When I look at my voice,
It appears fragile, weak, and afraid.

It cowers before the judgment of others I love,
Smother in love,
Before I sever our connection,

And as I watch that voice take on an ugly expression,
Saying things filled with salt and fat and grease,
I remember my values,
And I wonder how I ever got so far from the path I chose when my vision was far clearer.

The life of the body absorbed by a strife,
Unsettled, and stormy,
It swirls and ignites,
A personal drama as real as a knife,
Simple and sensuous rage and delight,

The stage is the soul and the soul is a fright,
The actors are gilded and wielding the plights
of their parts aimed at hearts at the heights of their hearths
And the mice and the men, they all shrink to decide,

So the bickering started when sides were so drawn,
And demands, they were placed for all eyes looking on,
But concerns such as safety prevented the rightful
Decree of my conscience, the Earth of my scourn,

There may not be honor, equivocal speech,
Uttered, I'd dance an advance and retreat,
But the truth in the matter's how hallow the blame,
Became when it came from each manner's deceit,

The real wrong ran as deep as the core of the planet,
As hot as to melt all the glass and the granite,
That built all the homes that our families' founded,
Soaring rhetorical speech to be grounded,

When my truth is spoken, unbroken and free.

Suppose it was known at the first moment,
When you called on me to be your transition,
When you, through me, enabled yourself to punish men both past and present,
Vulnerable in me alone, left to liberate your power,
That grace would sever our connection.

I consented,
I am no victim.

Through you I've seen paradise through strength,
In you, I carried my hidden reserve.
I let you hold all that I know, and can be,

So that I could remain choiceless, and meek, in the average eyes of the world.

I gave to you.  Love poured from me like a decanter small,
and made of magic,

And you simply drank!

You drank and drank to my spirit's inspiration.

It was unconscious greed, a taker's spirit forged from a foreign place,
One where mercy and love, where civility, honor, and thoughtfulness,
Never dared to infringe on the impulse to survive,

But it did inspire me.
Such basic and consistent placement of self first in the face of all that works to will one toward the world's masquerade of sacrifice,

Was as astonishing to me as the freak, the genius, the new constellation,

And I still struggle to understand what your experience of the world is like,

Without the indefatigable tug of duty pulling at your pulsing heart.

I reached my limit.
And this discovery of imposition has warranted me my own selfish wills,

I will not soon mistake them for the fancies of another.

But I will say that there is grace in you,
As you travel, composed of want alone,
Healing those you hurt just enough to clear and clean the path you fashion,

And I'll idealize you because you never humanized yourself to me.
Or wanted my humanity.

Our service to each other like points that hold along the sky.
I affix my eyes on your cold and constant light.
And discover a direction.

My body is a strange place,
For moments the length of ages imagination sets adrift my soul
And when I return to share all that I've learned
I find it hard to animate this flesh
With all my new desires,

Physics binding what was never once subject to timing in the most uncomfortable way,

I prefer my life unfolding in a dream.

You're worried because you think all life is precious
When new life is precious.

You cling to parts of you because you think the fact of their existence,
Means they are deserving of your pity, and support.

I'm here to tell you to die,
That it's okay to die.

You will only become more you when you allow the death of previous permutations of your soul,

Born of time, and place, and level of maturity,
Born to be exactly what you needed,

I say give birth again and again,
To create newer, wiser ways of being,

And thank the spirit of creation for your previous self,
And eulogize its gifts and faults with the love it deserves.

Do you still see the hand of God?
Or has that appendage blended,
Into the power of spiritual awareness,
To which I see my fellows so attuned.

I know that God is not a man,
Not a person,
And not a thing,

But I miss my story.
The one about sacrifice, love, and fate,
A great father at the helm,
Directing us through waves that petrify reflexes,

God gentrifies the isolated,
God intimidates iniquity,

And spirituality is for the soul.
But I wish, still, for a better story in this age so new.

What a wild ride for a mild hide,
Files high filled with admired traits and itemized complaints
     for every girl and guy supplied with power over places and people like
     me.

Running from each moment in a state of terror, fearing error revealing
     every spurious display of feeling shown,

Knowing survival depends on the Holy Bible of servility:

Secrets.

Today is a gorgeous day.
It's filled with words spoken passionately yesterday.
Boundaries laid that free my soul from the ugliness of servility.

