I hate emotional attachment
It scares me
They grab my heart and ****** it

I feel out of control
And I get sad
Without them, I don't even feel whole

This burden is too much
I can't play these games
It's confusing and I misjudge

My love's the greatest thing I give
I hand it out so freely
But then they steal it and I can't live

I must step back in my life
And regain control of my heart
On my own, I can see the light

Right now, I'm in the dark
Overshadowed by the fake emotion
Take it back, I'd rather be apart

Nothing is worse
Than giving yourself
Wholeheartedly
And getting nothing in return
I think I'll stop now
And just feel the burn
I'll get over it eventually
And then I'll start to see
Who's actually there for me

i was just somewhere,
  i swear!
i almost remember,
  and i think there i cared...

today gives way
  tomorrow fading into being
but what perspective does it give
  which will help me love to live?

from reveller
  to mere traveller,
    fearful of the future
    further along the same circle
    & the skein i spin within

inside & outside
  are copious quantities of chaos
    & i just a “lost” they toss

i try to feel, find or force focus
    personal   emotional
    intellectual   existential
    internal   external
  but then the things i see
   sting with the stain of negativity

pathetic pessimist i be
  underwhelmed by myself
my glass not simply half-empty
  but banished broken on the shelf

whiny little ******,
  or rather non-******,
my only sublime
  another tired rhyme

i find fine & fun with friends,
  but when they're gone it ends.
i'm all dependence upon their outside
  to influence my gone-bare inside

without their temporary infusion
  i return to my self-intrusion
    to kiss & curse the chaos
      and claim i carry a cross

the myriad meanderings of my melancholy madness
  lead me mostly inbetween depression & sadness.
so when alone is what's known,
  i nest in a node of numbness,
    request substances define my self's substance,
      provide my soul's sole sustenance

And in that distortion of view,
  i redefine true
    replace peace with painless
      and happiness with highness

but I was just somewhere,
  I swear!
and while I remember some grief,
  I still feel all of that belief...

When the darkness of night settles around me
and the silence of the dark grows louder
I find myself thinking,
dreaming,
clinging to the wisps of memories
escaping from behind closed eyes
glistening with an old lover's flame
Oh, how I long for those days
ghosts of lives past, reminding
finding,
hiding themselves in my present life
contently discontent in the twists and turns
to jump at me without a proper notice
your voice, hidden in songs of the past
soft and sweet, gently spoken upon
the ears of the hurting,
soothing,
removing the present stresses of the day
Your face, dancing upon my eyes
eyes of the mentally broken, forcing them closed
Healing the mind, if only temporarily mending,
tending,
rending my best days pale in comparison
to the resounding beauty of your eyes alone
And yet, I write, hoping to find solace
away from the bitter taste of my present place
that your memory reminds me of, yet
your name, common as it may be, keeps reminding
rewinding,
unbinding the cords that contain that sliver
releasing a sudden rush of emotion that is uncontrollable
never knowing what to expect
a tear, a chuckle, a sigh
They torture me from the inside out
and yet I cherish every second of the pain
silently hoping it doesn't fade while praying
that the end comes quickly, if only to save face
To hate the feeling would be to hate everything
severing,
suffering the pains I'm not ready to face
of letting go of all the memories that hold you in
But to love these feelings, would be to hate where I am now
This present life, this reality with her
In comparison to others, there's no comparing,
relating,
relenting her image against the memory of your touch
I can't face these thoughts either
so I sit here, contorted in emotional pains
deciding how long I should listen to you today,
Beautiful angel, fair in face
wonderful by thy name, sing me your grace

I bathe my Father’s aged, worn, peeling
Nile brown feet
feet that once proudly trod the noble earth
from his island home in the Caribbean
to the island of Manhattan
around the world as a WW II vet and back
these feet are raw with life
patting them dry, gently filing the gnarled nails
even simple tasks like this so hard
for him to do now
and tender touches few and far between
He seems to enjoy the gentle foot
massage with sweet oils
my thoughts soak in rich memories of
Dad’s wise words and honest living
His imperfections, too, a monument,
a testament to one determined
to stay the course, to not quit, despite
emotional, economic and ethnic obstacles
anointing his feet with more oil,
I reflect on the early pain between us
how the balm of Love and Forgiveness
which soothes and softens
all calloused, hardened feelings
blessed us with healing
clasping my Father’s feet in my hands
I bow to his Lotus feet
he was my first glimpse of God and
Unconditional Love

April 16, 2017
Dear You:
         When I think of you, there is this gap of space unexplained. Almost like when you have to stand up during a spiritual chant or sacred ceremony. Or when you look up at the sky and realize how very small we actually are in this Universe of the Divine. When you see how the half full moon cups so beautifully in tangerine glow across your section of sky, and how the clarity of stars imprint the constellations of the human heart.

    I guess what I am actually saying is, you are so much more to me than a female *** *****. You are the sacred. The down and *****. As earthy and tangible as it gets. The source of rolling waves to exquisite pleasure. A pivotal and unique part of my feminine self in the form of the mystical, the beatific, the mysterious.The portal for the source of Life itself.

But let us start at the beginning.

