from the mind of an anxious depressive

from the time i, as a little girl,
dressed up like a princess
[tiara and all,
pouffy, pink dress and all]
listened to my mother tell me
a fairy tale
of a woman who finds
her prince charming,
and is rescued by him,
and lives happily, happily ever after
in a magnificent palace by the sea…
and i, as a brooding teenager,
insecure and reclusive,
observed a
[now viewed as ridiculous]
romantic film
about a woman who finds her
one true Love,
and he rescues her,
and they live happily, happily ever after
in a beautiful three-bedroom home
where they raise two,
perfect children…
and i, as a young woman,
fully aware and adept,
recognizing the world for what it is
as *i see it,
seeing love dismantle time,
and time again....

i am fully aware that nothing can possibly last for a happily ever after.

the doubt is consuming,
the wall is well-built and
unyielding.
my heart remains too crippled
to possibly endure the grief that
falling in Love elicits.

but,
Love finds you even if you have
given up the notion of it.
it gallops in on its white horse.
has bright blue eyes.
sparks a smile that can illuminate
my somber heart.
has no regard for my opposition to itself.
is selfish and greedy and exhausting.

it is utterly impossible to avoid
being seduced
into the black hole
from which i will never leave
precisely the same.
from which i will surrender
a piece of myself
essential to my functioning.

Love sweeps in like a tornado
[destroying everything in its path]
and so the five stages of falling in Love,
and falling apart,
begin.

denial.
i feign disinterest.
i pretend as if he doesn’t
engross my thoughts
as if my heart doesn’t encroach upon my stomach
when he enters the room.
if asked by a friend,
“why does your face turn bright red
when he dares to utter your name?”
i pretend like she is the insane one
[when i am the one denying my heart.]

anger.
i become enraged.
Love has taken control.
the knowledge that i let Love
dismantle the wall,
that i have spent years building,
and reinforcing,
[brick by brick, piece by piece]
infuriates me.
i let him gradually demolish it.
and now i am powerless and susceptible,
and now he has me by the heartstrings.
he holds me in his greedy palms.

bargaining.
i avoid the fact that i am falling,
yes, i am falling.
oh, so deeply for him.
i watch myself fall from such great heights
straight into the ground
crashing through to the
center of
the world.
i even pray to God,
the one i'm not even sure i believe in.
i tell Him that i would do anything,
anything just to take back control.
to have two firm hands on the wheel.
to be the driver
instead of the passenger.

depression.
i cannot bring myself
to shove off the covers.
to crawl out of bed.
i am miserable and helpless and
he is all i can think about.
he is my first thought
when i am awake.
my last when my mind
finally tires of him,
and i fall into a
fitful night of sleep.
yet, i do not tell him any of this.
he wonders why i am so distant,
so removed from him.
what he does not know is that
he carries part of myself with him
wherever he goes.

acceptance.
when my nerves have finally worn themselves down,
when my heart has reached an understanding with my mind,
when Love does not appear as something to be grieved,
that is when i fall in Love.

never once have i
accepted Love from a man,
Love that could alter
my melancholy mind,
nor have i trusted a man with my heart.
[although i have been forced by Love itself to relinquish it.]

i have been obstinate and headstrong
and refused to give all of myself
in fear of losing myself.
but maybe one day, i will be
rescued from myself.

Bargaining with yourself
lungs beating back and forth
like wary eyes
scared someone might see
and know you've lost it
gone so subtly that
not even you knew
(until this moment).
Not even you noticed
your anchor's been dragging for miles
But still, a bargain.
Self, I will act as though I'm sane
and in exchange
please illuminate me as to
what the hell has happened.
We'll shake on it.

(I am afraid neither side
will stay its promise)

it has been over two years and i am proud of my growth. my main focus this year is to finish my grieving so that i may continue my life in an efficient manner.
the process of grieving is commonly known as, but not limited to:

denial
anger
bargaining
depression
acceptance

my denial proces:
many times the easiest way to get over trauma is to repress it. i was 15 when i was ra ped. legal age of consent is 16. he was 18. i was naive, and could not imagine the man i loved doing that to me. i believed that it was an accident and neither of us knew what was right or wrong. I had assumed that because i had previously given him my body, he was able to ignore my pleads to stop this time. i blamed myself more than i blamed him, and he blamed me. i had been so infatuated with him that i had pushed away the people who cared most about me. when i told them about being ***** our bond was already so far gone that they could not feel anything more than pitty. i was terrified of losing him, so i convinced us both it was an accident. ra pe is no accident.

through denial became anger:
i became genuinely angry for the first time in my life. i was angry at him for being somebody that i had trusted and loved. angry that i had let this happen to myself. angry that i had no strength nor respect to stand up for myself. if i had told him to stop one more time he would have. i understand now that i should not have had to say no more than once. i was angry because i let myself down, but I’m more angry that i could not blame him. being angry was the easiest part of grieving. it is okay to he angry.

