Jazz 1h
Months ago, I lost all my poetry.
All my woes,
All my frustration-al
that I
fight through,

But I had no remorse,
No sudden upset- ness
over losing
my work.

And I had no care,
I had not planned to grieve
over my terrible forgotten loneliness,
And I didn't even notice
for a while,
I didn't notice
that my need for validation
through my work,
Had slowly melted
away throughout
my blooming.

Poetry is my antidepressant,
Well it was before I healed,
So when I flushed my pills
My poetry
Down the toilet bowel
I didn't even realise,
That I,

I lost all my poetry,
I didn't even notice,
But I had no remorse.
frosted 1d
When I was fourteen I fell for the boy with big dry hands and icey blue eyes
And you planted seeds in me;
looked at me like I might have taken galaxies of stars out of the sky
and stored them in my back pocket
(as if a human being could hoard that much light)- and
I was in love
By fifteen you held my hand so tight it couldn't reach into my back pocket
All the light bottled up inside would have crept out the slightest crack that might have appeared
but you drew the blinds and poured fresh concrete day in and day out
and I wanted so badly to be beautiful for you
but even though the seeds grew into flowers
we could not live in this summer forever.
When I was sixteen I sat on the floor in my shower and begged my tears to blend in with the stream hitting me;
by seventeen I couldn't tell the difference
but at least I could sleep.
Waking up it is dark outside although
the night has never stopped your shadow.
I wander downstairs for a glass of water
and can feel my mother's concern as she holds onto her voice like birds in a cage, like a pressurized plane, like a budding May flower when it is not yet time to bloom
So I redirect my gaze to hers and allow my eyes to welcome her opinion into the room
And she, allowing her voice to crack, softly asks:
"What will you do when he is with somebody else?"
And for a moment every clock in the world stopped turning
so her words had the time to grow limbs, search for shovels, return and bury me here
for years
and so they did-
pouring concrete and building pillar after robust pillar,
heightening my anxieties as far as they would climb and then dropping them, throwing them down, sending them
all the way back to earth where they would morph and transform until they form
a pit the size of the moon that lands directly in my stomach.
I clenched it
and begged the universe please don't let him be with somebody else

Three years later and I saw you today and I won't say it but
I know you saw me, too
and so did she
because as soon as I glanced up her scowl turned to a smile, looked up into your icey blue eyes and induced
your right hand out of your coat pocket to hold hers
but against all odds
the clocks kept turning
and I let out the breath I had been holding in for years;
I was not her nor was I ever meant to be
and I know, now
that you are a master sculptor
who is looking for the perfect clay,
While I am an alluring dye:
the colors of my mother's meadow.
The gold the tall grass becomes when she reflects the sun,
the blush of the May flowers and
all the colors of green that don't exist on a regular palette
But no matter how beautiful of a painting I am,
you cannot sculpt a sculpture from the paint.

That is me.
and i’m trying to not write your name,
you never appreciated my rhymes
maybe that’s why your name doesn’t rhyme with anything.
and i’m thinking of someone new,
someone better than you
i swear just one more drink then i’m through.
and i’m out of my mind,
head over heels for someone who’s not even mine
and once again i’m forced to leave you behind.
and your name makes me sick,
you’re such a
and i’m beyond over you and your heartless tricks.
and she makes me feel like i’m in heaven,
thank god you showed me hell
thanks to you my swollen heart's getting well.
i realize it all now but it’s too late,
you’ve already played your promiscuous game
thankfully she told me she loved me and stayed.

(god, in five minutes so much has changed)
You came into my life wearing a mask, with this mask you covered yourself in lies and manipulations. You were loud, obnoxious and charming, you called yourself a Queen.. but you were anything but. You pretended to be my friend, helped me when no one else would. Made rely on you, made me trust you and when you had your claws in me only then did your true colours begin to show.

You started hitting me but I wouldn’t defend myself, like the bullies of old I had become a man filled with fear and anxiety. When I asked you to stop you began using words to belittle me and cut me to the bone. Still I did nothing, paralyzed by the mistakes of the past, mistakes that you used to keep your hold on me.

When you started to touch me, I did not know what to do and every time you did I was 8 years old again being assaulted by my neighbour. I did not know what to do, you controlled the information. So I stayed silent, too afraid of what you would do. Belittled by your words I became further lost and just when I thought it couldn’t get worse....you raped me.

It began when you threatened to hurt yourself, that you would do something crazy if I didn’t let you have me. I wanted to say no but I knew if I did I would lose friends and my anxiety, my fear made me say yes. You would use that excuse to rape me again and again, it got to the point that I would cringe every time I saw your name come up on my view screen.

Whenever I started dating you would get mad, call them whores and various other names. You hated what they represented, they were a barrier between you and me so you did your best to dehumanize them, call them names, try and make me feel the same way. You wanted me for yourself, what was it you said to me. “All the work I’ve put in to you and you choose the whore.”

That was the moment, the moment I saw a crack of light and the light was freedom.  

You began to make mistakes, your lies became more transparent and I became stronger. The abuse got worse as did your lies until one day a war between us broke out. But this time I had words of my own, years of pain broke free and like a mighty river I broke out of the prison you put me in. Every time you tried to deflect my words it only made my resolve stronger. Until you blamed me for everything, making it out to be my fault.