I remember you, at the tender age of 5. Exploring the mysteries of my own body, under the covers where no one could see. At about age 8 or 9 I worked you over so well that a small explosion ensued, and I was utterly  stunned, thinking that perhaps I had done something wrong?
I dared not ask
a  soul.

Only later (but not much later..when the red flow started) did I read about the subject "Our Bodies, Ourselves" and later "Changing Bodies, Changing Lives". (Thank you, more open-minded stepmom :))

As a teen, I was lucky enough to have amazingly progressive ***-ed at my NYC school. AIDS was rampant and our ***-ed teacher, an ex-priest, had us rolling condoms down bananas in no time. How we laughed and turned the color of beets. And watching "The Miracle of Life" was pretty amazing.

By then I had a very good relationship with you, Little Miss V. I stroked and coaxed you out of your shell any opportunity I could. My cherry was intact, but popping and bubbling over was fantastic.

You are connected to the trials and tribulations, as well as the highs and lows, of first love and love in general, as I discovered in time. I was exposed to the vulnerable, the tender, the painful. I realized that your intense physicality was indelibly connected to my emotional source, veins mapped and held together my strings of blood and discharge. Somewhere, I needed to protect you, and myself, to know when to give freely and when to hold back.

You were the gateway to motherhood, to the slippery sliding exit from the womb of my prodigy. The intense pain and wonder of it all. The place where it all began, the result being three gorgeous and sassy love bugs. "What, Mommy? I came out of there?"

You are now the woman goddess source of me more than ever, and despite the powerful pain and ****** rivers each month, I am thankful. Thankful to be a woman, to be alive, for the inter-woven magic of the ecstasy and ardency of emotion. So much better to feel it all.

My womb with a view.
My moon's tides, ebbs and flows.
My candied oyster, succulent shellfish.
My pretty little cat.
My aching, drooling, dripping swamp of longing and loneliness.
My jewel of enigmatic darkness.
I will never take the words "****" and "*****" negatively, and can turn it right around on those attempting to do so.

For you hold the links to my heart, to my soul. You are my little nesting fuzzy creature, worthy of kisses and appreciation. You are my internal bomb ticking and ready to blow, my slick, hot bud poised to flower.

And, oh, how you flower.

k, Little Miss, V…Ciao for now.
Love, ***, the woman-goddess-love –light source you own

Feelings are broken,
they mend,
and they they're broken again.
It ***** so you've gotta be a man and **** it up,
well with a ****** if you've got one. Breaking.
It hurts.
Hurricanes from hell destroying every inch of your body starting from the heart, the "center" of all the emotional ******* we call feelings.
That breaking is as if your 3Ds died after you beat Pokemon x.
That **** didn't save and is worth a few tears on that $55 topshop sweater all hormonal girls love.
That breaking is as if you stubbed your toe and you just got your nails done, it's as if u got a B+ not an A.
Well you get my point.
But that mending though,
that uplifting sensation you feel after you've hit rock bottom.
Emotional mending is like taking your bra off after a long day at school,
or work,
or whatever your occupation.
Now that's a simile.
Feelings are emotions,
Emotions are feelings.
It's all the same.
it always gets better,
then worse again.

and when his compelling compunction took him over
he no longer saw the ones that loved him
lost were the days of affectionate splendor
all because he couldn't dare to spare a limb

now a pressure greater than gravity seems to hover
holding back floods of emotional struggle
why can't we redo the past once lessons are learned
breaking bad from all the memories churned


*s.q.

