant much of anything to anyone
   not even my creators

          counting hours down without anything to count to; afraid to live like I was and afraid to exist like I am

I'm taking my courage with what little grace I can offer and I'm giving into faith, the Father.
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
It’s a beautiful dance we engage in, an intricate illusion to be sure
                                                 the most becoming coming of age fairytale,
It’s a stunning tale to behold
                                  one of truth, of love, of something better than we held before
                       the threatening reality pushes us to determinately cling, trying to grip the memory of what was
watching it slide in a strikingly sorrowful manner down our hands caressing our veins, teasing our life, as the tomorrows cease to be bright and our womb life before living is our finest delight
              It was the once real hope who’s skeleton we now masquerade about attempting to replenish the life it once held, it was progress for something other, someone other than ourselves.
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
The phone rang again last night
                 He carried new versions of last spring’s heartbreak, in a brand new season
We’d taken some time apart, and while I loved the freedom, my life’s destined to be his
             We’re fatally; fatefully intertwined he’s my ****** soul mate

We’ve gotten reacquainted over coffees on the afternoon; he knows how I take it; too much creamer for a fake delight, a little bit of sweet to lighten up the dark
    He takes his black, without sugar or any messy mixed deceptions
I whisper, red eyed once again, ‘I haven’t anything to offer; you took too much before’
                 He remains silent, it’s his style, I’ve grown fond of these becoming characteristics; loyal, dependable, and while he can’t be exclusive he never stays away for long
I wouldn’t call what we have love, but an old fashion arranged marriage
             He doesn’t mind my hearts to broken to hold and I don’t mention my resentment towards are lifetime commitment  --- we just sit in each other’s company sharing our afternoon coffees with the same old problems staring at the same bad news.
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
I’m ribbons and lace, polka dots and florals
          Naughty and nice, femininity embraced
  I’m scars and secrets, broken hearts and hook ups
                       I’m exhausted


      A captive of my past, uncertain of my future, longing for wholeness
     Afraid of who I become in survival mode


  Praying for relief
      Unable to handle this world of political ties and lies
  Wanting to remember what air used to feel like before it was stained with despair and regret
  Hoping one of these days turns out to be better.
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
walking to work today I realized we'd never have another Christmas
I've been rereading words from when you knew me
                                                                   from that sumer at the lake
                                                    where I heard of your Nita

and how you two became my boys

     logically i know you couldn't write at the end,
that you didn't know me
                                                                                                                        but my heart doesn't care
it didn't hurt when you died
                                                            because what awaited
here for you was hell, but today
it hurt
       and I missed you like crazy
                          I hope you know that
    how deeply I loved you
                                          and your Nita
                                                                                                                and that perhaps you're together
                                                                                                        as you were always meant to be
                                                      and maybe you'll guide me to my other
                                            for my own life list
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
We’re in the midst of a December disaster
        Deja visite
     Verge of a new year stuck in the same old pain
Grandmother’s got cancer, merry Christmas, thanks Santa
My hearts to bruised from last spring slaughter to feel very much and with death on its doorstep again it’s in no rush to reconnect

The charity bells continue with their holiday hymns and grandpa can’t understand where his wife is
     I can’t take a break because one check’s never enough
She’s terminal, but I suppose we all are
                                                            S­he’s ****** to die in slow anticipation pain, we’re ****** to watch and contemplate our own demise

Merry Christmas Jesus, tell your dad the same, oh and tell him thanks for the hell stained greeting  sloshed upon our door
             We’ve only ever done our best, and while ****** go free, I suppose yes, it is we who deserve this living nightmare

Books threaten us with hell, eternal absence of you, well with the hand you’ve given it doesn’t sound so bad
Excuse my sacrilegious phrasing, but seems you’ve pardoned molesters and allowed hellish realities to walk our streets
                      What have we done?
                                                         You see us, and judge us wrong, but we are only what you made us, and pushing us doesn’t fix the hate you help create.
            I’d ask you for help, but you’ve already made it clear, you don’t give a flying **** as to what happens to your people here.

I know I won’t hate you forever, and maybe never really at all but my heart has been emotionally ***** and it feels like it’s all your fault

Sorry for whatever I have done or didn’t do, but if we repent can you give us one death free new year?

                    Bitter, table of one.

