In the midst of a hopeful new year,
stubborn ignorance longs for a refreshing beginning,
even if time is just a arbitrary social construct
devised to add order and pretended control to an essentially
chaotic reality, filled with otherwise random
summations of events that seem to only add
pain and misery to this exhausting existence.
Whether or not any of this is worth the effort
is another debate entirely,
as the "new year, new you" cliché
fails to grasp the inability some people have
to escape the darkness.
The past, entrenched in suffering, despair
growing in the shadows, eat away
at the edge's of one's psyche,
slowly,
continuously,
until the deterioration reaches the peak.
Inversely, sanity becoming nothing less
than a distant memory.
So distant, that its even a question if that
was a memory, or a diluted dream
born from a fantasy.
Ambition long gone as well,
fading things that used to be fun to the background,
like a picture without any saturation
dulling even what seemed to be the brightest flowers
to a completely boring gray.
After ambition and sanity,
I only fear what I'll lose next.

I cannot say how many suicidal soliloquies or
diatribes of dialogue I have veraciously verbalized
towards the stark stare looking back at me
from my own reflection.
The cold calculating eyes piercing, penetrating
a completely cumbersome set of armor
deliberately designed, ironically, to protect
those forlorn, forgotten windows to the soul.
Windows, once reliably radiating with life and love,
only now to be desolate, dark.
Alone.
Abandoned.

I am writing this to remind you
Of what used to be
And still is

There is still a light
At the end of the tunnel

Right now,
It's dark
Gone
Black
Non-existent

Maybe it's been 20 years without light
Maybe you've only ever seen
Small swatches
Shadows dancing on the walls
Only to look again
And see nothing but an
Empty
Dark plane
Void of anything
Especially happiness

But just because you can't see it
Doesn't mean it's not there
And what a shame it would be
To give up without ever knowing
How close you were
To the brilliant
Joyful
Saving
Light.

There's only been one person I have ever had that I truly trusted,
could look to for advice and know that what he said was true.
My uncle, who was more of a dad to me than my so-called father,
a monster, pure embodiment of evil. A testament showing that evil does not come from these supernatural interpretations, but of the people that share our beds, eat at our tables, etc. That's a tangent for another day. Instead, I want to honor my uncle's memory here by posting his life objective. My uncle passed away a little under four and a half years ago, and to say I've lost quite a bit of direction would be an understatement. Now, re-reading the last thing he ever wrote brings me a little peace of mind when I'm feeling down, but I think it's time to broaden the potential of this passage and see if anyone else can get anything out of it. So, without further delay, here's what he decided to be his life goal:

**I wish for a little peace of mind. I want to feel like I have done my part, or at least tried. I want a good night's rest. I feel that there is much more to this life than the earth. I feel that I have more to offer this life than to the mundane. So my objective would be that offering I give to leave the grind, to give my all in whatever endeavor that best suits what I have to offer this world. So I intend to put my best foot forward, head down feet churning shoulders square, I mean to smash into destiny, the end result will either be victory or defeat. If it is defeat then I'll pick myself up and try again till I exhaust exhaustion, until death embraces me. Then all that will be remembered will be that which is attached to my bones, the label they earned from the integrity of my life. That is my objective.

whenever I hold your hand,
I feel the scars from when
we pieced together
the shards of your heart.

that heart is no longer
a flawless figurine
but a mosaic.
nevertheless,
it is still a masterpiece.

not many people know what it feels like to cut themselves open in slow motion and feel the blood drops change from raindrops to tidal waves before their very eyes,
that were coincidently dripping too.
similar to the way it felt when my feelings for you started to pour through and all i could do was try to hold them all back and stitch up the cracks before i'd lost too much and fallen too hard, landing in a puddle of red that could very well have been what was left of my broken heart.


↠mndi➣

Today, I realized that I'm a foot.

And not just the bones, ligaments and muscles

A body part with an attitude

See, I get cocky.

I think,

"Wow. You are the foot. You get the entire body where it needs to go. You support all the weight; bear all the load. You're in control."

It wasn't until today that I realized

That what being a foot really means

Is that I get

Dirtied

And stepped on

And controlled

By everything else above me.

**** the system.
The regimalized plan
That "Works for Everyone. "
That funnels persons from
Different backgrounds
And stories
And wounds
Down into the
Same
Dark
Lonely
Standard
Tired
Broken
****** up mass of ****.

Instead of helping
Your "Standard Procedure"
Just added to
The beaten down
Bleeding
Non-believing
Exhausted
Pile of hurt.

I'm not exactly the sharpest crayon in the box,
but hey,
at least I'm in the box.
If only sometimes.
More frequent than not,
I'm content to break out,
do my own thing,
but really, its just
running away.
Wether it be
making jokes so that nothing is too serious,
keep my distance,
so they won't matter,
because then it can't hurt.
I've been worn down to the nub,
as dull an indigo Crayola as you've ever seen,
label peeling off, stepped on, cracked.

It's true that each color has its own flare,
its own brilliance,
its own
beauty,
if only to the artist overseeing.
So while I may not always know
the plan God has in store for me,
who am I to stop resisting,
even if the design
is still an empty page
waiting to be explored.