Where do they come from nocturnal musings and dreams I have done my best to push back deaths pain if even only an inch that is a gain for you a little bit of space a touch of comfort if you ask me what do you know about pain. In a six year span I lost my only living sister four years later her only daughter two years after that a mother that I never had to lose in the first place. Now for some of the names I know personally Jack Jeffrey Jack Cloe Buck and Josh, Howard Greg’s wife’s dad big Tom **** P. Jim M. Homer Rick there are others that read this I don’t know your loved ones but it written for you as well because God knows. So many times people ask well why God doesn’t do something. I can’t answer fully and I surly don’t want to give some small folksy half hearted attempt. I will answer a couple of ways God hates death he could have said anything in any language but the first thing he said that would be destroyed is death he didn’t create it it is the unalterable fact that springs from sin he dealt with it I will speak about it in a minute. Another part of the answer I said this is unreachable Why did Socrates die after drinking Hemlock he didn’t have to yes he did truth left him without a choice God is the same way sin demands death truth for Socrates was death rather than betray the very men that killed him he willing to his spirit the hemlock was sweet as life giving water. He became a part of truths everlasting fountain Jesus circumvented death all of our sins are bitter to him let me relate these stories and drive the point to the deepest level. The first one is personal my wife and I went from the bay area eighty miles south to Monterey California we spent the day at the sea shore and our final stop was at fisherman’s Warf four to five hours later Mexican gang bangers pulled up to two young female students from the Presidio and shot them dead then went over on Fremont street in Sea Side shot down a middle age Mexican woman animals don’t have a race true to the predators code everyone is fair game. This was all done so they could earn their gang colors. For two and a half years I lived in and out of Monterey and Sea Side after getting out of the service I had a painting job on the Presidio. It was personal but this came even closer to home I told my cousin if you go hunting you have about fifty percent chance ending up the prey in someone’s gun sight. Two months pass a kid up the street on Blacow Rd I Lived on this street for twenty five years all he was doing was pedaling his bicycle a shot rings out broad day light he is gone his crime his mother country flies a Mexican flag. Two nights later a mother misses her ride to work she is scared of the dark streets her teenage daughter walks with her it’s two in the morning it’s just unjustified fear at a corner in the better part of Fremont a car pulls up along the mother and daughter the human thing would have been can I give you a lift this was no human the monster picked up a fallen limb and beat them both to death as they screamed to their family in the cell phone they were poor Mexican immigrants. This is gut wrenching writing but this is the very reason your savior hung between earth and heaven this didn’t have to happen this is human evil in the extreme.
The evil perpetrated against the pure innocent Son of God was explained in search for truth a bible study program our church has if I knew what it contained I wouldn’t have read it I wouldn’t put it here I’m trying to drive death’s initial pain and it’s lingering effects off of souls that they can breathe a little freedom. It described the crucifixion in two ways the physical and emotional or moral revulsion Christ felt. First they beat him we all know that then they took a cat of nine tails and tied to each end they had fixed metal or bone then they beat him with it forty times until it cut him open leaving entrails exposed pulled out his beard. Rammed a crown of thorns into his brow then mocked him calling him king of the Jews. Then there were the sins and their raging affect was put like this take your sainted mother out of her home away from her family then install her in a ***** house. Jesus felt even more no one can feel the depths that he feels and has suffered because he loves us the cross his Hemlock It was not sweet but the rivers of living water you can know were dug at Calvary I don’t know it but I wouldn’t be surprised if they aren’t the many tears he wept before Calvary and after. I can’t verify this but I can verify he still cries today you decide I was working at a car auction it was late I was by myself as I walked up to Karen’s desk she had a picture where she was sitting on a car the sun was shining bright she had her arms over her head in exhilaration it was a beautiful picture. I knew her story minimally I never talked to her I knew she was nineteen a single mother and had a fifteen month old little boy. Then unexplainably I started to cry uncontrollably this went on for an hour I had been praying for the people who had desks there I thought that was it. The next day I showed up the place was closed the guard told me Karen was killed when her and her friend were on the golf cart they used to get from building to building it was such a big place. Her friend driving in fun ****** the wheel it threw Karen out on the asphalt breaking her neck. There is a song that says he saw my need I stood by her desk Jesus was there he knew what tomorrow held I was just caught in the blow back from his sorrow and tears he was shedding. Yes he agonizes for you he carried into his domain the agony I felt was tremendous though I was unaware of what was going on. I’m sorry I can’t finish this as I was going to I wrote to many sacred things then even to express even those things for your comfort isn’t right to put them here.

Christian0 and Juanita

A Single Act: Three scene script by Chris Chance- April/May 2010

Prologue:

There love took place over a decades  time on the island east of Manhattan and in the valleys between the northern tip of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Tuscarora Ridge of the Southern Pennsylvania Appalachians.

He- no saint at all, felt in his heart a hero but ultimately hid behind svelte armor that protected him from a fickle and judgmental world.

She- a creature worthy of the lead lady in a classy novel- pure and once so very innocent. Statuesque and of absolute sense- commanding her world but building high walls around her red heart as she went.

The fields spoken of in this tale were accurately planted and lovingly nourished long ago and they still grow, multiplying their essence year to year. What great hope the author holds in his blue heart for their harvest. What great hopes he has for us all.

It is understood that the sins of the original garden have heft upon us, as a civilization a life of confusion, doubt and pain. It is with faith that one carries on believing in the goodness of a divine creator and master of all that you know.

Said in this story, it’s believed that he or she, the divine that is lives in two places simultaneously.

First; among the stars painted in the style of Rembrandt meeting Picasso, laughing the way Chaplin must daily at the absurd nonsesilogicalness of it all, crying like the poor ******* who’s let his whole future slip through his foolish little fingers.

And the Divine, the great source of energy in the universe also lives in a certain part- or nook - or cranny- of all things that breathe and/or return with the spring.

It is the voice you hear right now in your boney skull. It's the feeling you get when you forgive. It is the obligation you have to reach up and hold steady your fellow man.

As the author of this tale drops to his knees seeking guidance from that hidden, divine and breathy spiritualness he silently cries out in his pain.

A pain he never knew existed. He’ll silently ask to be prayed for now
and at the hour of his death.


Act I Scene I:

She could snare me in a trap by my ***** and hang me to the cherry tree. Yet my love for her wild flower remains – growing stronger- gathering and harboring the strength of welded tycoon steel.

This love you see- is no ordinary love.

It’s a love of passion and flame but one that culminates with no possible conclusion.

This love does not merely flow - but in actuality rages deep and wide- flowing so deep and so wide that the queen herself could traverse it in comfort.

And now alas, her love.

The love of ours- alone, no longer vast enough in its capacity: to carry on.

And it shall be furthermore, that I now- and I alone: will carry the weight of our time spent as one.

Our time spent as one such as the sand and the sea- Spent as one just as the mountain and valley.

Spent as one the way the very soul itself: on its own palate- feels and tastes true, sweet-sweet love.