bargaining is a toxic healing method:
i became really good at bargaining with myself. after he was gone i had begun to understand my emotions, but i could not control them. my fear of more being taken from me fed my overcompensation. i began to give my body away, so that it could not be taken. it was an unhealthy coping mechanism. my body is not meant to be given nor taken.

depression hit hard:
i began to reflect on all of the points in my life that had lead me to this one. i became close to restarting the grieving process. i spent a long portion of the depression stage in denial. then i was angry that i had backtracked to the beginning. i had more meaningless se x that i now regret more than anything. i saw how good his life had been going and how poorly mine was. it was obvious that i needed help.

acceptance:
this entire passage was my process to acceptance. i reached out to my therapist. i made new friends. i stopped wallowing in self pity and i began to recover. i stopped begging to forget my flaws and began to forgive them.

There are traitors in the castle
Hypocrites and liars
Spreading rumors, keeping secrets
Lighting silent fires
Pacing in the bedrooms
Quiet in the halls
Sneaking after midnight
Conspiring behind walls
Pretending to be royalty
Called themselves "king and queen"
Throwing out words like garbage
Not saying what they mean
Not taking time to think
Just playing a silly game
Betraying flesh and blood
not feeling any shame
Full of carelessness and greediness
But acting so sincere
Watching with fake smiles and laughter
Ignoring every tear
Throwing "traitors" in the dungeon
While deceiving on the thrown
Punishing those "committing crimes"
Not looking at their own
There were traitors in the castle
Hypocrites and liars
Bargaining with enemies
Igniting silent fires
Now there is no castle
No whispers in the halls
Nothing hiding behind doors
All that's standing are the walls

This is my bargain.
Day for night
and night for day.

There isn't a time where I hadn't wished
that the day would end to make way for night.

Nights offer a bleak sense of comfort.
Almost as if they'd grant a temporary cloak which
you could huddle under and think or...
Overthink in the dark.

You could bargain shamelessly with tears running streams down your face and no one could see.
You could negotiate with reality for the slight perchance that things would turn out alright come daylight.
You could voice out your barter in hushed tones and still be somewhat assured that no one would know.
All of this...
In the cover of night.

Then when sleep eludes, you can't help but beg for day to come.
For with the light comes the day's responsibilities; all eager and raring to go.
Much like runners at the start line, anticipating the shot to be fired at the crack of dawn.
Shot fired and they'd come swooping down on you...
Sweeping you off your feet and carries you off to where you need to be, doing what you're paid to do for the next 8 to 10 hours.

That is your break from the dark.
That is your retreat from all the thinking.
That is your escape from... yourself.

And then...
4 hours into the day, you're wishing for night again.

You.
You were my shelter in the middle of my storm,
my shoulder to cry on when all felt forlorn.
I drew my strength from your love's warmth
But all that's past and alive no more.

You.
You’re a math expression with no solution,
an ingredient in the recipe of my confusion.
To my desperate pleas, you answered vaguely;
I just wanted to know how you’ve been doing lately,
after our love, after our loss.
after experiences we never thought would become fleeting memories
of a bond we hoped would last for centuries,
after long, late nights up spent envisioning a future with you and me,
of writing a book's last chapter that would end happily.
after broken promises that broke both our hearts.
Although words may break my heart
and sticks and stones may break my bones,
betrayal by someone who felt like home
makes me question myself and crushes my soul.
I thought I was your best friend, your dream girl, your ride-or-die,
but after you met her, that no longer mattered and you bade me goodbye,
while gravity gained on the tears that began to stream from my eyes,
nearly a year and a half of love cut short by the devil in disguise.

They say grief is a linear five-stage process,
which involves denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance,
but grief over him for me was a convoluted, confusing hodgepodge that muddled up all those feelings together.

Grief was denial over him loving me and leaving me all at once.

Grief was rage triggered by this sudden betrayal and loss of trust, by making out his love to be a lie,
by all my effort put into loving him unconditionally going down the drain in the blink of an eye.

Grief was wrestling between giving him liberty to fool around
and bargaining to salvage and kindle the embers of the fire
that once burned between us that could be redeemed.

Grief was depression over being taking for granted, depression over promises never kept,
depression over words that I fell for that broke my heart in the end.

Grief was struggling to accept the aftermath of it all, no matter how huge a hole it left in my heart.

Grief was accepting his departure one second, then reminiscing about the love we used to share and bargaining for it back.

Grief was struggling to be happy again, then remembering how he broke my heart and feeling either vexed or sad or both emotions at once.

Grief was loving him in the wake of my loss.

But grief wasn’t going to sting as much as it would if I had attached my self-worth onto the relationship. I already knew what love was before I met him.

I've found love in being saved by the blood of my Savior,

I've found love in friends and family who’ve seen me at my worst and chose to stay,

I've found love in education and learning more about the world around me outside of the classroom,

I've found love in my craft,

I've found love in other people's craft,

I've found love in many places where he isn't.

I will be fine.

