Where is it that I am now?
Where do I belong?

I carve away a niche with this rusty, broken blade,
But my hands are tired,
Riddled with cuts.
My fingers are weary,
Distorted with the effort of chipping away
At an indestructible stone.

I measure my progress
That doesn't exist
And I wonder whether
It is my tool of choice
That holds me here
Or rather
The place I am trying to remain in.


But where else can I go?
Where do I belong?

I run in place,
Exerting all effort,
All my strength,
Only to remain where I was,
Where I have been,
Where I....will be?

No.

It cannot be.

I must not stay.

But, if I leave,
Where shall I go?

I am myself, you know.
I look like my father, they say.
I talk like my mother, they say.
I possess my grandmother's sharp tongue,
And his, her, their gentle heart, they say.

I thank you for your contributions.
But you are only parts of me,
Not who I am as a whole,
Who I would,
If asked,
Use to define my existence.

It seemed not too long ago
I found my place.
A place to not only give,
But to receive.

To receive...

But you see,
I once again found myself,
As I always do,
In a place where they discover
Just how much
I am willing to give.

And they like that about me.
Most people do.

But as is human nature,
What is readily given
Becomes what is readily expected

And they, so eager to take,
Forget to give back.

Which is fine, I suppose.
I've made it twenty years living such a life.

But what I am giving...
What I have given...
What I....will give?
Never mind.
It always outweighs
What they are willing to reciprocate.

Humans.

Wonderful, beautiful, selfish creatures.

And so I gave more than I truly had to give.

And slowly, slowly, I felt it being pulled from me.
The very lifesource which sustains me.
Like pulling the plug on a tiny drain,
It slowly seeped away.

Leaving me weak, exhausted, tearful.

Why.
Why did I give so much.
Why did I put myself here.

It is my fault, you know.

I should have learned by now.

But I am human.

Humans.

Wonderful, beautiful, foolish creatures.

And now I find myself a lost cause,
Pondering in the cold, rainy afternoon.
Wandering down roads in my mind that
I should have,
Would have,
If I were wise,
Wandered down before letting myself
End up here.

Empty.
Drained.
Wondering.
Wanting.
Wishing.
Considering.
­
Promising myself that he would
Have none of my tears,
Oh, no,
Not him.
I said this wouldn't happen again.

I left that dark place for a reason,
I left that man for a reason,
And he,
He,
The Man of Promises,
Was supposed to be different.
Was supposed to build me up
But drains me, pulls me, pushes me,
Leaves me hovering somewhere in limbo,
Not between life and death,
No,
I am far too much alive for that.
If I were not,
It would not hurt.
But instead,
A limbo between
The elusive happiness
I have begged for,
Worked for,
Done everything for,
And the heartbreak and disappointment
That I fled from
When I left that dark place.

When I left that Dark Place,
And found the Man of Promises,
I had hope.

And it is now by the delicately woven threads
Of that foolish hope
By which I hang in this terrible limbo.

Like silk from a spider,
They are just delicate enough
To be beautiful
In their silver fragility,
But strong enough
To hold me as a prisoner here,
Waiting,
Wanting what she cannot have.

Where do I belong now?

Where is my safe place?

Perhaps there is none.

But then,
I never asked for a safe place.
I asked for a place of happiness,
Of peace that for so long
Eluded me
And from a barely tangible distance
Mocked me with fervor,
With relish,
Knowing I would continue to pursue it.

Are places of safety and happiness one in the same,
After all?
For I can find neither.

I feel that I shall always believe
That such places exist,
Even if I cannot reach them,
Like places in books I wish I could travel to,
But can only imagine myself in
As I immerse myself in the pages,
Flipping back and forth between
Places I will never see
And people I will never know.

These characters...is their reality better than mine?
Perhaps.
But isn't reality objective?
Reality is not reality, they say.
Perception is reality.

Well.
If that is true,
I must perceive things very differently
From most.

I digress.
I ramble.
But it is through these ramblings
That I find my answers.


Where do I belong?

Here.

On this page,
In these words.
This is where you will find me.

Projecting my reality,
Or perhaps creating one.
Relieving my restless mind,
Or perhaps doing it more harm.
Seeking the place I want to be,
Or perhaps leaving the one I'm meant to be in.

I do not know.

But for now,
Here is where I belong.

Honestly.
Where else could I possibly go?

In the constant motion of calamity,
you are my tranquility.
My peace, my rest,
my heaven.