                                        Check please
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
It was cherry blossom season in Washington D.C.
       She was stunning, but something was wrong
   She wanted the trampled blossoms for souvenirs
       A representation of her rage
            It made sense only in her mind, where reality and fiction were blending
               We didn’t know then the hell that awaited
          I didn’t know I was about to be changed forever

In the days that came I held her as she cried,
Answered questions about the voices     that haunted her
  That no one could hear
Walked with her when the world
         Was full of fear
    And she was alone

Later we’d know this was an episode, a problem with a name and a treatment plan, but in that moment
It was her and I, holding hands, making promises and blending our tears to the injustice of the situation

In the months and year that followed I was alone. She went home and I stayed behind,
In infected rage. Not at her, but at the world,
   At the people I loved who turned their backs as I held her through hell

I carry the cherry blossoms behind my right ear
A reminder of D.C. in the spring
Of her and I against the world
Of knowing hell to appreciate heaven

A reminder that life is beautiful, fleeting, and merely a season.
A reminder I’m never alone
Chris Hollermann Nov 2021
The first time you kissed me my heartbeat couldn't breathe
           I felt suspended in the present, completely in my body; on fire with our heat
   my mind, usually drenched in anxiety; pacing through possibilities, went beautifully, blissfully, blank
                              I sank into my body; feeling grounded;
               an oak tree with the freedom of a breeze; wrapped up in the moment, lost even to me; savoring what was, not worried about what we'd remember or what we'd be
The next day my lip was swollen from the urgency that made it feel like too much fabric was held between us
      time still moved, but, for the moment, for all the minutes that included, we were still in crackling connection
  a story we were just starting to tell; the adventure of us and right there a the beginning
                               we stood still, sturdy and free
          beginning and becoming
                             simultaneously everything and nothing
                just being

It was beautiful;

                 it still is
          We were beautiful;

                                    we still are
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
I accepted a dance with the devil and he took the lead, creating a fatal romance to a seductive beat
One small drink
Cha cha cha
Just a few pills
One, two, three
And dip
My neckline plunged and I begged for more
His eyes lit up with delight
Razor blades and blood became our midnight sky
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
Sorrow’s pounding on my door, quarter to midnight, relentless, bill collector after my feelings.
     I explain my situation
                                Unforeseen emotional expenses have left me under budget and no way to make the minimum payment
He’s heard it all before, he can hear the pre-rehearsed lines in my voice  and presents me with a predetermined standard payment plan - he acts as the devil and I sign over my soul for an undeterminable amount of time for collateral

It’s useless really, he’ll never get the debt I owe
                                                       As soon as emotion comes in I’m going all out, he’ll never get paid
I’m already grief’s *****, and sorrow wants in too,
            I’m popular in stocks of hardship and heartless - there are perks to the situation if you choose to see them
                                               Without feeling anger no longer pollutes my mind

Hope passed through but with no vacancy he moved on to someone else, I don’t sleep well, but without emotions I do get to sleep
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Jun 2011
A visitor rang at my door late one night, an old friend,
Taking his hand in mine without words we held no identity and breathed as one,
He held a bag of emptied hearts and broken spirits
His eyes held the burden of truth,
We knew, in the silent darkness, the way only hearts can, our parting that night would be short lived
A few days more my door rang again and there with his bag he slipped right in,
I heard all the words he had to say, all the truths he’d forced me to face and begged him to go
Sadly he shook his head, kissed my forehead and took residence in my bed,
I fought and persuaded, pushed , and hung my head defeated
This old friend, he told no lie,
That time for now was no friend of mine,
He never left my side in those months to come, in return I dropped my contributions into his bag,
His hand stay tightly woven in mine as my eyes witness the cancer take so much from the youthful angel, the world only briefly could know,
My friend, he saw this too, he’d wept with me weeks before, and for so many yet to come promising never to leave, at least never for long,
I collapsed into him, into his tragic security
As a loved one slipped away to death he slid into my home
His name was grief and while I live neither he nor I will be alone
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
An onslaught of misery forced me into a whirlwind of change
To strong to resist, to sudden to understand left only to stand and observe the destruction
The overwhelming aftermath left me sweeping all emotion under the rug, setting myself up to later trip up and leave me dripping with stale grief, swearing, as the grief stricken crazy do, that I could hear the angels weep the day you died, and how the wings of your memory brushed my face each night
How I could swear we bridge the gap between our worlds when I see you in my dreams
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
The cello strings dripped of rich resonance as the bow glided gracefully across the string like hope on the breeze
Capturing every heart and connecting every soul in the room to one unified moment
Every breath rest on the edge or release as each instrument came to life, saturating the air they wipe away our past, every imperfection, renewing us
Breathing life into our tired flesh, giving us a sense of the dreams we once held and the stars we believed we could reach creating hope for new possibilities, for new beginnings
Long after the final note faded the music rang, as we all moved back to our small worlds and personal sorrows, it rang
Forever in us, it rings
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
I spent the night salting my face
               considering past loves, and missing the blade

