Sometimes I wonder
About all these screens
Reality captured and controlled
Designed and refined
Groomed to an idealistic state of too good to be true
Making it a bit too easy to day dream

Sometimes I wonder
About all those moments
Those times so clearly photographed
With a piercing sting behind the camera
Fantasy proposing the changes that can't be made
For those moments that you can't forget

Sometimes I wonder
About all I haven't seen
Billions upon billions of molecular possibilities
Shown through animals, forests, seas, circumstances
All going on beyond the length of my perceptions
Giving me a yearning for more than before

But...
Sometimes I know
Despite all the anxieties of self perception
The hindsight consumption pressuring pointlessly
And the necessary humility in a world that is small itself
That there's a lot I can do to find contentment in life
And plenty of time to do it

Life is different from the visions of stories.
Built on over coming obstacles, finding love, and glory.
There is a difference between life and death, one you sleep, one you wake, and most take for granted each breath.
Pure evil lives among us, ****** women, selling drugs to our children.
Sending them to school within that community occupied by villains.

There are among them, pressuring them, and they will break, with no back bone these days, soon the youth will be fake.
What is the point? God  whom built this place flourished with beauty and green, and we slowly yet rapidly with a pace ruining it with cement, bricks, and machines.
Why does one man takes a stand?  There is one man, and he is kind, but he has no support.No one in behind.Can you hear the cries?? War rages on in a world who claims to be civilized.

War is primitive, so we have no need to bring bloodshed.Tell me another lie, as I rest in my bed, looking in sky, counting stars with one eye, is the only joy I can get, when all around me, those I've known too the ones I have gotten know continue to die. Truly a world with great potential, but those masked faces, killin the idea of the though of life, isn't coincidental.With words corrupted to project the opposite, The ungrateful, the not nice.

The soon to be forgotten.
we looking at the beginning of a fallen to be torn apart by greed, selfishness, planting an abundance, unfruitfully amount of seeds.Harmful deeds, and decision made for those who have no voice, what choice do we have, if our right was never made, and we fight for freedom in which we never had, in the times of dark or light.

By: Emmanuel jv Hernamdez
1-2-12

We were born into a world of shallow minds and deep disturbances of young millennials mimicking mindless mimes because we were told to stay in line but be yourself but follow me but think "originality."

A generation full of copycatting individuals with monotone mindsets mulling over social ladders and trends dictated by invisible monarchs of industry inviting and spoon feeding insecurities masked as improvements.

A generation spending more time pretending not to care than on passions stifled by our peer pressuring playmates who are all prescribed Vyvanse, Adderall, Ritalin for their incurable imaginations deemed "learning disabilities."

A generation of temporary friendships because no one can connect with each other but we can connect to the internet and chat with strangers and share thoughts, photos, and secrets to a virtual audience that loses interest in an entanglement of wires forming a noose around our sincerity.

I'm weathered and weary from shapes of greed
Their colors mislead me
I am naive
But I know eyes that taste
Without seeing
Now you know me, don't you?
But you are just waiting.

I am tired of this misinterpreted concept
I am tired of our tangled body's, this act between two that is only about you.
I'm tired of not being able to dance freely in fear of needy hands and sharp teeth
Pressuring possessiveness
Climb into your soul and off of my body
See that I am a creature of interrupted freedom
I will not answer to your hollow eyes
Your misconstrued ideas of love constructed by a society that forgot to feel
That forgot to see
That forgot that you are you and I am me

I will not answer to your hollow eyes
You are not welcome here.

An everyday masquerade
Where each person dons
A different façade,
Yet are all the same
Because it's all
A feigned version
Of the real,
True being inside.

A sea of faces,
Pressuring you,
To be alike;
You have to be
One of a kind,
Yet those who are
Are outcasted in
Everyday life.

So all wear the
Same mask,
Masking the flaws,
The rawness of it all;
Because of the
Social biases.
A place where
No one can be their
Honest self is
"Society".

A society,
Which in definition
Is a community
Of peoples,
Is no longer so.
There are only
One type of person,
Which all souls
Take host in.

You and your Greek hair
slanting on the table and
smiling:

Trolius and Cressida in the morning.
Could you imagine? With coffee mugs
and grape leaves in their hair? Cressida
with a loaf of bread, standing over an
aroused Troilus, "Stop pressuring me,
Sweet Honey-Greek!" While the crowd
laughed and clapped,
this is all a misunderstanding.

Stop pressuring me, sweet Honey-Greek.
Christmas tree lights weaved in and out of your eyes
and I was reminded that I once
gave up on you.

Your mind turned up as sprigs throughout the summer.
Sprigs of Honey-Greek and sprigs of you:
on land, under my window,
behind the basketball court.
And I thought I chopped them all up.

Cressida built a blanket fort
and Trolius thought it was a
reason to sprout.

There were sprigs of Honey-Greek underwater;
and then I gave up. How can you think with all that stuff on top of you?
You can’t even breathe. You’re not even breathing.