Today is a day of light.
I shut my eyes to light when I'm in pain.
Maybe you do the same?
But when I exclaim my hurts with fervor,
Even when it means I ******,
Connections that shall go no further,
Should abuses so continue.

My pupils shrink to dots like I'm focused on the sun.

Today is a day so good.
Swallowed blood from the bitten tongue cauterizes love,
A seal more like a rug than a scab,
And when I ripped it away to show the wound I harmonized with some
     forgotten soul collective standing by to soothe begotten gashes.
And awoke to find divine all familiar acquaintance.

Today is now.
Some days are yesterday,
And others a distant tomorrow,
But momentous circulation is alive to perception always,
And when touch connects the true sum of all things,
And the levies lift allowing a super-fluid rush of sensation up into the perfect unknown,
Memory and foresight would classify as frivolity if the mind cared at all
     to cast judgment on matters impertinent to rapture.

And today is rapturous.

The light's reflected,
Redirected,
Each degree, a changed perspective,
Heated by refined intention,
Set all the more aglow,

They fought like cats and rabid dogs,
And when I cast the light it showed,
The needs they cast beside their honor,
As if one could hide his woe,

But wait,
To each goes their own truth, if told,
So they all received a glow,
Unique to all their pain,
And so,
To each a different flow,

They each maintained I knew their pangs,
And stated this in plain refrain,
Expecting that the others would feel all the more alone,

But when the others said the same,
"He knows that I alone am sane,"
Suddenly it so became,
Apparent I withhold,

The fact I understand the same in friend as in a foe.

The truth is,
I think you are an awful human being,
And I always have.
You have never had any of the qualities I was raised to value.
You are not meek, or unassuming, or polite.

And I hate us both equally.

And that's how we fell in love.

I find reasons,
I find treason in those who abide by no reason,
I think of means to inspire their demons,
To know what they do,
And desist in their heathenish
Lack of regard for the cause of their seething,

I push peevishly
Forth in my quest to relieve,
To gently correct all they do to achieve
The mess they attribute to forces unseen,
When I know in my bones they are living their dreams,

I acquire their trust,
By enacting their deeds,
I smoke and I **** with a reckless esteem,
And complain of my lungs and transmitted disease,
I say, "There's no love in the world." They agree,

Now I pretend revelations and steps,
Toward a new life, from a darkness, a depth,
And now when I speak they take pause and they seem,
To respect the same truths they once tore ream by ream,

Yea, it's a lie,
But my punishment's painful,
I can't stop pretending to be like the same folks,
That I've tried to save,
Now I drink and I claim,
That my money just slips through the holes in my seams.

What Happened?

You told me I was better,

And I believed in it.

There were reasons behind the assessment provided,

But the assessment itself became much more important.


What Happened?

I grew to value the opinion much more,

Reasons mattering less, and less, and less,

Seeking more as time went on,

The favor of those lower, and lower, and lower,

Until I became something I no longer approved of.


What Happened,

The question should have never been about better or worse,

But instead about addressing each individual,

As what he or she was,

Promoting understanding,

To prevent alienation.

You were responding,
To a folly,
With energy from a lifetime of pugilism,
You were bumfuzzled by the existence of the error,
And outrage took precedence over patience,

You lashed with your tongue like I was property in your plantation,
Like I showed a spirit that threatened to throw the yoke,
Like I was somehow audacious and menacing,
When all I did was display an effeminate flair,
A vanity that is, indeed, unbecoming,
And required correction,
And I wonder how you lived so long without knowing no quality can be destroyed by language.

You aggravated my condition,
You taught me how to hate myself,
And hate others like me,
And even now the qualities you saw remain alive,
I seek remedies for the pain you caused in every moment of my life,
Where once I confided in myself,
I now confide in no one,

You were wrong,
What I needed was a gentle correction,
A leader who could show me how a man's heart should glow,
But you so feared the light of your own soul, I know,
That dark hate became your refuge,
And you became a misanthrope,
Clinging to the memory of a fight so you could hurl it into the present's exposition,

I no longer wish to believe that pain can fix dysfunction.
So I lay your words to rest and a say a prayer,
For your immortal soul.