In the burning heat of the desert,
you are my oasis.
My lifesource, my rarity,
my hope.

In the unseen darkness of night,
you are my torch.
My guidance, my honesty,
my light.

In the meantime,
you are mine.

bodied forth beings
lamp
rock
pebble
coordinates nix the everyday ****
lifesource creep
over rock's edge
the color
cut and wound and loss mixed

space
purged for you

grieflet
go through it
heal heal
jus
be

Sometimes I think that you four are my only hope
The only reason why I have not grown wings and a halo.
The beauty that sounds from your fingers and lips
Wraps itself around me, giving me protection I otherwise do not know.
Your words float into my heart and hold it in a gentle but strong embrace
Your music flows in my veins; it is my lifesource.

I've never gotten the chance to really thank you
For all the love and guidance you bestow me with.
But everyday I thank my lucky stars I found you.

You give me the will to go on
The power to not let anyone take me alive.
Whenever I cannot stand anything anymore
All I have to do is remind myself
That you will be with me.
And I am cured.

how do i describe the feeling of that january morning? the serenity of the cool air nipping at my skin, while the chilled lake water rocked the wooden dock beneath me. i took the peaceful walk from the house to the lake barefoot. the coolness emanating from the cobblestone seeped into the soles of my feet.
      i walked down the winding pathway and allowed my eyes to scan over the greenery that flanked me on both sides. tulips and lavender flowers blooming in the cold air. mulch filled the area around grass and flowers, keeping them protected and safe. bees kissed flowers and mingled as i strolled passed. how beautiful and tranquil a scene i was honored to witness.
      i dragged ironically eager feet over wobbly brown planks on route to the dock ahead. i felt water sway aggressively beneath my feet as a boat raced past the dock. a glimpse of a small hand waving graced my vision with the passing of the boat. my balance fumbled, but my mentality stayed steady. when i finally lowered myself onto the wooden box on the edge of the dock, the warmth of my coffee finally began to soak into my palms.
      my eyes continued to glaze over the scene before me, and for the next few moments, i felt the serenity of the universe consume my entire begin. after sixteen years, a moment of fulfillment. finally at home.
      the sun sent droplets of his sunlight down to caress the lake and offer her the gentlest of kisses. the droplets glistened off of the lake´s ripples and flirted with the water. they danced and bounced upon the lake until she shone so brightly it was hard to look directly at her. as the two became familiar, i felt the sun retreat. his light slowly faded away and his kisses disappeared all together.
      as the hours passed and he was seated back upon his throne, the lake was left empty, deserted. her sadness did not go unnoticed, the wind understood her pain, so she picked up and pulled us both out of our trance.
      the lake was offered the kinder kiss of the moon, and she accepted. the fainter light and the lighter kisses became what kept her whole. there was a air of mystery surrounding him and the lake soaked it up. he became her new lifesource, she found something that kept her going.
      me, i received my sustinance from writing this poem.

Mystification prevails stupefying yours truly
befuddled, he blindly stumbles along rocky
pathway illusory impediments strewn helter
skelter intangible obstructions hinder access
psychological barricades effective impasse

detains, deters, detours manhood maturation
manumission manifestation materialization
linkedin, when permanent submission arises
beckoning corporeal leaden entity into avast
eternal realm, where material disintegration

promises venerable salvation releasing angst
strummed plucked fretful existence denied
utmost exploration sequestered soul hermit
tickly sealed courtesy custom made NON-
GMO supercalifragilous expialidocious

airtight, vacuum sealed with trademarked
matts scott good housekeeping approval
lifetime achievement award maintaining
quasi pristine mint like condition afford
double (FREE for the taking) full refund

if dissatisfied with stutt...tut...tut tearing
functionality, yet batteries NOT required
and assembly unnecessary, but maximum
remaining life usage, asper garden variety
mutant requires preservation within sterile

bubble, lest exposure to human contact are
rouse dormant (latent) propensity breeding
biologically pre programmed predilection
to propagate species, this despite low libido
level, thus Memorial sale steal (actually no

expiration coincides with natural longevity)
slight depreciation before cessation arises,
which I project - little less than half life of
ordinary Earthling, whose quixotic, poetic,

ecologic, plus conscientious ethos promises
greater fulfillment, sans spirit, mind, and
body versus being addicted, hypnotized, or
tranquilized by latest technologic contraption,
boot cyber surfing mendicant surrenders self.

Yours truly beckons angel of mercy
or effective altruist to please intercede.