This love I feel built around me like a velvet dream, a love now burning footsteps in my ears and setting fire to the nether regions of my soul has been banished and broken. But against better judgment still beats in my senseless and tortured eyes.

And in my anguish, I berate myself with guilt and deeply scour avenues of the past- for better directions we might have chosen.

Alas and in the end- amidst tears of fallen dreams: all roads lead to you and where your heart began and where- your heart ended.

So I ask you, all of you that bear witness before me. Whose heart is it- that still beats true and free? And whose heart is it that beats dark as the stormy cloud.

Whose heart I ask?

Or better yet- a different conundrum of a similar variety.

Can any heart be free?

Free to consume its desire- whether the sun shines or not? Free to love and never to be forgotten. Free to breathe without the threat of mortality?

I challenge you my friends to define this- and to thoroughly answer my questions.

To see into my future: regardless of what must be seen and help me- please make me believe again. Make me in all my shattered and tired bones and aging skin truly, truly believe again.

To teach my sons that it is safe to love in this hard and ruthless world.
To see my love as better,  more pure- unscathed by the devilish nature of the standard human ego.  

To once and for all see love and all life- as hopeful and not bereft of commonality and truth. To see her again- my fair love.  Smiling the notion of a better tomorrow.

Act I: Scene II

Our sins derail us its true. Over time and a plethora of vanishing precepts we wash along the rocks liked laundry.

Shall we neatly and quietly burro underground in the neighbor’s green space, with fleeting air- void of light and color?

Should we swing by our necks from the orange groves it would be in vain as life is so precious and out there lays undeniable hope that there is more of life’s holiness to drink in with each passing storm?

Impossible. That is not who I am. This is not who I was. That is not who I will be.

So vanquished cries muffle in the night against vicious and angry winds and the low weeping moan is constant as I look ahead while looking backwards.

Wondering how from my grasp it ever slipped so far?

It all, each and every golden ounce slipped from my tongue in sorrow in truth I must say.  Unfiltered neurosis and faltering fear are guides that  will fail to bring you home safely.

Nefarious tides of anxiety and reflection blinded me- blinded me from the sun.

But yet still she knows or understands that the bird song of redemption is an actual place where hearts once emptied , now gather to refill that same heart with love again and again.

It is the wound of her life open, crying out and bleeding through her lonely eyes and ears. It is with shame that I admit my long standing ignorance and tardiness to the cause of her heart.

Now with the backing of angels I see the landscape and all its divine nature but yet I am unable to enter. Unable to rejoin the garden and fight a snake who speaks my unholy name off split tongue and evil notions.

Where, where my love is it that I should go from here after having come from there? Where shall I drink my clean water, where shall I rest my weary head?

And oh, the head of a sleepless and love sick man. Heavy with burden brought on by his own lack of mastery regarding the most important issue and god given task of them all, but as once ailed Mercutio in his quest for and of allegiance to Romeo. Time is of the essence.

When I lay my head it is in sorrow and the pain of real passion. Passion for remaining one as a quarter  that makes up a whole- such as the corners of the cross and the earth, air, water and fire itself in a single beating heart.

For  one hundred and eighty ****** and arrogant days and their resident risings of the sun I've been reborn- sworn to never let evil destroy good in my heart.

As you must do- you will do.  

But the tides that flow in my veins do not flow from you they flow from the divine, a divine that will protect me and forgive my trespasses as he’s surely forgiven me of mine on others.

It’s only the growing fields of our past love that concern me now. How will we harvest the wheat which together we’ve sewn? How will we slaughter and eat the meat of the heard. When will any of us drink the wine from the grapes we have grown?

The entities I’ve stated are my future and will remain  my future until arc angels guide me from this earthly tomb. The blood of our fields will reign supreme.

The harvest of our youth will produce.  Standing together or behind our backs- as we run from it. The bloom of our responsibilities as care taker of these lands will be upon us in time.

So as your heart sails to foreign shores I awake from my rage and see the sun, feel the air, breathe and seek guidance for my purpose. To continue to plow the field and fish the harbor while I settle for meager tastes.

May the work I’ve done. May the work we’ve done be a strong enough foundation for both fields to nurture, endure and produce.

And as you for my fleeting love: may the beans of your coffee be rich and plentiful, may your heart find its way back to where it once was- where ever that may be.

Between here and now, let the days shine upon you like spring light. Bathing you until your soul feels safe and fresh. Keeping you where you need to be to feel free.

But alas leave knowing that the flame I still hold- as I have from day one. For the mystic and mysterious love brought upon us by the three so many, many years ago.

How long that can burn, I know not: but as the skies bolster the heaven- my heart once black, has returned to life. To love you is all that there is. I will share my heart and tormented soul and every last breath I breathe until graying and dying days. For you and only you exist.

Act I Scene III:

The sun came out after a snowy and emotional winter but the air never seemed to warm through the long days of April.

And so in the absence of all that is left , we set off.  You, in the direction that I lived in for years and me in the direction that you lived for years.

Two lovers, one point, two stories. Proverbial ships in the night is what we are- and the passing simply destiny.

Oh but for how I will remember thee. The raven hair and olive skin, deep eyes batting only in such a way as to swell my heart, that equisite eyebrow raised in point, the witty acronyms of our secret family language.