I walked around an apartment that wasn't mine
           feeling like ghost cursed to walk a in a life that never wanted me
   Pleading to live
               I hear her screaming - begging me to fight through it
        Telling me a love is coming, but I'm already on borrowed time
Today I'm shaking
   Wondering how this became my life
             How I got here again
  It should never have been me
         I should never have lived
Last night I coudln't find a pill, bottle, or knife

So today I'm shaking

Terrified of feeling everything that's been building
   how did I get here?
                 and why did I believe I could do this?
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Nov 2021
I read somewhere when we let our defenses down we become ordinary,  
        the simplification of self allows us to transform into a transparent being; fully able to allow in divinity and shine light into the world.

your kisses on my neck caused a chain reaction that ended with my head falling back; off the pillow, shedding my defenses, sinking into you
     your touch can do that
          strip me down to my elements and raise what's raw and primal into sanctity
If awareness is impossible when when are heads are caught up with life's illusions of control, ensnared in self-imagine; your ability to
        erase my ego brought me to a higher awareness than I've ever known.

The hallmark of spirituality is the softening of ones' soul then on a Sunday not so long ago an atheist and a non-religious came together,
        finding church within, and on, one another
  so why, and for what possible, highest good reason can the persecution of pleasure; the embraced reverence of each other, be the wisest course for humanity?
    In concert with one another barriers of self fell in the creation of an us; elevating and excavating urgent tenderness from my soul. A process that, in every sense of the word, was divine
     Still religious takes this holey exchange and demands our atonement.
         You want a confession.

Here's what I'll confess.
    The union of him and I, the earthy tanginess of desire, brought my soul closer to 'God' than any bible verse
                   so following the logic of keeping faith simple I'll to church, just not before your alter
  instead I'll allow my soul to soften in the arms of a lovely irreligionist, naked and unashamed
  ordinary, transparent, and in the greatest good of us; of my essence, of me
    It makes me smile because the universal flow, as I know them, would smile at the tragic irony of how our humanness made something so simple, instinctive, automatic as coming together into a shame shrouded sin
   causing a fall from grace, instead of into Grace.
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
I write of great loves I’ve never had and heartbreaks I wish had never been
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
In a city of strangers and uncertainty I waged the final war to close the chapter of aged heartache that’s been stretching on for far too long
       I found everything I needed in London without knowing what had been missing
  The blistering exhaustion of my feet couldn’t stop my soul from rejoicing in the wholeness it found after so long
     Hours blended into days that became a week, a week of healing, of hope, of a life reclaimed, refilled.

In a city of strangers I found myself
                 24 is the year.
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
Thoughts sit soft on the skin
As two hearts begin the lovers tango,
Delicately tangle, delightfully intertwined

Passion slips smoothly from the lips
Bodies feel blurred and serene, love acting as the intoxicating fiend

Hold my hand and we’ll stumble through it together
Welcome to love’s first dance
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Jun 2015
My eyes had a way of changing color, grey to green, depending on pain

He had a way of inspiring the spectrum by the way he withheld his heart,
A varied action
Dependent only on the day
And had nothing to do with me

It felt personal though, it always feels personal when hearts get involved
Hearts and their agendas

I gave up on my dreams of us being any of the scripts I craved but
I'd still held purpose in love transforming his loss

Selfish or selfless,
Agenda's agenda

I'll go on loving him because with love like this it's the only option I've got

But I'll do it agenda less
Perhaps my eyes can find a terminal balance

Hazel Grace
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
If I could understand it myself maybe I'd sahre it.

I. Like. The. Way. It. Hurts.

       But I don't know why or how to be someone else. I also pray for another life and for the sweet
caress of death.