I’ve found that love is not selfish; love is giving.
Love meant putting the needs of others before its own.
If one can’t understand that,
then they weren’t ready to commit themselves to a serious relationship with anyone,
nor can they maintain healthy, cordial relationships with other people in their life.

I already knew what love was before I met him; I just don’t
understand why people have such a hard time reciprocating it.

I thought he was my red string of fate.

I guess my eyes simply weren’t adjusted correctly to the light.

-a.l.

where's
the fun
in being
vulnerable
if there's
no one there
to use you

what's
the point
of being
lonely
if there's
no other island
to cruise to

It's June, 1967.
Nature, still lying through
Parsley green teeth,
Breathes the last of spring,
Hints early summer warmth,
Pre-July's cicada whine,
August's heat and wind.

Crops, still tender green
Quiver beneath a humid sky,
Under a glowing sun.

Bicycles amuse our early lust
To soar untraveled ground,
Entering lazy summer's ennui,
We scan a hawk riding drafts
On the edge of our hill.

Dust, drifting up the graveled road,
Five miles below us,
Piques our interest,
Causes the dog to raise his head.
He ***** an ear
Toward a sound we cannot hear.

We hear gravel slapping rocker panels
Before the traveler's roof rises into view,
Catch our breath as the engine slows,
Start running for the house.

A stranger's arrived,
A traveling salesman,
Better than an aunt
Only stopping in for tea
And woman talk.

Dad keeps his welding helmet down,
Repairing broken things.
The hired man inhales his cigarette,
Acts disinterested.

My memories linger on the past....

Salesmen brought the latest farming gadgets:
Additives for fuel and oil,
Battery life extenders,
Grain elevators and fencing tools,
Produce and livestock products,
Lightning rods and roofing,
Chrome-edged cultivator shovels,
Insurance for everything:
Fire, water, wind, hail.

Pitches came without exception:

"Top o' the morning! Looks like you're busy.
Don't want to take your time."

"Looks like you could use some welding rod,
And I have something new for you to try."

"Have you used chromium additive in you livestock salt?
Guaranteed to put on weight and protect from bovine
Tuberculosis!"

"Say, have you heard about the effectiveness of a new
Insecticide called DDT? I've got a sample gallon here
For you to try. Works better than Malathion!"

Dad, eventually intrigued, began the slow dance
Of dickering, haggling over this thing or that.
Most salesmen, closing in for a ****,
Hadn't grappled with my father.

At noon, deals still in the air,
My mother called the men,
And we all trudged in to wash,
Waiting in line at the tub,
Scrubbing with powdered Tide
To remove the grime and grease,
Drying on the darkening towel,
Finding a seat at the table.

The salesmen expected the meal
As though it were their right,
A standing invitation:
Stop in at noon,
Make your pitch,
Sit at table,
Close the deal after.

We boys sat and listened
To man talk.
Eyes wide, we marveled
At gadgets,
Wondered at Dad's parleying,
Winced at the deals he drove,
Commiserated with squirming salesmen
Surely made destitute by Dad's hard bargaining.

In retrospect,
I know the game was played
On two sides,
That the battery additives
Bought for five dollars a packet,
Even with the two Dad finagled free,
Cost about five dollars for everything,
Returned forty-five and change
To the smirking, full-bellied salesman
Who left a cloud of dust on his way
To supper a few miles down the road.

I am a lot of things
And chief amongst none is a liar.

Except when I am.

Its not on purpose.
Its only when I need to coat my tongue with a little sugar
to make it sweeter; smoother.
So its all not so bitter.

Only when I believe it
When its close enough to the truth
To be considered genuine
If I believe it hard enough.

Lying is a sin.
Except when its not.

When you need a small half truth
So you’re easier to love,
Or prettier,
Or little more righteous,
Or better.

Just when it makes things softer.
When it sands down too sharp memories
And keeps things from hurting so much;
Too much.

It is only then I lie.
Except-.

Sometimes I still wake up at night.
To my mid-day terrors.
And my room always feels empty.
My eyes fall off back into time.

I'd always hear you say
That we'd be better off
But who are you to say so
When you're not here anymore.

And I wake up in the after glow
Of the sun from my midnight terrors
This place is just too much for me.
I'd rather not stop to look and see.

And I remember that you'd always say
Nothing would last that long
But how could you tell me that
When you've been gone for far too long.

When I dive back to the sea of dreams
I close my eyes and can't help but think
You were right all along
But I can't tell you that anymore.

And yet as I drift off into the evening sky
Your voice is still as clear as it was that time.
And I wish that I could have this back
Your kind words and the hope you'd bring.

And all the parts I lost that you took from me.

-Persephone

No one comes here,
this is not fair,
whenever  they needed,
I was always there,
This is not pinching,
that all of them forget,
but it is really painful
that they don't regret,
I don't know yet that,
why they've gone away,
whenever I ask them ,
they've nothing to say,
but certainly my life,
has come to a halt,
it's destiny,I believe,
It's not my fault,
but boys, beware of,
these deadly emerging trendz,
gone are the days,when,
people used to  trust, friends !!