The warmth of your parent’s hearth and the surrounding family. A safe and wonderful place to even a man such as I, who took it sorely for granted along with the other neighboring fields planted and stamped with our communication, our love, our example.

Time is a tempting and vicious confidant, one that will surely lead you astray and bring mischief and havoc to your very door step.

Tread lightly if you dare to tread at all in love. Hear the heart you rest against, listen to the subtle tick tock of its rhythm. Hold a stone as it were a diamond, train the mutt as a pure bred champion, shape your mud as if it were the finest of all clays from the earth.

The whistling train only passes through the station once. Get on get off, make up your mind – change your mind – ignore your mind. Look into your heart and soul then move forth.

To where it is you should be.

Where it is you’ll be forgiven and nurtured even more revered than ever before. A place so familiar you might even call it home.  A bed so all knowing that it could only be ours. A life so new it could never be as it was.

Know this before you part my love, know that I am true: as I say- is as I pray. But your choice is your choice and yours alone: to rise or recede.

My heart pines like the losing persona in an old film. For I see the sun rising. Shining and setting in your eyes.

I see the fields as they grow under watchful eyes, I hear the wind begging us to move but I stand grounded upon all that is pure and sanctimoniously holy. Definitively tattered- but braced firmly at the center of the storm.

Waiting for the love we loved, Once. The love that we may squander if we have yet to do so already.  A love that can be repaired and grow larger and more consuming then ever imagined.

A love never to slip from my grasp again.

Narrative Ending:

So the fella in this case is condemned to be a shepherd without his flock. Sending signals by smoke along the telephone wire to complete the rendering of the fields. With mercy on his side- may he succeed in the light of the world relentlessly embittered in the dark?

Or will all in life just as after a close death, quietly move on?

Completing revolutions of the sun: that fiery ball of light, wider than the distance from here to Mars and back, with us random like ebbing and flowing on the tides lengthy pull of the moon?

Or is the strength to muster what one wants, really possible?

Can he climb the highest mountain? Could his faith be tested in lava like pits of hell? Can his heart be branded clean after so much life?

And what of her beating heart?

What of her search to dissolve the fears of her own making? How has her beauty helped or failed her. How will she look herself in the eye?
How long must I day dream of meandering through a sweet and enjoyable song with her one last time.

Unknown answers-

More unknown then I, as the player in this drama, would care or dare to admit, but hopeful ever more like the humming bird buzzing summer honeysuckle in rainy times- I shall remain.

I shall see the sparkle of her soul rent the eyes- if only for a time.
Taking both yonder to another space and time, where she’d admit she lied in vain fear and exasperation when she said:  surely she could find no love true and could simply offer no more.

When my flesh gives way to bone cover me in roses. Walk me out in the morning of your mind as a man who loved without knowing how to love.

A male clearly guilty to the highest degree, in any court, of any land: of being careless with a precious gift.

And sadly for the ones who have loved and lost- in the end  life offers only so many windows into the soul of a lover.

Why falter for love?
To laugh?
To Create?
Is it natural or something more?
(As if something could be more than natural)

Supernatural?
Constructive logic?
Why falter for love?

Perhaps the risk involved is the long sheltered need for an emotional challenge. One that exceeds childhood's.

The warm cushion of love seats those who brave the unknown.
Those who see through the eyes of an owl.
Breaking the barriers of you, that you once though absent.

Absent eyes for soul's doubt.
Till the day we figure it out.
We question...
Why falter for love?

I step into the shower.
If this was a book, the almost-too-hot water would be a metaphor, for the emotional warmth or passion or intimacy I’m missing.
Maybe it is a metaphor. Maybe it’s just cold outside.
Either way, the water sears my skin,
But god, at least I’m feeling something.

As you tempt me,
hanging barely from the tip of a branch,
barely inches from the tip of my fingers,
I hesitate, just for a brief,
but emotional moment;
time slowed around me
waiting at the edge of it's seat
for my decision
to explore the darkest depths
of the forbidden world of
forbidden fruits.

My hand moves closer
by the second,
Fear begging for mercy,
a plead I ignore
as my fingers caress you,
scanning your shape,
squeezing, and feeling your juice
slide down my fingers
and down my wrist.
Your scent calls me in
with promises of wealth & love;
an offer my instinct screams for me
to ignore.

Tell my instinct I'm sorry.

I read the article.

Not once, not twice,
Not even 3 times.
I read the **** thing over and over,
And then sought others like it.

"Emotional Abuse"

surely that's not what I had suffered.
Not something with a title
A name.

It starts with the love phase.
He makes you feel like a princess.
Sweeps you off of your feet.
(takes your defenses)

All the poems you wrote,
All the words you said.
When you told me to never change
Because I was perfect.

Then comes the part
where you take control
and make me feel worthless.

"I hate people with piercings.
Oh, not you love...of course not."
But you made sure to remind me how I was stupid enough to have them.
"You remind me of her when you say that."
"You walk funny when you're sad."
"I love you, even if your **** are uneven."

It wore me down.
And I felt
worthless.
By now I realise you emotionally abused me.

We are a label
a title
a word
a stereotype
a definition.

And that hurt, because you used to say
We were special.
I was special.
Even though...I had so much wrong with me.
It was always my fault.