Though predominantly skeptical
concerning divine intervention...
crushing desperation grinds heavily
kickstarting, mortgaging, pummeling
ripsnorting, unraveling, ar...wresting...
sense and sensibility...annihilating

joie de vivre exceeding Herculean powers
to defy overbearing blitzkrieg,
luftwaffe pounding psyche
wickedly, unbearably suffocating,
helplessly choking
impossibility to gasp

even one breath
lifesource within ******
dry as a bone,
hence desperation beseeching
salvation to triumph
over mailer daemon adversity

wildly analogous to aerialist
readily clasped linkedin
clenching tight teammate's hands
thwarting being pitched
feather head over tar heels,
whereby yours truly

grasps empty air
spiralling untethered from gravity
lost in space
scanning distant heavens
to espy prayerful rescue
courtesy winged warrior

benevolent endearing joyous
miraculous celestial being
rendering genuine ambition
to mend figurative fences,
with kith and kin,
where orneriness (mine) cleft

delicate whirled wide webbing,
thus me metaphorically dangling
bandied to and fro
hither and yon
free falling unmoored
grudgingly surrendering

mine mortality nsync
with manifest destiny
regarding death be not proud
of all corporeal entities
temporarily suspending atheism
in limbo where faith no more

steady Rock of Gibraltar
(though steeply entrenched)
peering skyward gleaning any hint
to perceive inimitable

otherworldly gifted helpmate
to usher deliverance, viz exaltations
experiencing unbridled affinity
toward kith and kin.

today i wish i had grass to settle my bare feet in, a printer to take my reading away from the screen, and friends to unravel some ideas that I have percolating but barely have words to put to yet. i want post-it note messes and tangential rants over fruit smoothies in the sun.

today i wish i could thread together fringe ideas and substanceless maybes by myself. or more accurately, i wish the doctoral research project was not so lonely. that it championed collaboration of ideas and became a project of care, of community, of compassion not focused on colonial concepts of breaking ground first but instead of ruminating, pausing, treading water, observing and reflecting. on inthemoment not firstpastthepost or beforetherest. rest as pause as care as vital as lifesource of thinking. dreaming first. dreaming always. dreaming and idealising and creating. mess becomes beauty. becoming. the doctoral project is a waiting place, an expectant limbo or rather a succession of waiting places, elevator lifts to new floors but never a transition straight to answers. never up up up. elevators that move in all directions. escalators maybe. certainly shopping centre escalators. forever stalling, breaking, too fast, too slow, unsteady as we step off.

what a mess. and yet what beauty. and still a project that requires so many moving parts, so many individual pieces to function, to culminate in the final result - movement. forward or standing still, long way round or unmechanical steps. organic. always.

grounding, like toes in the daisies and heel-crumpled buttercups. natural, nature, not a fix but a part of the process. stopping, breathing, back to roots. basics are care and care is anything but basic in frenetic lives. but removing bureaucracy, deadlines and paperwork as limitations, ignoring processes and breaking protocols is a glitch in the capitalist machine. a glint in the grin of an accomplice who revels in the breaks, the breaking, the pauses and fresh starts in new branches. divergence is crucial.

deep breaths, cool breeze through cracked windows and a reminder that hot laptops on crossed legs will be there tomorrow. now to rest and to think. always thinking, always distilling. but today the sunshine is more important. the levity of the outside more pressing than years-away deadlines, Bureaucratic Other forces.

today is paperless, weightless, endless. new life grows through cracks, persistent nature and persevering natural. in my own time. how else will the project evolve?

Scrolling with one eye ******* shut does little to assuage the assault on my heart from squares of millennial pink and sky blue, espresso black and prosecco effervescence in fancy glasses on bar tables I'm not invited to join.

Never was anyone's first in line which didn't matter until I realised how much time there is to fill as the days stretch on and nights begin to warm offering ample opportunity for connection and yet I sit satellite orbiting a world reopening for some and remain on the outside, cold and distant.

Vulnerability is the essence of connection and connection is the lifesource of happiness, now engineered quasi-chonologically; machine-picked priority in heart buttons and view counts as we no longer value the time spent thinking, mere lingering hesitation- am I worth no more than a momentary pause as your thumb swipes upward?

It's easier to publish vulnerability on social media platforms whose algorithms inherently work against visibility of raw honesty and hurt than risking rejection from the people I desperately want to hold me, see the cracks in my facade and enjoy me in my dilapidation while my world edges crumble.

Isn't that something