Hilarious!
There is no job description in this position,
I float between the frictions and feign conviction when the boss is witness,
At most I mean a fifth of what I mutter and I'm often listless,
I soften because I know I'm broke as **** and have that thought to grip with,

I cough, hoping to convince the powers present of a sickness,
And call in, whispering,
"Cover my shift, think I might need a prescription,"

Take the day off,
Try to get a sense of what has since become a mode of operation I once ripped upon like stitch and yarn,

******* me off,
That I can't save a cent and now I'm living on my savings that I swore I'd leave alone so I could quit this job,

It's not that it's really all that bad,
But I ***** because I'm sick of limitations I can't live beyond,

And I'm not really all that mad,
But I fritz because I know that I could really do some **** if I could get beyond

Excuses.

The trying course,
Discourse relenting,
Powers force reactions venting,
Hours' worth of pent perception,
Devour worth and end ascension,

Now is heard in muffled mentions,
A bow absurd in times like these,
Ignoring words and vows and deeds,
Crouched between three unmet needs,

Foul is the feigned and ******,
Vowels groaned, thrown and ******,
Through a throat wound tight in lust,
Hoping for a pleasure plush,

Comma, comma, colon,
Pause between two swollen jaws
Deceived by laws believed
To right the wrongs
Mischieved by willful spirits' songs,

While all along,
The gong awaited's
Never beaten by a soul,
So left in throes a child's hated
Fate is coping with the throngs,

Every second's stretched to cover,
Fields of fresh and fertile ground,
So as not to utter sound,
To disallow another's doubt,

And put stop to my stutter.

Everything is real,
As comprised by the light of a thousand minds,
Perspectives shining on a center
Projected by a need,

It is all real,
Consumerism, survivalism, capitalism, and faith,
Trauma, neglect, health, and esteem,
Intensity varies,
What commands our grace,
Is determined by what is most often received,

When the stage is reset,
All the players be changed,

If a threat is so lifted,
Will you still then perceive
It as present?

Deranged,
Acting as if still at siege,

Seeing others as willfully negligent beings.

Easy to learn to adapt to a danger,
Harder to learn to adapt to peace.

But everything's real,
The promise, the pain,
So best aquiesce to the range as its seen,

Stuck to protect what's no longer at hazard,
Is crazy at least,
And if brave,
Ill-conceived.

A deep need, like a sickle,
Cuts through thoughts and refinements
Until the tip breaks against
My nature,

Open, thriving, cursing,
Casting spells and aspersions,
Playing at bits and soundbites to ward off expectation,

That sickle swings into the core of me.
Until the tip breaks against my nature,

And I ask again,
For one final permission,
To be everything I am,

From someone as mortal as the universe.

And it is granted.

But I grunt and curl around a wound,
Bleeding instructions on how to heal the world,

Knowledge holding water like a rag,
While intuition rages and fragments identity,

That sickle swings into the core of me,
The tip breaks against my nature,
And I ask to be excused from everything I am,

Because it means holding still in the fires of my friends,
Until we learn our way from devastation.
And I'd rather those conflagrations not exist at all.

And then the sickle swings again.

Is it time that heals?
Because years passed like traffic,
And hallow I remained,

The truth?
Healing happens
In moments
When it occurs
To you
What's still right,

And good.

And time teaches us patience.

Oh my mighty heart,
So small, and frail,

Fighting to burn to no avail,
A hearth of embers singing what passion must not consume,

Demands so tall the order written on a ream.

In letters too large to read.

Naturally,
I long to achieve balance,
This does not make me unusual,
But rather quite the average type
Of living being on this planet,

But how I fight,
And writhe,
And seethe,
May make me eccentric,

I will not moan,
Complain or hold,
A grudge if I may be so bold,

To say that I,
Would rather die,
Than be the one left unattended,

When yielding more than others render.

What grace through harsh critique,
Can untangle views that mangle, confuse,
The understanding of one's place?

When, for sport,
Others contort,
The contours of a face,

How can it be,
That the power of glee,
Does rise above the disgrace?

So inopportune,
The options that loom,
They giveth, but taketh away,

To win is to lose,
The sport's to abuse,
The victor withdraws from the game.