And this isn't even really a poem.
It hasn't been edited.
Or loved.
But I need to say it, and i need to say it before i tell someone i know.
Or else I might have to suffer
The pity.

If only he knew how well he ****** me up.

As a child I knew nothing
and needed even less,
content with being happy
but 'growing up' required me to digress.

I took life as a challenge
chose myself an aim,
let the goals laid out for me
become the rules of the game.

Years of living like this
distraction and reward,
suddenly I realised
I was cold, alone and bored.

My knuckles white and fingers raw
from trying to hold on,
to the rules I made as a child
but the reasons were long gone.

But whose choice is it
what I see, I want and need,
the thought that these are 'my' desires
could be called the root of greed.

So I spent years on this journey
back into my head,
to find the child I left behind
hoping he wasn't dead.

In a dream one night I found him
he laughed when he saw I forgot,
that logic was emotional
and that love was not.

So in ways I give back
what my fear took away,
to see as I grow stronger
there's nothing but today.

it was one of those days
you know?
where nothing is REALLY wrong
there is no urgent emotional issue that needs your attention or that is creating that familiar vortex of emotions within your mind and heart
it is just as an whole a bad day and you wish a million times over that you could just go and lie down on your bed and sleep for the rest of it
it is one of those days where you have this phenomenal high within your soul and then you just hit this incredible low that hits you so hard that even the combination of othello friends and history does not cheer you up
i am angry
and sad
and tired
and over it
and i want to give up
but tomorrow morning my friends will see me because i cannot give up
because if i give up then i am even more of the shittty hypocrite than i already am

i will be alive tomorrow
so that i can smile and suffer and pretend that at the moment i like myself and that nothing is wrong except that
I'm tired

That moment when you're caught off guard and you suddenly see the face of the one you used to love.

You repeatedly steal glances at that said person and just miss everything about that them. The way you hug and you feel, the warmth, security.

The way you hold hands. So tight and like never wanting to let each other go, holding on and feeling the tips of every finger intertwined with yours.

The way you'd stroke through every hair strand and feel it ever so nice as it glides through your hands.

The way you'd kiss those lips so soft and warm. When you kiss, you feel the love and you're sure, in that moment of blissful awestruck. You're sure that you've set your feelings for this person.

But, it wasn't just about the physical things you miss about the one you used to love.
It's also about the emotional investment you have that was wasted and gone with the wind.

As you stare at the face of the one you used to love, you remember every moment you had and feelings that came along with it. And you're sure, in that moment.. You still have set your feelings for this person, and it's not going to fade away any time soon.

The litmus test for loneliness, is the approaching dark
and the clawing hand
that pulls you closer to your resignation to become engulfed in it.
An empty café
bustling only with,

The screaming thoughts that stack up in your mind like poker chips. The same expression frozen stiff makes you fake a smile
when least appropriate.
A jester at the funeral,

Human touch just strikes you as unusual because an open hand is like
subtle subterfuge, syphoning your soul for personal use.
Emotional exposure erodes a stone demeanor.
Loneliness is like an open road with no street signs pointing home.

I need to find new ways to express
the same way I've felt year after year.
Unique combinations of perfect poetry
that somehow convey exactly what I go through on a day to day basis.

This is me once again trying to shoot that target,
even if I never get the chance to yell bullseye.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

I miss the sparks we had in every moment together, the ones that ignited our love to burn ferociously blue, not a gentle red.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

That was great but I think I missed, I'll give it another try.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

There is no remedy to prescribe for this disease of a life you left me lost in. All I can hope for now is that these words navigate their way onto your screen.

I design maps in every poem I jot down, with the illusion that someday you WILL find the path back to us.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

No... that one was accurate, but I'll try to be more precise.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

I falsify myself anytime someone looks at me by wearing a mask that I'm not sure I can ever take off.

I don't have the courage to do that, because there's not a right way to explain how such permenant blemishes didn't start off as birthmarks.  They don't even look like scars, but rather lesions where you chose to purposely poison every inch of my being.   

My only method of eradicating you from my body was to turn my emotional pen and ink into something that I'm not embarrased to show the world.

My tattoos are etched so that I can finally decide what I look like on the outside, the person I saw myself becoming before I met you. Although, even these painful shades I continue forcing myself to endure won't hide the knowledge I am left blinded by.
 
We both know the real ones were engraved a long time ago in spaces so buried, so bottomless that not even the busiest gravedigger could stumble upon them.

- - - - - - - - - -

That felt like a closer hit.

Next time I decide to load my handgun I'll make sure to take a deep breath and focus, maybe then can I actually shoot the center of these criminal emotions that ****** me time and time again.

Disgruntled, deranged, you scream, insane. What is this game that you are playing? 

You cry, I stare, you fry your hair, go to the party, I don't care.

Siting at home, I wait alone. No calls or text, thinking what you're doing breaks my bones.

You say you're fine. That you are mine, anything I want you'll do on a dime.

But when I ask, you make that look. So now I wonder, what's a promise? They ****.

And they ask me why good guys say bye, and walk away when you turn their warm hearts grey.

So go, have fun. I just wanted one, one day for us to be just us.

