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2.4k · Nov 2021
Sintashta Omen
Chris Hutchison Nov 2021
Red chinstraps
Wet blood, slowly drying in the evening breeze
Folded into wells of clouded waves with vague concentric origin
Closer, a flattened helmet, orange ochre blazing
Sun sinking, stars chasing
Warrior's stratified locks wisp out to vanishing points
Freckles of sputtered bronze
Slowly becoming red
Slowly becoming an omen
Foreshadowing tears to be wept
Horses that lay silent
On the eastern Ural Steepe
The Sintashta people were an ancient and short lived group of skilled horsemen and metal workers on steepes of the eastern side of the Ural range. They existed circa 2000 BCE. They built large fortifications, and made large amounts of bronze weaponry, indicating a time of intense warfare.
1.2k · Nov 2021
Mother Doesn't Care
Chris Hutchison Nov 2021
She raised you, and gave you all she had
You did not listen
She was not overbearing
But she needed your bareness
The awareness
You lost long ago
She let you go into the wild, to make your own choices
Even if those choices mean her death
Knife in your hand with garlic breath
Joyous in the ****
Veiled violent negligence
Oblivious malevolence
Your innocent eyes
Red tinted, devilish yet despondent
Pontificate of poison
A laughing fat hedon
Crying now for pardon
But you will never **** her. She is bigger than you
Mother doesn't care
She will break you without blinking
She is Pandora and soon you will know
How hot the soil scorches, and how hard the wind may blow
1.1k · Nov 2021
Observe and Attend
Chris Hutchison Nov 2021
Anger in my life hits me in the chest. I allow the fire to spread to my limbs.
I observe and attend.
Sadness in my life grips my stomach. I allow it to devour my body as I cry out.
I observe and attend.
Guilt in my life empties my throat. I let it wrench my guts and weaken my knees.
I observe and attend.
Joy in my life blossoms in my heart. I allow it to melt my bones.
I observe and attend.
This poem encompasses my learnings from a particularly effective therapy I did call ISTDP (intensive short term dynamic psychotherapy). It emphasizes a deep and intimate connection of the mind and body. It's changed my life, so I wanted to share a bit about it.
919 · Nov 2021
Problems
Chris Hutchison Nov 2021
Cornflakes.
No milk.
Cough.
Why hast God forsaken me?
635 · Nov 2021
Untitled
Chris Hutchison Nov 2021
I wrote a poem today
And now I feel better
I was productive and courageous despite the weather
I see on Hello Poetry that I am not alone
It's cured me of the shake and shiver in my bones
355 · Aug 2016
Frayed Lines
Chris Hutchison Aug 2016
The pain. THE pain. The PAIN!
It's in me. It's on me. It's everywhere around me.
In every single face.
Why aren't you smiling at me?
Why aren't you helping me, serving me?
I need attention!
This minute.
This very exacting second.
Can't you see my countenance that beckons?
Beckons with silent screams from red acidic streams.
Every beautiful ****** sinew in MY body.
Reaching, pulling, straining a thousand invisible threads connecting you and I.
Fish hooks in my chest tied to frayed line.
Why can you not see them?! What the hell is wrong with you?! They're right in front of your blank ugly face!
You just stare.
You literally don't know what to do!
Well that's not my problem, I HATE you.
This whole thing is repulsing.
You're as paralyzed as I am.
Those threads are my tentacles seeking a host, now out of water, convulsing.
And so we die.
I die.
Empty, as I slither away.
The end to just another day.
297 · Aug 2016
Lonely
Chris Hutchison Aug 2016
I'm frustrated fury. The devils advocate, a rigged jury.
The beast inside is trying to take me every.
Every minute, everyone, everywhere I don't want to be.
Every wink from a bb, I double take as the rush of blood flushes me.
I remember all that has been taken away.
That love...oh that love. Too painful to face now.
Forever gone, they say today is the new dawn.
A dawn I never asked for.
Can I just float?
Take this gravity away. Stop this misanthrope.
Strangling my will. Drowning to ****.
I still rise every morning, to start my day boring.
I keep trying, hoping and crying.
I can feel peeks of my former self.
Sunshine fills my chest, even as my back aches, happiness I ***** to manifest.
At this point I can't say how the story will end. I'm tired, and lonely.
Why won't my body mend?
Please listen to the spoken word at https://soundcloud.com/user-661452372/lonely

— The End —