Bargaining
You changed, I changed
the situation changed
For good or for bad?
Kneeling, begging
God
Make the pain stop
guide him
guide me

I want to be a figment of your imagination;
where images of angels spotlessly deceive
a dreamy serpent lady embodying indignation,
and you can't see the difference in between.

I want to be the reality of the situation;
when something happens you can't silence me
and every thought and move has consideration
on the level of difficulty to sit silently.

I want to be the mouse in the corner of the kitchen party;
afraid of bodies, eyes, words, and souls,
I much prefer if nobody is able to catch up to me
since I can't emotionally sail in seas with a ship full of holes.

I want to be a memory you don't regret;
disappointment burns like a thousand candles
'cause I begged myself to be someone you won't detest
but to believe in myself is something I can't handle.

I want to feel free from the memories of failure;
I remember everything that made me get lost at sea,
and it's sink or swim when you're a love sailor
and my lack of proper training proved to be costly.

I want to be the person you think of first;
there is no moment that couldn't be better
without a little serotonin star burst
to ease troubles and keep people together.

I want to feel forgiveness and remorse from you;
the 5 stages of grieving is a healing process
and honestly I don't know if I'm done with step 2,
but I should be on step 3 since I just wrote this.

we're gonna die at some point
and all that we're gonna leave behind us is a bunch of
bad reviews and 2 star ratings
for restaurants that didn't treat us right,
for uber drivers that were too quiet or too loud,
and airline companies that were responsible for 16 long hours
in an airport with too much light and no air.

the day will come and none of us will be ready,
even though some might lie about it, with a cold smile on their face.
there will be no bargaining then,
all the money in the world will be as useless as a pair of flip-flops to a legless person.
for sure, we'll regret using the expression "no regrets!" too often,
instead of accepting our vulnerabilities and our imperfections.

we're gonna die seeing our mother's smile
and hearing our father laughter,
from the day we were born.
just like then, we won't know for sure whether
this is the beginning or the end
whether we are leaving a world or coming into another.

we're gonna hope to use our last breath for something memorable,
something that won't make us not get a good death's sleep,
keeping us awake in a homemade YouTube video.
we're gonna wish that someone finds all of our passwords
and breaks into our emails and social media accounts to realize that
we were geniuses, or something like that and we're gonna look forward
to not being successful and
not seeing anyone cry over something that we said while we were drunk or, worse..

there's nothing more annoying than a come-back to an argument
that comes too late,
the one great idea that could shut down anyone if it would appear in the middle of a fight,
and not afterwards. always afterwards.
when the quarrel initiators are already tucked up in bed, covered in wet dreams and solitude.
nothing for you to do. no hour is decent enough for you to call them in the middle of the night,
shouting your retort, then hanging up the phone and laughing like a crazy person.
that's how after-death must feel like.
a smart answer that comes too late and that no one gets to hear.

our bodies start dying from the day we are born,
little by little,
small chunks of tissue getting rid of our existence,
making us less appealing, less ripe.
our bodies become dumber and dumber every day and start
throwing emotional **** everywhere, hoping to make others mad,
and not care as much about us, near the end.
in a way, it's a form of protection.

we're gonna live through other people's deaths,
we're gonna be "survivors" and "carriers of their memory"
we're gonna try and appear strong for their closest ones,
even though we will forever be broken on the inside after they
become cool, underground.

as we grow older, we believe that death is more about us than the one leaving.
It's possible that we didn't even get to meet him personally,
but he "left a great impression on us", from his real friends' stories.
it's possible that we randomly cross paths with a funeral cortege of some unlucky stranger
and we would still believe that it's about us.
every time we stumble upon it from an observer's point of view, we cannot stop
thinking that it could have been us in that box,
forceless, incapable of protesting against the tie
or the flowers that we are/were so allergic to.
we get lost in our mind, near the coffin and our eyes start to glow
and lose liquid.
every time someone dies, it's always about us. at least, for a couple of seconds or days.

when we die, or are about to die, we find out that death is not at all about us.
it's about those that are left behind, the above mentioned "survivors".
we begin to worry about them,
to fear that there's no fresh milk in the fridge, no gas in the car tank,
that no one took out the garbage, nor fed the cat,
we are about to leave life under the impression that we forgot the fire on.
every time we die, it's never about us. at least, up until the last seconds.

there's no chance in hell that heaven's gonna accept this kind of language!
maybe the subtitle won't work for this part and I'll get off the hook.
I was thinking that one of the greatest penalties
God could give to a feeble-minded person like me
would be the possibility to choose between the infernal region and paradise.
I would end up in a very familiar situation, experiencing the purgatory of my afterlife,
in the same way I did in my entire earthly existence, not being able to pick a side,
make a decision, take a left or a right.. without overthinking it too much.

we're gonna die crying.
we're gonna die hoping that we closed the door.
we're gonna die tasting coffee.

we're gonna die when we least expect it.
we're gonna die in 3, 2..

we're gonna die trying to live.