                              Clearly I've had more than my fair share of unanswered prayers
I love the men I can't have
                                                         ­   I. Like. The. Way. It. Hurts.

For that same reason I spent my formative years getting serious with a knife.
                  I prayed we'd get too serious and go too far, but here I am an exhibit in pathetic
  another unasnwered prayer poster child

I made a promise to live because
                                   I. Like. The. Way. It. Hurts.

I don't know much. I sure as **** don't know where it started or why but at least
                      ­                  Like
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
I walked home in the rain today
                               Holding an umbrella
                Unopened and unused

The rain felt like memories
    Of Europe at 24 and first love at 17
                              It was a well worn path home, but it felt like
It shared the same grey skies as London, where I left my heart for healing

     I wondered, if this rain, if it too could wash away everything life had stained me with
   If across places and spaces rain held a baptismal purity
If it’d always hold interwoven fingers and venice beaches
     Thunder field kisses and a vibrant life reclaimed


If like the storm, it held the promise of this too shall pass
   If in time the priority would be to stay dry

Forgetting the sweetness of rain
   Of picnic table romances
Of European adventures

                                      Losing the beauty of life
   When rain could taste of hope
                    Feel like memories
                                Inspire poetry

And take an ordinary day and
Make it art
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
The midnight canvas with it’s beautiful truth paints us a masterpiece and openly I talk to you
The silent night protects us and hides our insecure fears, both of each other and nothing
In the line of tomorrow becoming today and today yesterday the sense of clarity becomes confused
But at midnight it seems to breath, the skeleton of me starts to take shape
A calmness filled with an anxious appreciation of fate, to sweet to feel without fear of permanent escape
And I ask in the sense of an invisible companion, When does it click or all fall apart?
Why don’t you answer in my enlightened dark?
And how do I believe, hold faith and still fail to find my voice
Then the clock moves, everything’s shifted to the edge
I know it’s approaching, the time the darkened shield’s gone
I hold on as long as I can without it being said until through nonverbal communication our openness halts and we drift away to an understanding saddened state
Our midnight’s gone and to speak would only make it break
So we sleep dreams of the next midnight fate
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Jul 2015
Our love story was short.
I used three words to describe it.
I. Love. You.
You used two.
I can't.

Then there was nothing more to say.
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
He was electric bad news
    With a soulful garage sound that spelled trouble
  I wanted to be the woman I reformed from years ago, that took wedding rings as a challenge
                  Not a mistake

If we’d been alone perhaps opportunity would have made us both weeds
    In a crowd his fingers grazed, lingered, and caressed my arm
Hand felt strong, heavy on my shoulder
                 Inspiring a mental masterpiece of where else            they could be
       Forbidden attraction pulsed through the air between us

We were electric for one night in Minnesota where nothing happened
    But the what ifs and could haves left sweet sin stained dreams in his absence
   Morning broke with electric bad news on a plane, me questioning who I’ve really become and wondering if at any point he felt the same.
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
My heart felt heavy in the spaces of your musical farewell
      I knew then, with certainty I lacked before, that I cared for you
    Far more than our prescribed roles allowed for
             I knew then, as you played your own composition,
     That I’d failed you in some ways
             But in others I still wondered --- about hours that felt like minutes, about how the time between us was art
   Something in all that I am found home in something you are
       It screams within me for more time and less boundaries neither of us can give

You’ll leave soon, the urgency to make meaning is stifling because I’m afraid I could love you
              But will never know
                            You’ll build a life, one you’ve already planned and I’ll miss you like crazy, wishing I’d been around for the planning years before
    Forever changed by thoughts and stars in November
Changed by thoughts and stars of you
during our only season

I’ll send some light and love when I think of you, of our maybe, perhaps, our almost
    When you feel the air exchange in and out
        It carries my thoughts; a little light and a little love
From one, of two people, whose only regret wasn’t the mistakes either of them made
     But simply
  That we didn’t have more time.
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
Past: I grew up in the land of men
Present: Culture shock into the wonderful world of women
Future: Close, meaningful, healthy relationships

Past: A sense of being trapped, a predetermined path to struggle
Present: A struggle to opportunity
Future: A completely broken cycle

Past: Self-hatred at worst, doubt at best
Present: Transitioning
Future: Authentic wholeness