This is an evolution document.
In 2015, I became a person again.
I claimed my birthright.
Others may believe that I am a smile,
Or a grimace.
But I am a great wall.
Sound bounces off my bricks and reverberates into the forest,
What crashes against me must lay,
Fallen, beaten, weary,
Surprised by the natural immovability of my soul,

I will not be taken by you,
You will not dictate, or patronize, or qualify,
You will not hurt, or love, or nurture,
You will only realize,
That I am a wall,
Built to withstand far more than you can tolerate.

Wind worn hair and skin,
Dry and tight,

Because the wind blows cold at night,

And I have to travel great distances to get to you,
And you will only receive me,
When shocked.

So I disrobe along the street's side walks to display my desperation.

And when I knock,
Knock at your door with knuckles stiffened, cracking,
And you rush it open swinging, bringing me back into your sanctity,

To find I've come in ******* form to claim love like a debtor,
I see the draining of your forces behind impenetrable gates,
As we converse under the false pretense of

Continuing conversation.

And when I'm walking home,
Wearing what you've lent me,

Feeling sullen, but cared for,

I realize, remember,
You've never gotten what I've delivered to so many friends and lovers,

And that's when I feel alone.
My demands seen through your eyes.
Leaning as I walk toward a place polite and graceless.

Unresolved.

The ache, acute,

Confounding reach for ascension,
Gripping the doors, the floors, the tightening
Of muscles wrench against a whine.


Annoyance, pain, and aggravation
Require a fabric to tear,
They manifest themselves by ripping
At what we hold most dear

And leave holes where once was wholeness.

When others can resolve a misconception,
And render the ripping a figment
Of perception,

To what end does silence travel?

Or,
Like a tailor,
Should I resolve myself and learn to stitch,
At what others cannot see, or claim, or reach beneath.

Or lift.

Push.

A wanderlust of identity,
Exploring the heights, the depths,
Walking plains and climbing and falling,
And failing,
Successes like bright white blinding light,
Filling every peripheral space,

The rich reality of fault vaporized like dew.

Push.

Salt slips from these lenses,
The womb's embrace a reprieve irresistible,
Punishment and consequence under cordial invitation,
Arrive in every corner of a mind relenting,

Bathing in the luxury of a lack there of,

Push,

Promise spoiled like the appetite of a child,
Filled with sugar and fat,
A comedy of medium wants uttered in duress,
Fettered by former, and far more formal, drives and visions,

Push.

This day is not over,
And life is not over,
And death is not over,
And breath carries songs of romance and courage,

When the allowance of frailty inhibits progression,
Where stillness is prodded by critical enmity,
Of all that lies sullen and sorrowful.

Push.

Confide in the righteousness of the body, the mind.

Each full rotation of wheels,
Like screws,
At sixty mile per hour,
Serve to crank and coil,

Until the arm reaches for a cigarette,

Roaring across a scenic landmass,
Oblivious to its picturesque landscapes,
Alive to fear and war,
A fight for space most near one's core,

The motor coach speeds,
But the mind, it races.

Past experience spy-hopping from the deep,

No rolling hill,
Or tropical palm,

Can disengage such focus,

Cure the self.
Curse myself.

The chaos beaten down with effulgences of affirmation,
Like bubbles of light emerging from a tar pit,

Fueling this crusade,
For something good.

A live wire,
Wildly,
Explosives ignited,

How to be calm?
Reclaim power?

It's my wire,
Cut and let loose,
Flung about purposely,

To ignite,
Bring awareness to,

The unsaid.

The body left,

Before its time had gone,

All remained in hallow sensation,

Blonde streaked above wires,

Open, firing, sparks like chips of flame,

An ire unattached,

Elemental threats whist into a floating core,

Rooted by stars and planets,

Personage misplaced, gone,

A force of pure,

Invitation,

To either all of life,

Or all of death,

Written in cables and code,

For eternity to query.

The closing day,
The black and white,
It fades,
Allows refracting light,

To shine anew with colors bright,
To blind and bruise metallic eyes,

The time to live has come and gone,
And come again as life moves on,

The day is running into night,
Beyond demands so imprecise,

A calm is claimed,
A balm applied,

The soul restored,
A whole contrived,

With love to live the fold unbinds,
The ribs, they rise,
The pulse subsides,

At home alast,
A dome of glass,

The world is realigned and vast,
The view is taken from inside,

A house secure and sacred.