[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CVemwwIDC7c]

This poem isn't one about boys.
This poem isn't a tribute to the girls
Who got their hearts broken by an idiot.
But I pray for them too.

This poem is not  plea for attention,
This poem is not a bargaining chip.

This is to the little girls who's
Fathers hurt them more
Than any boy ever could
This is an ode to the girls who cry over
An abandoned office.
This is for the warriors who fought through the pain.

You've wondered if it was your fault.
You've wondered if there was anything
You or anyone could've done.
The nights you've seen pass by
As you contemplate why he didn't stay
Are countless.

You've written poems about the
Emptiness you've felt
Because of his absence.
You've rehearsed in your mind what it would
Be like
If he came back.
You've thought about how it would be
If life were perfect.

...

It's been 1 month
and it pains me to breathe
and I'm trying to act like I'm okay
but I can't help but feel
all of my emotions at once
I don't know how I'll make it
without you by my side
I took a chance with you
what was I expecting
while bargaining with the devil?

It's been 2 months
it's like learning to walk all over again I'm still shaky
but I can stand on my own
I have a fear of falling and getting hurt but I do it anyway
because the world doesn't stop
for anyone
and I need to get a move on.

3 months have passed
and I have to pretend
that I don't notice that you're happier than you were with me.
You finally cut your hair
like I begged you to
and stopped biting your nails
I've taken up the occasional cigarette
to rid the taste of you on my lips.
It's nice to have something
inbetween my teeth than your tongue and feeling the stress leave faster
than you did.  

It's been 4 months
and I wake up
shaking and screaming your name until the echo soothes me
My dreams are haunted by you
and I can't escape you in my reality. I've dyed my hair
and changed mindset.
I'm not the naive ***** I was before.  
I don't let people walk over me
and tear me to shreds.

Half a year has gone by
and I'm still searching for something
to fill this void
I miss you terribly
and there's not enough drugs
in the world to give me the high
you gave me when we kissed
I saw someone who looked like you the other day and my heart froze
My initial reaction was to hide
I couldn't stand the thought
of you seeing me
and the look of disappointment
in your eyes
I didn't want to
hear how great your life has been
without me.

Luckily it wasn't you.
Unfortunately it wasn't you.

When words fail and the song dies in your soul
The soft cushion weighs heavy, threadbare, when
Dust invites the attic attack to the last memory stroll
A fretful protest march accompanying the wood grained heart

You noticed the space in short supply, with tight breath, the
Expert bargaining skills have begun, bypassing
The weak hearts, those that are still journeying
Their healing held up in tight palms of moistoned skin

And the slide into another day begins, dreadfully
With arched pain barriers drumming their morning
Beat. Occupational hazard was on the rampage
Cracking skull caps from their skinned residence

I shone a light into the acute grey tone of those
Hearts, those whose shapes lost conviction as the light
Shot arrowed tongues from the deaf interiors of wise men
Out on the town of feeble failings, they held nothing as their companion

grabbing her by throat hair he holds gun barrel to right eye with free hand she edges fingers into boot pulls dagger plunges it into his heart

i didn’t mean to do that i meant to do this

i’m trying to figure out how other people deal with disappointment of old age i guess they arrive at some settlement some settlement that eludes me

very few figure out meaning of their lives until it’s too late then become detectives trying to figure out whys if you wake up tomorrow you’ve got a shot at new day no one in this world knows what might happen

i believe people can do change maybe not their nature but spiritually emotionally intellectually psychologically i recognize change within myself i did could now never commit acts different from who i was more scared sensitive hopeful pure honest longing for love probably i sound corny all i want is mutual love adoration in way it was easier when i was thoughtless i got ***** i don’t know

poet must face every conceivable fear terror no matter how despairing risk walking away from table without chips

there are good people and bad people sometimes good people make bad mistakes sometimes bad people make smart choices

for decades he lived knowing no one valued him except his family collecting his paintings reading his works praising his efforts his entire career an inside job

her graying disheveled hair muddy smudged apron raw arthritic fingers she cooks meal washes dishes a million trillion dishes thankless life mom what’s for dinner

some people see it all coming plan invest i never saw any of it coming i never imagined

the sickly smell of grandpa’s farts lingers in room nauseating family

he held shivering abandoned puppy in arms she whimpered repeatedly he swore in that moment to protect her stood by his promise until he buried her

wild wolf chases him growling snapping nipping at ankles tearing jeans biting drawing blood he runs

pitiable old men everyone knows old men are impotent jokes with no pack to punch just harmless peevish impediments what good are they what purpose do they serve get the ******-freaking out of the road old man

riotous advancing mob overcome military police

sharing yoga class old man attending his skin thin as parchment bled i cleaned his blood from mat every class until he died

after puncturing her maidenhood reaching ****** he strokes head of 8 year old daughter good girl good girl daddy is so proud

skin him alive skin him alive little girl asks what’s different about poetry from standard writing grandpa answers i have no answers

not possible yet happening gradually suddenly amidst bribes bargaining lies government collapses citizenry unleash in anarchy yearning for change