Past: Done
Present: Healing
Future: Beautiful
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
My heart leaned into listen as your eyes began to speak
Your low warm voice softly kissed my ears,
Setting my cheeks afire, a cherry glow
This is new, but the idea of us seems written in the stars, stamped for eternity

Your breath on the nape of my neck wraps me in you, a captive of your charm
Hearts beating, thoughts float with ease from me to you
     I’ve known you for always, written in my soul was a role for you, it seemed we confirm the stars and plunge into a lifelong pact of love
Vulnerable moments, countless memories
The stars fate seems fatally miscalculated
What we had was love, what we hold is hope, what we forced ruined both
     You wanted to work, repair the permanent damage I’d created
But there’s a truth inside that whispers our confirmed stars were a lie, or at least that’s what our human touch has turned them into
She’s not my love because she’s not you but we can’t go back; we’ve meant to much already, a lifetime of commitment in half the time
The boys will be alright
Someday they’ll gaze into their own stars and learn a little to late the precise art of love and fate
How the heart is good for one big shot, but even the brightest, strongest, truest of stars burn out
The speed of light isn’t fast enough to prevent the mess we’ll make
Love is real, but lust is more intoxicating
Don’t worry for the time ticking out on this omniscient statement it spans past all time: love is alive only after we die
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
I knew then what I’d think now
A pre-chosen idea like an infected wound opens up and feels brand new
The burning unexpected taste of a drunken release disappoints and leaves me here

I knew then
What I’d think now.
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
My favorite family photo of me is as a baby
   Eyes twinkling with wonder
           Heart open with glee, no idea of what life awaits me
    Of the hell I’d meet
No idea that tears of heartbreak would pierce my hope
   That scars would be self inflicted for the love I ached
That I’d be haunted forever by the broken pieces I’d become
     That there’d be so many nights I’d pray to never wake
That I’d be alone
   That life would lose it’s twinkling wonder
That a lifetime would quickly become way too long to wait
Chris Hollermann Aug 2014
She talked of prison pipe dreams
                                  of England accents found in adventures in far off land that would act as armor
    for the inside where the sadness takes root and smothers hope; the seed of which resides in us all

                                 She'll never go now - the years have passed by and bars built and hold her here
  I swelled with a mixture of guilt and joy, having lived her dream and withholding it from her now, still

   the weight of unclaimed dreams and moments never experienced tore at my heart so I numbed it through self-inflicted deprivation; refusal to add fuel to the chamber, going on days now

oh baby, make it hurt so good
sometimes lives don't live like they should
make it hurt so good
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
If I could always feel the wind on my eyelids; feel moved like the leaves; sadness would be a distant memory, never reality.

I am not the leaves, she thought, I am not a leaf. The wind stopped, refusing to be her distraction.

I am a series of pieces learning to be whole; human.

'These feelings always throw me off -- you never cared' she howled to a God she didn't trust.

Ah, but the feelings are meant for people and pieces have a way of fighting just right, given time. I love you now, always have, always will the wind whispered.

She cried.

A collection of pieces, free to do as they please, residing in this one life together, not alone, but lonely.

The tears fell.
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
What if instead of roots I decided to fly and never settle in the ways my gender asks me to?

Would the whispers ever stop - would it ever change?
      Why would I adhere to these predetermined life lines if I can't hope my own Xs will get the opportunity to fly?

If I have to hope for Y so they might have a chance,
                             only a chance
                                                      why would I shackle myself
   to resentment and stunted versions of myself
                                  so this cycle simply perpetuates forward with protest?
   I don't want to remove the choice,
                                  but I'm sick of what I'm being told to pick.
              I'm broken for being in love with life instead of a spouse, partner, signficant other,
all adjectives for the same thing
               Why am I only permitted to seek my happiness if it fits into what shoudl fulfill me?

Consider me agency - being communioned into action for a better future so people can honestly pursue their happiness as people.

No X or Y needed to decipher some ancient code.