But now you're there with ones you don't know. When you do return I'll have to go.... Forever

I apologize
Baby I’ve been trying, nothing seems to cover up the pain
I’ve been trying, holding on, holding on
Baby I’ve been trying, nothing seems to cover up the pain
I’ve been trying, holding on, holding on
Holding on to your pain forever
I'm just holding on, holding on to your pain

I been holding on to this pain for such a long time, trying to outfight my demons put it to rest, had to get it off my chest ease this dreaded stress, first let me start off by stating I take full responsibility this is an apology, I know sorry can't fix everything but maybe it'll soothe your pain

Sitting here sniffing the pleasant stench of your favorite sweater, reminding me it makes no sense of how I treated you, your love was innocent so raw it's pure, I made you ashamed you got taken for granted caused you so much pain a strain on your heart, it's all my fault failed my part couldn't protect your heart it turned dark, decayed your love it's nonexistent for a new lover you spite men you hate me, sinister you plot vengeance a demon I created leaving you frustrated caused you to miscarriage you want me castrated cause of dying breed, you forgot how to love tormenting your heart to cover up the pain a demon I created attempted sucide your soul can't take it, Seems you survived respawned just to destroy to me trama that I created

I apologize for your pain these words are not confessed in vain, repeated karma my father did the same thing to mama warfare of generational curse trying to break the shackles can't drag this heavy chain no more my strength deteriorating,  emotional abuse I cause in the past is my irresonspility of love I rebuke it painful mistakes I made I apologize I am ashamed in due time I hope this poem ease your pain love is a learned lesson but still can't fix pain

I want you to forgive me for yourself
not for me, can't keep holding on
I want you to love again no suffering

I apologize
Baby I’ve been trying, nothing seems to cover up the pain
I’ve been trying, holding on, holding on
Baby I’ve been trying, nothing seems to cover up the pain
I’ve been trying, holding on, holding on
Holding on to your pain forever
I'm just holding on, holding on to your pain

he ran away from his unborn child,he thought in his mind he was too young to raise a young child,couse he also was a child.
All he wanted was to be free,young and wild.
As he took two steps back he felt relief,then he believed he could leave,so he left with his believe.

Runing away was like runing to jail he knew not.
Planing to go in drunkiness and in revery that two he knew not.

The mind kept spreading more lies to the morning  bread he eated,he was just too weak so his heart was defeated.The unborn child forgotten.The weeping girl weeped and whipe hear tears,but his memory remaind,a picture of him that can never be ereased,that each and every thought of the child evoked the unbearable feelings,the bast of fury flames touring her mind,shouts encrepted in the her heart,on the bed twisting n turning,wakin and sleeping but still she found no rest,internaly bleeding,emotional abused by his pictures

then she thought
thought that abortion might be the solution to the situation that she is in.

Pressed with
starched confidence
I told her—
I want you to feel
the weight of my words.

Oh, they fell heavy.
Collected in institutions
of incarcerated desires
with no consideration
for the future capacities
of emotional faculties,

shirking the responsibilities
of such fragile hopes–
stomped to shattered pieces.

Pressed  with
ironed resolve,
I held down the diction
that resists the grips of reason,
my clenched fists spilling
to the ground, the dust of it all.

Melodies
mumbled through the corrosive
coating of plastic
pieces jammed directly into
damaged ear drums.

Songs
strained across beats
berating the mesmerized
mentality of awesome into the
auto-tuned automatons.

Notes
numbingly droned on rhythms
righteous in their
thinking that all problems are
part of the present past.

Words
are what brings the perfunctory lives of
people to a stop,
singularly holding onto
hell in lines and
living in the storing
of stories for
future generations to remember,
regardless of race gender or class,
creed religion or background.

Poetry, the
truly precious example of
earnest men and women
wearing their lives on paper
lined suits
strengthened by the emotional bodies
broken and bled for ink and
imagery, is capable of
capturing the base of humanity while
hearkening to the Immortal and his
ill-mentioned brother, is made
material by man and
meaning more to each whom
enter the world left
when they began, is
perfection without ever needing to
win, is love
without ever having to
hear the other speak, is everlasting and forever
evolving just as
all life does.