Mom’s fogginess i sense it beginning in myself possibly inherited will i become like Mom there’s no one looking out for me Mom i’m looking out for you

after 30 or 40 years life is over don’t believe what they tell you

when i’m dead what will they unearth in my personal effects writings paintings letters emails bookmarks internet visitations or gossip accusations from those still alive probably allege another selfish decadent fool squandered resources missed opportunities misses the mark

maybe in 5 years i will live in New York City London Paris Tokyo Tahiti  with beautiful wife who will spread her buns want me to **** her grab my ***** at least once a day

there is a star in north sky that shines i understand you looking away when pain gets too great please look into my eyes when throbbing subsides

don’t make it any harder than it has to be please find it in your heart to forgive me i am so sorry

yup i’ve got cash guns friends in Canada Mexico Netherlands France first let’s make a run for the border  then later think about a boat

oh yeah one last remark ******* haters bigots greedy ******* all you big city fat cats small town big fish fearful suburban housewives over-cautious grannies gangsters politicians real-estate lawyers moneylenders fraudulent priests ******* all you movie actor phony smile celebrities cliché skinny jean cowboy boot rock stars all you left-wing right-wing tea-party outer-space inner-space freaks ******* i can’t don’t know how to explain myself ******* all

****** ******* began
In nineteen sixty-three
(which was rather late for me) -
Between the end of the Chatterley ban
And the Beatles' first LP.

Up to then there'd only been
A sort of bargaining,
A wrangle for the ring,
A shame that started at sixteen
And spread to everything.

Then all at once the quarrel sank:
Everyone felt the same,
And every life became
A brilliant breaking of the bank,
A quite unlosable game.

So life was never better than
In nineteen sixty-three
(Though just too late for me) -
Between the end of the Chatterley ban
And the Beatles' first LP.

i am abrasive
personality functionality deficit
yet i attract
beautiful women
to befriend the hermit of solidarity
will you go out with me
brought answers on no
my friend i could not lose
yet for the end of altruistic bargaining
i end up ahead
with false promises of a beginning
to an end my own personal
apocalypse
david lee roth would understand
that as i write in this
mindset
brought on by reading
778 comics in 12 hours
and a 4 day binge of  job for a cowboy
my mind wanders
as insomnia sets in
would i be one of the great
dissociative poets?
a dose of the unrequited free associative minds
free thinking form of diet coke with a side of purple strawberries no i meant blueberries
my mind wanders
and yet i look forward to pad thai on wednesdays with cute blondes whom with i stand
the chance of a bat in the mosh pits of a metal band
suckers
i win
for you all know the taste of yellow mustard
ramble ramble ramble
this indie pop poem
would it be ironic to like it
if one truly hates the wording
and yet loves the idea
one of lives greatest life mysteries
alcohol i bid thee a fair welcome
nimble bubblegum monkey wrench
how long will you read?
enough to to see my lack of coherent sentence structure
or that i am a flawed creation
going on and on about existential non existent problems
for i shall exist regardless of my best intentions
as the wheel continues to roll on despite the moss covering this ice slicked track
metal boar slayer of a thousand suns would be a good metal name from sweden
the mooring dove coos to the beat of an undead drum
boo hoo boo hoo cries the witch at the stake
i am done

I told her reality is a lie
reality is a lie
there are cowboys and aliens
making music in the sky
robots and dinosaurs
dancing in the jungle
monsters and angels
playing checkers in the chimney

Don't bother them and their whimsy, she said
I'm what's real
like the illusory cold of steel
or the bellyful of a meal
I cook and I clean for you
I laugh and I sing for you
I hold and I cry for you
I feel no shame that I'd die for you
but you're far off in the aether
tempting ruin from fool's gold gods
and I ponder how long I should wait for you
to come down from the heights you have scaled

The heights scaled me, my darling, I uttered
they came creeping in the night
alighting me to the depths of hell
where the ****** weep with fright
they call out for mercy, I swear
and I do not lift a finger
for I am a mortal
only armed with prayer
It's best you leave me be
I will plan their great escape
for if anyone deserves no freedom
it is I
'tis I...

But she never left, did she
she clamored on for hope
that I'd be the man I was
that I'd not be tempted by the rope
I watched her smile grow dull
her eyes' glow became glassy
her encouragements lost pep
her savor for life lost flavor
and the gods grew quiet...
the fairies fluttered away
the aliens and monsters disappeared
guilt began to choke my spirit

Darling, I said, sweet thing
your smile wanes softer than the moon
what can I get for you,
a lilt? a tune?
She sighed and shook her head
"Your dreams await, my love."
I was shocked to hear the utterance
the defeat that marred her voice
I hugged her deeply, as if to stop her falling
lo, her spirit had ebbed into despair
frightfully, I told her, "I shant dream again."
But you always dream, she said, it wouldn't hurt to dream once more
Oh but it does hurt, I whispered, it hurts that you hurt for me
The ****** still call, do they not?
Your one voice drowns them out
What of the aliens and their schemes?
I will make plans for you, say the word
What of the cowboys and their adventures?
You are my adventure, my freedom, my home
I don't know, you'll be dreaming tomorrow, I must prepare the bed
I'll prepare it with you - you and I will make love tonight

After so long, will you have the stones?