That was the moment I woke up, like a prisoner in solitary confinement I was finally free. That crack of light became a gaping hole and when stepped through I felt my sins wash away, I was wounded but I was free.

I ended my connection to you that day and now nearly 4 years later the scars have begun to heal. You are a simple afterthought and empty person who loves only himself and who needs a mask to hide his shame, his insecurity, his cowardice.

Today I breath freely knowing that you cannot hurt me. Though the damage you caused still prevents from allowing love into my life I have at least learned to love myself and those around me. And even after all the pain you caused me I feel that I can say this.

I forgive you.

I say this not for you but for me. I know now that it was never my fault and I refuse to carry this pain for another day. You can’t hurt me, you don’t scare me and you never will. My life is filled with people who love me and who treat me with dignity. That breath of fresh air that passes through me every morning is me knowing that I am on the path the Creator set out for me, a path of forgiveness, dignity and most of all....love!
If I could go back

I would have played by myself.

I would have gone far enough away so I couldn’t hear your voices.

I would have learned to run faster.

If I could go back.

I wouldn’t have gone to your house.

I wouldn’t have let you touch me.

I wouldn’t have let you rape me.

I would have told my mom.

If I could go back.

I wouldn’t have eaten my lunch in the cafeteria.

I wouldn’t have believed you when you said you were my friends.

I wouldn’t have tolerated your bullying.

I would have stood up to you.

If I could go back.

I wouldn’t have left you that morning.

I would have talked to you more.

I would learned CPR.

If I could go back.

I wouldn’t have let you hit me.

I wouldn’t have let you abuse me.

I walked away from you.

I can’t go back so…

I’m going to heal.

I’m going to speak loudly for justice.

I’m going to stand up to oppression.

I’m going to love myself.
The old man sits and waits, staring at an empty canvas. A canvas that awaits his thoughts, his fears, his pain and his love.

The old man drifts from thought to thought. At first he sees his cold mother and distant father, he sees the train station being leveled by the bombs of a madman.

He sees himself running through the fields where bodies have fallen. The ground wet by the tears of those who survived. He sees himself taken away by those in black with white collars, he remembers the sting of their violations.

He tries to escape but the scars remain, spreading through his body like a plague, it denies him speech and it fills him with hate. When the madman's bombs cease to fall he is allowed to leave but part of him remains in that building of shame.

He is not the same when he sees family again, for the scars remain as well as the shame. The old man stares at the empty canvas, remembering everything stolen from him, his love, his beauty, his voice.

He falls down.

Until love reaches out and extends her hand to him, she helps him find his voice, his beauty and his love. She helps to stand and for a time the canvas is filled with love and beauty. But the scars remain.

Love is not strong enough, she soon becomes overwhelmed. His pain, his shame forces her to flee. He is alone once again, his canvas is empty again.

His voice starts to die, he starts to cry. He falls. He cannot heal for he knows not how, years go by and his canvas remains dry. The scars remain. Until one day...

There is a knock at the door, it is the old mans son with scars of his own. The son tells his father that he forgives him, that he may have scars but they do not define him.

The father begins to cry, for no one had ever told him that forgiveness was allowed. The shame had taught him that. The son tells him that he can heal once he begins to forgive himself.

How says the old man

Speak! Says his son, speak until the scars have no power. He begins to speak, and colors begin to appear on the canvas, soon fields of green meadows and blue sky’s explode across the canvas.

All the while the man is speaking, he talks about the mad man and his bombs. The men in black with white collars and the soldiers weeping for their lost friends. About the love that tried to rescue him.

Soon the canvas fills the room with images of beauty and color, the beauty that was trapped in his soul, the beauty that is now free.

Old man begins to cry and his son asks why? These are not tears of pain says the father but of disappointment. I’m an old man he says, I’ve been a prisoner for so long. But today you are not says the son, today you are free.

The father smiles, what is it asks his son. I need another canvas for tomorrow he says for there is more to say.
Inspired by my father.
A year ago today,
I would’ve cried at the thought,
Of us parting ways,
A feeling never sought.

But I look back at those photos of you and I,
And I know it’s over this time,
Because I no longer feel the way I used to,
It almost feels like a crime.

To let go of one so close to your heart,
And to let your love stray,
Who would’ve thought it would end like this,
A year ago today.
March 9th, 2017
It’s in the way I don’t need
to run to the bathroom at 2AM
and make myself bleed
with a pencil sharpener anymore

It’s in the way I don’t use
loud pounding screaming music
to silence my brain’s abuse
and get me through the night

It’s in the way I express feelings
on paper or on my phone
instead of with wounds unhealing
hidden under jeans

It’s in the way I cry at night
instead of lying on the floor
numb, lost in my fight
and unable to let it out

It’s easy to discount the little healings
that took so long to come
but I’ll take them with the lighter feelings
and use them to once again run

Because sometimes I can sleep at night
and sometimes I feel good
There’s something that’s growing into light
as I know it should

So little healings that fought for me
I’m thankful and I’m getting better
Since it was you came to be
I no longer follow sadness to the letter
I realised I don’t need the loud pounding rock anymore, that I can listen to softer music and cry instead of the screaming to numb it all. I’m not where I want to be but I’m better than I was
That's all there is
Life is no more
That This
I'm 51 years old,
But this is still a time in my life
To learn from my Elders.....
Not to teach the Youth.
It's not my time
Be be respected
As an Elder with Wisdom
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