Simply human, simple people, simply enough.
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
It pulled me under with ease, like I had no where to be
It sang its sad siren song
I fell to my knees as the pain clouded over and pretended to be fine, as hope disappeared
The hearts shattered and hid as cancer showed it’s hideous head
The prelude of misery
22 year old on the way to save a burning home, to stop the disappearance of someone’s memories
Left him to walk through ours

I breathe still but it’s no longer light and airy
It’s heavy with misery
It’s aged from the loss of innocence and it only pushed out to survive
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Mar 2015
The coffee slides down my throat,
Straight shot to my vines, an imitation of alive,
My hearts too preoccupied to do its job
Busy singing a siren song about a guy
Who didn't want me
Doesn't miss me
And won't

The anxiety of that truth slithers around my neck at night, stealing my rest
As the memories of his touch haunt my mind, circling on repeat, whispering 'almost'

I didn't know him long enough for it to feel this way
Heartache is for the splits of duration not the barely begun
Here I am

In withdrawal of him and all we could have been
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
As day hazed over to night somewhere over my home I sat in awe
     During a midnight flight how the ground became constellations of civilizations
        How a power plant with the right illumination becomes a master piece
  At the connections and networks we cultivate in this digital age drive us apart
    Move us away from brilliance
From connection
    Muting us with hyper stimulation
Distracting us with safe delusions
    How the lighting and perspective can make a lie look like nature and a person feel like heaven
How electricity was once a vibrancy within us, that radiated from the gifted through creation and how now
    It’s a drug, dulling us, a societal dependency
With no one left to stage the intervention
    There’s a beauty in the illusion
       In the man made constellations  of life
But there’s life in disconnecting  to find our electricity
Our humanity
Our hope
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
I splintered yesterday.
       Subtly shattered into a haze of pain.
                                                I was afraid of what the night would bring so I broke my rule to better and found the pills.
       It said for pain and I was split wide open with it so I took 1.

Just 1.

Until I still couldn't sleep. The not being enough and being me yelled in my head. Intermingled with the news of a further broken friend.
       I was spinning in a tornado of too much of everything so I took another one.

Just one more.

The roaring loneliness with no where to turn and no where to hide began to die down.
        I could feel sleeps breath on my eyes, giving weight to them, but my heart was still screaming --- creating the sensation of being burned alive, but given my options silence seemed better so I took 1 more.

Third time's the charmer.                     Tomorrow, with any luck, I'll stay just as numb but for now I've got the night and the drugs to help me slip
                                        into unconsciousness and forget

                 Sweet dreams are made of Vicodin - who am I to disagree?
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
The musical screech acts as the pleading prayer I could never quite articulate
     the jazz moves around me and through me
I don't understand but I find profound clarity in the minutes that transform into moments
                the album bares witness to the realization I never gave voice to

           that I've only ever held the illusion of love
                                                            ­                     the impression of caring
but love isn't found when you're the other woman,
                                            in addicts broken promises of next time or a summer love in the age of innocence before either of us were aware of ourselves or who we needed to become

true love isn't riddled with entitled expectations
                                                    ­                                      it's given

                                                          ­         it's a gift

   when you begin expecting it, feeling ownership to it; over it
                                                              ­                            that's the same moment you begin to lose it
I believed I'd been neglected; abandoned, God's not given me the love I want
       but inherently in the want it was wrong
  and in the earnest it was flawed
                                          all my examples are broken
                           and today I wondered if maybe, just maybe
   He gave me so many broken spots so the Love,
                                                           ­                 both His and the one I await can be a salvation I can't fathom
                 today He filled all my gaps with the promise this won't last forever
       that what awaits is greater

Through tear stained jazz gospels I felt healed
      not by the removal of problems or broken pieces, because they will always exist
but by Hope
            by Home
                  and by Love                                          in due time.
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
I’m a verbal *******,
       It only costs a moment of your time, and guaranteed disease free
Seems my price is too high, no one’s got the time, and I’m going broke.

I’m a believer in group ******* of the spoken persuasion, giving each other pleasure by word choice
     It’s an odd love in a time of finger-keyboard romances
The writers
They’ve gone out without a proper blaze of glory, no Tommy gun goodbye
They’ve faded, filtered out like literacy being alarmingly replaced by technological shorthand

- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Dec 2013
Ive been feeling electric, sparking, waiting for ignition
   Confused, longing for release
     Finding close calls with the unavailable
Wondering what about sin makes us feel more vibrantly alive
   Praying for a fated spark, brought by His will
                      Resisting temptation
But remembering electric bad news mouth on my ear
  A friend’s body language
     A student’s eyes searching mine in a 4 hour exchange
A woman in heartbreak
        Cryptic messages from my heart’s interpretation and friendship from available options
   Trying to be the better version I’ve become while the past me slips me bad ideas
     Through seductive lips and sensual whispers
I feel on the verge
   I want all the bad ideas, the intensity almost hurts but