I will be the mountain you're astride
stones enough for cobbled streets
stones enough for churches and keeps
I tell you darling, I am through
no dreaming, no sleeping, no games
I will lay you down tonight
until you say my name!

And the morrows were ever sweeter
the days skipped by with grace
no longer brooding over the dead
it was life that I laid claim to
my love, she held me tight like never before
cooing like a nested bird at the highest tree
she turns to me, says, "I have something to show you."
She leads me to the door and opens
but it was then that the doorway warped
a darkness suffused the entry
a darkness deeper than the cosmos beyond the sky
and in a that darkness, a gleam...
I reached out to touch, with my love grasping my hand
the gleam became a roaring light
and from it, the king of darkness himself

You were to be a hero, he claimed, a champion for them all
but here you stand at the threshold
here, you fight you last battle
I heard your cries to the hells
your pining for their salvation
I heard them cry for you
I heard them sing for freedom
it tickled me, their futility
until I realized, it had never been done before
for someone to light hell to a chorus
for them to weep no longer,
for them to hope
I've come to you with an offer
we shall see what you are made of
what can you offer for their freedom
what thing of value can replace my coveted ******?

I gulped, not sure what to say
was I dreaming again? Surely not!
But my darling was seeing this, too
this was not a dream at all!

All I ever had to offer, was myself, I said

And will you make that offer?

My grip on her hand loosened against my will
against my better judgment, I yearned to shake his hand
to make the deal
to save their souls
but I knew, or at least I was learning
things could never be that simple...

After me, I said, shall there be more souls to claim?

Always as the sun rises and sets
there is reaping, bills to collect
the debt of sin is final, and punishment is due
punishment for them
punishment for you

Can I have your assurance
that you will not take more souls after me?
I require your agreement
your acceptance of my plea

The king of darkness smiled a vast, soulless grin
Unless you make their decisions for them, you cannot change their fates
But you would give them a chance
a glimmer of opportunity to right their courses

Something else was nagging at me
Why, after all this time, was he here?
To make a simple offer?
My soul for the ******?
The offer made no sense
if I truly were ******, my soul would be worth less than any of theirs
I began to catch on to the ploy
I began to live the game

I don't believe my soul is worth the souls of hell...

Ah, a change of heart

No, I just don't believe the scale is balanced - my soul has the scale tipped

You jest

Don't tell me you can't afford my soul...

Wha- well how much then? I'd have to wait for new batches

I don't think you're up for bargaining

I can offer you a hundred years more worth of souls

You wouldn't come here for a soul worth so little - that's a sad offer

A thousand years more worth, it's a bargain!

I don't come so cheap, that's pathetic...

How much then, how much!

All the souls... of all time

Do you mean hell to be some kind of revolving door? No. Absolutely not. Actions have consequences, and the ultimate consequence is hell - that's fair.

Fair? Fair for billions of people to live lives of suffering, emptiness, and defeat, and sure, fail at it, cause catastrophe maybe, but ultimately all for the chance to live, only for all that striving, and all the weight of that suffering, to land them in a pit for eternity, experiencing a suffering unlike anything they'd ever imagined?
Fair? You have no idea what's fair and your bogus offers are indicative of that.

I felt her grip my hand tight. I held just as firm.

The king looked shocked, so... that's a no then.

Did you hear anything I said?

I heard, and if you have some means to change how the universe works, I suggest you start working, because I have work of my own to do.

That's it then?

Indeed.

With that, the king of darkness melted into the black, disappearing from sight, along with the dark portal. Suddenly, light burst from the now open doorway, revealing the green pastures beyond.

You saw all that?

She nodded. You dreams weren't for nothing, then?

I guess not. I breathed a sigh of relief. You had something to show me?

I absolutely forgot with everything that just happened. Are... are we dreaming?

I looked around, smiling. Everything is real, I said.

She smiled back, and let me out into the world where I had not ventured in years.

The first steps were trouble. My joints ached. The sky was too bright. But as we strode, it got easier. I began to enjoy it. She led me far, until I almost didn't recognize where we were. Up a steep hill with trees and shrubbery covering its expanse.

At the top, a small clearing, within which a tall tree stood. We rounded it, and she pointed at something, "Remember?"

I nodded, I can't believe we haven't been here since we were kids.

You're the one that brought me here the first time.

I forgot this place existed

This used to be your favorite spot

Things changed. We changed.