Night Thoughts

Where do they come from nocturnal musings and dreams I have done my best to push back deaths pain if even only an inch that is a gain for you a little bit of space a touch of comfort if you ask me what do you know about pain. In a six year span I lost my only living sister four years later her only daughter two years after that a mother that I never had to lose in the first place. Now for some of the names I know personally Jack Jeffrey Jack Cloe Buck and Josh, Howard Greg’s wife’s dad big Tom **** P. Jim M. Homer Rick there are others that read this I don’t know your loved ones but it written for you as well because God knows. So many times people ask well why God doesn’t do something. I can’t answer fully and I surly don’t want to give some small folksy half hearted attempt. I will answer a couple of ways God hates death he could have said anything in any language but the first thing he said that would be destroyed is death he didn’t create it it is the unalterable fact that springs from sin he dealt with it I will speak about it in a minute. Another part of the answer I said this is unreachable Why did Socrates die after drinking Hemlock he didn’t have to yes he did truth left him without a choice God is the same way sin demands death truth for Socrates was death rather than betray the very men that killed him he willing to his spirit the hemlock was sweet as life giving water. He became a part of truths everlasting fountain Jesus circumvented death all of our sins are bitter to him let me relate these stories and drive the point to the deepest level. The first one is personal my wife and I went from the bay area eighty miles south to Monterey California we spent the day at the sea shore and our final stop was at fisherman’s Warf four to five hours later Mexican gang bangers pulled up to two young female students from the Presidio and shot them dead then went over on Fremont street in Sea Side shot down a middle age Mexican woman animals don’t have a race true to the predators code everyone is fair game. This was all done so they could earn their gang colors. For two and a half years I lived in and out of Monterey and Sea Side after getting out of the service I had a painting job on the Presidio. It was personal but this came even closer to home I told my cousin if you go hunting you have about fifty percent chance ending up the prey in someone’s gun sight. Two months pass a kid up the street on Blacow Rd I Lived on this street for twenty five years all he was doing was pedaling his bicycle a shot rings out broad day light he is gone his crime his mother country flies a Mexican flag. Two nights later a mother misses her ride to work she is scared of the dark streets her teenage daughter walks with her it’s two in the morning it’s just unjustified fear at a corner in the better part of Fremont a car pulls up along the mother and daughter the human thing would have been can I give you a lift this was no human the monster picked up a fallen limb and beat them both to death as they screamed to their family in the cell phone they were poor Mexican immigrants. This is gut wrenching writing but this is the very reason your savior hung between earth and heaven this didn’t have to happen this is human evil in the extreme.
The evil perpetrated against the pure innocent Son of God was explained in search for truth a bible study program our church has if I knew what it contained I wouldn’t have read it I wouldn’t put it here I’m trying to drive death’s initial pain and it’s lingering effects off of souls that they can breathe a little freedom. It described the crucifixion in two ways the physical and emotional or moral revulsion Christ felt. First they beat him we all know that then they took a cat of nine tails and tied to each end they had fixed metal or bone then they beat him with it forty times until it cut him open leaving entrails exposed pulled out his beard. Rammed a crown of thorns into his brow then mocked him calling him king of the Jews. Then there were the sins and their raging affect was put like this take your sainted mother out of her home away from her family then install her in a ***** house. Jesus felt even more no one can feel the depths that he feels and has suffered because he loves us the cross his Hemlock It was not sweet but the rivers of living water you can know were dug at Calvary I don’t know it but I wouldn’t be surprised if they aren’t the many tears he wept before Calvary and after. I can’t verify this but I can verify he still cries today you decide I was working at a car auction it was late I was by myself as I walked up to Karen’s desk she had a picture where she was sitting on a car the sun was shining bright she had her arms over her head in exhilaration it was a beautiful picture. I knew her story minimally I never talked to her I knew she was nineteen a single mother and had a fifteen month old little boy. Then unexplainably I started to cry uncontrollably this went on for an hour I had been praying for the people who had desks there I thought that was it. The next day I showed up the place was closed the guard told me Karen was killed when her and her friend were on the golf cart they used to get from building to building it was such a big place. Her friend driving in fun ****** the wheel it threw Karen out on the asphalt breaking her neck. There is a song that says he saw my need I stood by her desk Jesus was there he knew what tomorrow held I was just caught in the blow back from his sorrow and tears he was shedding. Yes he agonizes for you he carried into his domain the agony I felt was tremendous though I was unaware of what was going on. I’m sorry I can’t finish this as I was going to I wrote to many sacred things then even to express even those things for your comfort isn’t right to put them here.

everything ached so bad
and i was so heavy
that i felt that if i stepped down to hard,
my kneees would break
and i would melt
into a puddle of unloved and scarred.

ny chest is achey and tight and cold
but my throat is warm and constricting
around my pleas for help.

what words do come out
are angry and emotional
when i cried it was mostly out of deperation.

The Spoon

I’m a spoon.
I turn concoctions
I poor innocence into a caldron of imbibe, *******, and violence.
I’m rusted from acidic negligence.
I burn the hand that Weals me.

When I make her bleed, truth crunches between my mandibles.
It’s cruel and scrumptious. I drool over its potential.
But the sheets don’t touch father sun before I leave.
She cries alone.
I cry alone.

I scoop the unknowing up. I throw them into a world of trouble and confusion.
My tongue passes my name, vowels never remembered.
My lips **** hope and maintain an emotional facade.

I like to push it in.
It hurts and I feel nothing.
But I move on.

Forever changing,
Never one thing,
always pacing,
in search of something,

but what? is the question,
this depression is endless,
regressing and trepid,
defenseless,
infected,

hidden words in your beautiful maze,
spoken with taste,
left me broken for days,
hoping for change but the glow in your face,
pokes through the gates of my opening brain,

sold to you,
pain,
is holding me,
caged,
broke through the rain to turn over the page,
hopelessly dazed from the smoldering blaze,

"know the truth...
take..."
I know it's you,
"pay"
emotional waves are controlling me, "slave,"
hold onto the reins in this motionless place-



"focus"

breathing,

"chosen"

seizing,

paralyzed sterilization,
glaring eyes stare through vibrations,
beware, you'll find the stairs to damnation,
my eye sight was taken,
I tried but escaped it,

coming closer to your touch,
every night I try,
I wish I knew what it was,
have I lost my mind?-