I’m waiting for the fated interaction
     Hoping it’s worth the wait
                         Staying electric
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
I'm never the girl they want me to be
                        Too forward thinking
                        Too liberal
                        Too boyish
                        Too honest
                        Too sassy
                        Too mysterious
                        Too used
                        Too adventurous
                        Too much
Part 2
                        Not Pretty enough
                        Not thin enough
                        Not traditional enough
                        Never enough

If I'm too much of A and not enough of B then together the solution is:

a.) change or
b.) *******

or some blend of both.
             despite being the most undesirable combination of excessive A and deficit B i get labeled a heartbreaker, a *****, a ****

it's a double edged sward, and both ends are out for blood.
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Nov 2021

  You were a puzzle I desperately wanted to complete,
                  contorting myself into every one of your missing pieces
it wasn't enough


I'd get ready to leave

      in love soaked drunken haze you'd talk about the children we'd have or where we might live and I'd stay for the promises of tomorrows you'd never intended to keep
       There was always a next time

times when the gin pickled your compassion and in place of loving brume you threw out hate; lamenting your misunderstood plight in life (straight, white men, often have this plight) and the unknowable pain this brought you

    your abuse came in flavors; bitter mockery, flaming anger and sour ridicule of the way I existed in the world, the same way, that on other days, in happier drunken states, you'd cherish

When you'd sober up, we'd talk and sometimes it'd be okay. Other days you gave me your burdens to hold and if I objected, with words, a look,  or just a feeling you had about me
              you'd scold me for you walking on the eggshells of everything you broke in us, that somehow, was my fault too

   I was always, always, confused by that but I'd try harder to be better so you could be okay
       I stopped talking to you about all the days and ways you hurt me. By then you'd stopped sobering up at all
               Even if you'd been willing to listen I'm not sure what you could retain, the disease had taken so much by then


no matter

   you had me well trained at that juncture.

I became the weatherman of our days. Reading subtle room weather patterns, watching for your rains
            preparing our home for your storms. Our home, you never failed to note, was never mine, but only yours. Though you asked me to spend all my hours there, should you ever sense I became too comfortable you'd remind me I could go

  I learned to lessen your thunder by offering foot rubs, lunch dates, and freshly baked bread. I'd stroke your hair until you fell asleep (passed out) smelling always of alcohol and my failure to keep you well.

  Some days the winds of your self destructive disasters were too strong to offset so I'd have to wait for them to pass. I trained myself to never look afraid because my emotions; my wants, my needs, my tears,
     and especially my fear made you 'regret' me

that pain cuts still

  I learned what your abuse intended to train. Showing you only curated versions of myself that you liked, in amounts you approved of and only at times you desired.
     asking even , for permission to leave the room

eventually though, whether days, hours, months or years
   it stopped being enough

on the last day we were us I was in your kitchen cleaning up after baking healthy snacks, to support your health, after cleaning my place, following an 8 hour shift
                                                     somewhere in the sleep deprivation and domestic details I forgot myself and told you something in my heart, something that made me happy
          to which, unapplied and inebriated, you told me how bad of an example I set at my job

where I'd been promoted

Something broke; awoke, within me and remembering myself, finally, I clapped back
         you sulked like a 36 year old teenager and passed out while I took a shower to cool off
  I tried to talk to you 3 times over the next 7 days about what had happened but at every turn you doubled down, insisting,
                           that per usual I'd made this
     "much to do about nothing"
        I suppose
                                                                                   my feelings
were a lot of nothing you resented being saddled with
    caring if you'd hurt me was a wrongdoing I'd presented to you, by having been bothered enough, to have feelings left for you to hurt
   with great, crescendoing silence, you stonewalled my invitations to engage
        in superiority drenched distain you were fine with us ending, if I wanted to make it that big of a deal

So, on a Saturday in August, we were done.