Change doesn't have to end life. It could be the beginning.

I hugged her. It could, I said.

What she'd pointed at was a carving of our faces I'd made in the trunk of the tree when I first began dreaming of the future. She was my dream. My first dream. Sad to see how I'd taken her for granted.

I want to help you, she said. I want to dream with you.

The dreams won't change anything anymore, I said, we have our answer. I want to start changing the world... will you help me with that?

She nodded.

I dreamed, I said, because I was suffering. I dreamed because I wanted an answer. Instead, the dreaming brought me into the darkness, and I couldn't escape. But with your help, I did.
Now, we take everyone else out of the darkness. We help them build a world where dreams are filled with love, not death.

I like that, she said.

We kissed. We climbed the tree to a good, thick branch and sat watching the sun sink into the horizon.

I thanked the heavens for my life, and, as I watched the sunset, sang to myself, at first in my head, then with my voice, and she joined in,
"Reality is alive,
reality is alive."

Dark nights where pain resides
No where to run, no place to hide
A young child, a boy of only five
A young child, a boy of only five

Giving chase were the foreigners
Hunters, killers, demons alive
No where to run, no place to hide
In this place where pain resides

"Pull the trigger... Now."

The first shot rang out,
The boy loses his left arm which held  his prized possession

A bamboo stick, shaped into a doll
Now sitting in his right fist

The second shot rang out,
The boy loses his right arm and his bargaining chip

He sits on his last two limbs,
He cries out in pain and anguish

Two more shots ring out,
His right and left legs burst out

From right underneath him,
Giving way to the soft ground

Soaked in his blood and his tears,
As he sniffles and goes into shock

The soldier steps closer in fear,
And then the boys face was lost

Another soldier asks them
"What the hell have you done?
He was only a child, a boy,
Why is this the outcome?"

At this moment a man turned a corner

His grocery bags fell to the floor

As he laid his eyes upon
The torso that lay in an ocean
Of blood next to a bamboo doll
That he had made 5 short years ago

He slowly said, "My Son."

You wish to turn back time
So you can live a little longer
With the ones you love
But the ache will be stronger
And they will still be gone
So don’t beg for the impossible.



© Sofia Villagrana 2018

Love is tacky.
Love is cheap.
Love is scrolling through an endless amount of ****** online dating profiles
on a Saturday night.
Love is not subtle.
Love is two people bargaining,
lying to each other,
lying to themselves.
Love keeps track of every misstep
so as to hold it against their partner in an ongoing war of attrition
so that they get to pick what to watch on Net-Flix.
Love does not rejoice in itself,
but does so on Facebook,
so that you can rub it in the face of your ex,
and all those friends that just really want to watch you fail.
Love is cheap.
*** with a price tag marked to sell.
Love is dead.

cyclic lingering

disconnected rambling

the same words rearanged

breathes shortening

impotent bargaining

the same pattern misbehaves

Ive always walked this way

hormonal litter cursed by anatomy

hyesteria



weepy futility

uncharacteristic of one so bold

the words of tongues

drag mud through wounds

a voided heart : not so





deep breaths

stand strong in misery

mindfulness, like a drug

disconnect and call it religion

pacing pacing pacing

thoughts;



I bleed for the words of others

For both praise and scheming lies

I wish to leave this haunted soul

but I

But I

but I ...what?

need to run?

to hide?

to hold my ground?

we'll see as it comes

a controlling women's worst nightmare

Don't look, don't look for it I tell myself,
Let it come to you the world says,
In places alone I wish for her,
You wish for him,
When will we find each other?
Please let me fall in love again...
They don't make fun of broken hearts,
Everyone's got one,
You'll get a smile that says,
"I've been there too,
You too will soon know better than to be a fool",
I know we haven't met,
May be we might,
Till then i am bargaining within,
Inside I quietly say, I hope,
Let me fall in love again,
In the late hours when I wish for someone,
I will wish for you,
I will whisper your name,
May be you will hear me,
Together we can feel the same,
Let us fall in love again.

mantra and insolence hand in hand
intercepting the idea of the baby boy crush applying to me like kinetic sand
barbie dolls at the marriott
saccharine jewels in the sewers rot
with
the old girlie i had a tap on
lipstick peeling away like a deteriorated vinyl record's song
let the angels waver, barter, become sicker
and quote 'say anything' as if it's a 90s sticker
have *****-stained carpet posted
and
uploaded to the black market webs
caption it "****** me"
and let the media do the rest
tired of these wicked games
isaac position me with rachel some day
at the mosque, eve and ann is scratched out into the old testament books
pack the bags
let's go
the hilton's booked
etch and sketch situated on the train tracks
along with two birds together
feet lazily dangling
bargaining with god to finish them over
****** denial, toothbrush stuffed in the dog's mouth
ran down the line, kissing him to the south
lost the baby girl along the way
let the dirt do the talking
gargled some milk and jack daniels honey
in large arms, lucid dreaming never seemed so calming