I was
yesterday
I am
now
1 will be
tomorrow
I will not be
at the last hour

it's all about engagements
the 'I' that makes for reality
the dynamics of transactions
the perennial you and me-

what tiresomeness and vexations
the oppressive feeling of being empty
the cure then seems to lie in disengagements
that serene non-attachment that would set me free.

TW: graphic imagery

I bled watercolors
And you cared only for the art
For pain you did not feel on your own you made no empathy for

You told me about my bleeding
That it was a beautiful way to adorn the walls
So I dug my nails into my palms
Raked them along my arms,
where you used to write your love,
And let the paint pour out
Let the pain pour out
Down my wrists it ran
My fingertips coated like brushes dipped to deep into a ***

I smeared my hands along the walls
And I ran among the hallways
My palms leaving a wake
Still the tide, it did not go out

I wandered on
Like a ghost in my own house
Pouring myself out
Onto all the walls I had built up
In a way I tore them down
And in a way they broke me
I slammed my fists against them
Every door I had locked shook
And I put my hand on the handle
Praying that they would open
It seems no matter how strongly I feel
Nothing gives way

I sat on the floor
Everything beneath me splintering into my soul
My breathing was heavy and labored
Though my heartbeat was weaning away
My palms open now to the sky
And I pressed handprints into the wall
Pushing everything away
As you had pushed me so many times

So I feel to much
Say to little
And have no wanderings I can journey home from

But still you tell me
There is beauty in the bleeding
You.
Are the beauty in the bleeding

This woman I know
quite the old hippie
gave me this lovely gift

A softened silk and denim dress
Folded loosely
just handed to me, unwrapped
(We felt the same about the waste of paper)
“This is for you.”
Opening it, I saw its gentle gathers from the shoulders
almost elegant, its drape
and the rough
but soft and dark of it
Real indigo dye
with silk laces from bust to waist

...then the tiny stitching...
NO!
Not by machine!
Knew the labor was – intensive
Every edge
was finished, sewn
by her caring hand!

"Oh, lady of my dream

whom I do not know
I THANK YOU!
From my soul"
I would have made this in another life –
time
of hope and longing

And then I saw that seam!
along the side
that wasn't... really...
just those thicker threads
a silk macrame
of knotted net
so –  bold
to hold that one inch open
to hint at nothing –
and everything –
in between

“Oh hell! Oh ****!
Does it come with an occasion??!!”
She smiled
somewhere between shy and sly

Gentle melancholy blankets my heart,
sharing a space with the swell of love -
somehow, they mingle well,
like yin and yang.

Let's smile
To hide our pain

Let's smile
Even if it's fake
It will be real in a while

At least, that's what everyone says

But I've been smiling,
For quite a while

Is it working?
I still taste bile

Still, I have to believe
That one day I will be whole
I have to keep going
Until I'm in control

Let's smile

sp1nning
fluctuat1ng
all around me

the 1mages never stay the same
as soon as 1 think 1 see 1t
1t changes
a small shift
throwing my percept1on 1nto a d1zzying dance

c1rcular room
m1rrors enfolding me
1n a reflect1ve embrace

1 see myself
warped
1n a million d1fferent places
a superf1c1al 1mage of me

the embrace of the m1rrors
turns strangling
constr1cting snapshots of my face

gasp1ng
chok1ng
for air

but relief does not come

1 am encased in a million different vers1ons of myself