    I gave your mom the fulfillment of a promise I had made her when I found myself with no way to stay, and having to go.
                for the tiniest window I felt free in my grief, thinking, the worst was done
      then they asked, if I'd show up, just once more, a heal, oh, oops, hail Mary pass to save your life with our love that you were hellbent at throwing away
         I watched you abuse every person you sore to me only to protect and I cried, a little at first, then a downpour that wouldn't relent, a releasing of all your storms I'd never felt safe enough to embrace in our (your) home came pouring out

i watched everything we'd been or could ever hope to be die

   once it was over and my usefulness shifted to obsolete I was discarded. It suddenly became clear where you'd learned it; the art of disorientation through giving kindness and cruelty in equal measure
                             i cried for 7 hours that night

it wasn't until weeks later, after setting boundaries with all who'd emotionally fileted me, that I understood I was a survivor.

                              of abuse
                                                                    of you; my abuser

     in knowing and naming what I'd endured I found the pieces missing form the puzzle of my freedom, the answer why I could never leave or stay left
                                                but now I could
                                                                              so i did

No I do, finally free from us, thriving out of the ashes as someone new, someone you never knew.

THE RISING (3 months later)

I went to the last place I can remember who I was before you; the same place that held me after our first break; that welcomes me back
  after our last

I sang the music you never liked; the songs I put on a playlist of us that you fast forwarded through
                   I laid down in spiders; letting their webs keep all the words we shouldn't have said, the ones you left unsaid, and your portion of our blame you let me carry alone.
     I stood up and let the wind take all the anxieties reading the room for your moods gave me and I let them float away --- saying
the goodbye you wouldn't give us

  Honoring what was good in the love I'm leaving behind, seeing clearly, now, how your punishment-affection-withholding chipped
  away at my foundation
                   I understand the strength I held; hold, because despite it all I kept getting kinder, softer and wiser while you kept letting life make you colder; using my light to stay warm and blaming me, without saying a word, when it wasn't enough to stop your past from catching up to you
                                                 i originally left for you
but I'm staying away for me.
                                           For the girl your abuse buried (may she rest in peace) and for the fiery phoenix of a woman you lit her world on fire, trusting she'd be strong enough to find joy in the unknowable aftermath
                               today is my closure
                       pieces of what we were sprinkled on the grounds of where we'd been and I'm going home (my home)
                 beautifully whole
         finding hope blooming in the holes where your lies used to live, feeling the clouds fill me up, holding space for all that awaits; ready to begin and
                             I'm happy

the spiderwebs can keep all our yesterdays, I've got beautiful todays and tomorrows to attend to
Chris Hollermann Sep 2014
Beware, it’s the solitary girl
       The stranger remark how odd a creature
How odd she is
                               Alone she walks, she eats, she sits, she reads
                  ­                       Beware,
                                                   It’s the solitary girl

Nothing in this life is left well enough alone and soon the rumors spin form the silver spoons; drugs, prostitution, no home, no hope
      Whispers quicken, ‘ don’t let your children near the solitary girl
                                 She relies on herself, **** dangerous girl
She holds her head high, never anyone at her side; poor solitary girl

What heartbreaks befall a person to turn them to be a solitary soul’ oh poor solitary girl
         But she smiles and turns to the nosey eyes and announces to their trained airdropping ears

‘BEWARE! The solitary girl. I see the world as you distracted can’t, I appreciate the love your words spoils, I hear the bodies speak of all your scandals, beware of the solitary girl, I see the quiet unrewarded deeds and the secret affairs because the solitary girl - she IS an observer, of the world, keeper of our secrets, threat to your appearances, indeed, beware of the solitary girl.
- From A Journey of Self to Self
Chris Hollermann Aug 2014
When I make the right sequence of choices I get here, my safe place where all the valves shut off and thoughts float through, without lies, pretension or hope

I want the vices
I wanted him
I like the hunger it gives me the numbing and the numbing turns everything dark
   but with a flicker of a browned red, you could miss it if you've never stayed here, in the satisfying pain. You can live any life here; mother, lover, CEO, or happy because nothing really gets in
                                            and no one really cares to notice
and solitude becomes always, not just when alone
skin explodes with the tingle of a touch that won't ever come

desire wanes, and dreams extend to the dried blood red where there is a hope of home but expectation of morning, which feels impossible and hellish
  just the right amount of pain
when it gets to be too much you just turn another valve off

it'll pass or you'll die trying and either way you win; the sweetest taste, darkness embraced
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