Eyes hang low
Retreating from the light,
Seeking shelter ‘neath heavy lids.
Machines whir in the back of my mind,
As their users push themselves
Thoughtlessly through their tired routines
Like hamsters on a wheel.
I hear the water dripping,
Almost as slowly as my thoughts,
Into the endless myriad
Of blue and red buckets.

My consciousness drifts away,
And suddenly it is my vehicle,
As I awake walking aimlessly
Through the crowded streets
Of some hot Arab marketplace.
Bearded men in headdresses
Bicker in strange languages
Over bizarre fruit, almost as vibrant
As the decorated sword hilts
Gently resting at their hips.
Past me walk crowds of lavishly clothed,
Brightly jeweled women,
Dressed more strangely and exotically
Then any person I’ve yet to see,
And I avert my own attention
So as not to draw that of others.

A co-worker walks past me,
Looking at me strangely,
And I emerge from the lake of my mind,
Flopping about as if I were a fish out of water.

Death told her
           her life should end
and he was her friend

Calmly, she stole my gun
     she walked outside in the sun
pulled the trigger, set the mood
barrel to her head to conclude

I saw her head come undone
,,, Reached down, for my gun
Eyed the chunks in her hair
Now to my head |
                               |I draw a rose there.

I am a survivor of ****** abuse.
I grew up between dysfunctional families
where we did not say what was not okay
until I could not remember the first time I had been abused.
But I remember the last.

Now I am the severely depressed survivor
who cannot ride passenger without remembering
his driving me 80 and angrily down a gravel road
who cannot sit in hot water without remembering
his joining my bath
who cannot tell my stories
even when people ask.

Tonight I try…
try to feel happiness as I run in the rain
try to tell the sadness of losing my mother
try to tell you I am not okay.

Tonight I will write stories
about grandma rising from her wheelchair
to be raised up on eagle’s wings
about grandpa who never told me he loved me
before he died
about my brother who goes to Yale
but cannot control his temper.

I will write stories, my stories
And I will let you read
If you will help me write.

I begin with this poem

Stweeet
Stweeet
The insects drum
And fiddle
And strum
And sing
Their organic beat
Matching time with my heart
Thump
Thump
My heart's a bass
It plucks a simple beat
But it plays loud,
For you,
The soulful passion
Of my inner soul

It's Nature's love song
The primal rave
The ancient celebration
With the lights
Of the stars
And the coolness
Of the wind
And the...
Stweeet
Thump
Stweeet
Thump
Of the lonely
Bachelors
Calling out for you,
Their sacred love

Serenading you
With lover's lullaby
Stweeeet
Stweeet
Stweet
Sweet Dreams, Dear;
From your million courtiers
Playing in the dark,
Good Night