sought
desperate
and double-sought. at last
inside embracing entombment
the skull-dome of earth my
mother
discovers the maiden intellect kidnapped by further
tomorrows and slakes my thirst on the
blood-brain beneath the hills of nemea.
am i the sa
vior the damsel or the beast?
curdling a slimy finger down the vaginaless brain
long veins delay my knuckles into nightingales between
serrated orifice-incisors made of thought and
all my hunting knives and bludgeons bring no unconsciousness to it. memories
they say
are as much like the present as a lion likes
cat food. The sleeping woman is about to become
cat food. cave shadows cloak what little of her is left
to imagination: nearly dead, nearly
beautiful.
does that brain-like lion stalk impenetrable as hungry
as intelligence as forceful as the crucibles of lust as
remote
as wastelands in the unforgiven breast?
i could asphyxiate that hurdle given resolve
i could lambast a mortal lion with my palms but not this
facsimile of fortitude forcefields intact. through
the nose of the wind and the mouth of the water i found my way
to the eyesockets of the very dirt; a veil
about my brain but
saw it still.
stillness
surrounded.
sought
some sign upon the smooth sphere an opening into
light or lifewaters or cold grey electricity but
no thing could penetrate that sheath of thought -- though it may yearn for fornication
some brains never breed but
condense in darkness
hermaphroditic, hunting through the silent greek city-states for
beautiful bloodrivers. there is no lion no trodden
angel weeping in a cave only
impervious struggling eternal meandering and the jar
of misdirection. thanks, hera
but it looks like you've been foiled once again and this time by your husband's headcold who said
only your brain can outthink your brain. she's a smart owl and
she's right:
every time i think i've reached my goal and
allow a little fortune or fulfillment to escape my maze eleven novel tasks
coagulate beyond my calendars of navigation. blood fills the veins of my
brain engorging it and pressuring it into questionable *******. for
if the sun breeds maggots in a dead lion
then i've emerged from the earth's crevice
victorious and spent. but there's more
to the story as i crawl off down the metaphor
wrapped beneath the brain's skinned hide its
vestigial thoughts arrest me thinking i
know, i know
eleven more sunrises until death.
thanks, brain.

They said it was A PUSH
I said this **** is APES
Bananas

Do they know what this system does?
It's all just stress
So they can assess
What you've learned
Meanwhile, they've only turned
A generation into stressed out perfectionists
Or students dropped out, burned out
So many notes, assignments, & essays to write
It's all lead to carpal tunnel in the wrist
Why does this system exist?

Instead make students hunger for knowledge
Instead of stressing out about college
Somewhere over the hedge
The rainbow
Where the grass is greener
I picture students happier and keener
With the love of learning being what we live for.

I can see it in the way you look at me
And sense it in the way
You try to comfort me
The longing that you hold
And words left untold

I know your body from
Being compelled, caught up in a moment
I know your lips from
Alcohol taking over the the blood in our veins
And still I see the negative, caught up with strains

Your feelings pressuring me
Questioning my own idea
Of why I find warmth in solitude
And struggle accepting the idea of something new
If it was with anyone, it would be you

I let you give it all up
Leaving it to die-
Leaving you thinking it was all you
With thoughts of you clouding my dreams
You were always unsure where you stood
When the truth is you were always too good

How can I fall out of favor
With your
Soulful need
For me
And my own selfish need for you
I mean
Tomorrow night
I may be with something more productive
(Like my thoughts and dreams)
But there is a destructive
Force inside of these
Pressuring  this unforgivable union
Of sorts
I mean
Monogamy is *******
Right up there with altruism
Right?
But then there is you and I.
Is it just the two of us,
That can defy the laws of
Rational reason, logic aside?
yes, I feel as though it must…be
so here is my ode
to a bottle of ’03 Bordeaux.

o darling oh wohw ohhh dar-ling oh wohw wohw wohw dahrrr-leeeing some gunman walked into the mall

who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for I said Sarah Palin with my cross-hair target I shot Gabby Giffords who saw her fall? I said gun laws people with my little eye I saw her fall who caught her blood? I said Daniel Hernandez who placed pressure to her wound with my finger caught her blood who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll make the shroud? I said Cochise County ranchers pressuring for tougher Mexican border laws I'll make the shroud with my thread and needle who'll interpret what she stood for? I said Tea Party constituents with my pick and shovel I’ll dig her grave who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll be the minister? I said Washington lobbyists with my little book I’ll be the minister who'll be the clerk? I said the media if it's not in the dark I'll be the clerk who'll carry the link I said Twitter I'll fetch it in a minute I'll carry the link who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll be chief mourner? I said American people I mourn for my love I’ll be chief mourner who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll carry the consequence? I said destitute lost their homes to Wall Street banks if it's not through the night I'll carry the moment who'll bear the sadness? We said the world both man and woman We'll bear sadness who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll sing a psalm? I said the poet as she sat on a bush I'll sing a psalm who'll toll the bell? I said factory worker because I can pull I'll toll the bell for all people of the land fell a-sighing a-sobbing when they heard the bell toll for poor Gabby Giffords. who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for some gunman walked into the mall 9 mm Glock in his hand shot a bullet through her head 13 wounded 6 dead including little 9 year old girl Christina-Taylor Green who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for

marching bands make me cry i don’t know why they’re so dazzling beautiful fun playing their instruments marching in uniformed unison they melt my heart eyes wet with sadness joy who shot Gabby Giffords? some gunman walked into the mall

Forgiveness, to forgive                    (for me)
Is essentially subtle- to a fault,
Beautifully it's practiced,
Yet inherently mistaught:
To ask of anything more
From the person you've done wrong
Is blatantly selfish, at its core
Pressuring them along.

Unless exactly, specific and honestly, you reiterate once more.
All the reasons which you petition forgiveness
And what you're sorry for:


To draw conclusions, assumptions and things, without the facts in place-
Was to right out start off in
an Unreasonable head space.
Furthermore, my tone of voice
And the disrespect it achieved
Is not what you- Alena, not at all
From me; should've ever recieved.

Lastly, explicitly I have to say;
I'm sorry for my aggressive words.
And the fact I reacted that way is
absurd
A retort- as a minuet or two, voice note
Deserved the block- and what you wrote.

I'm sorry about this- discrepancy
I actually enjoyed you working with me.
I'll leave this here for you to find, &
Hope these words were worth your time.
When you read, know these are sincere; my apologies- true.
Not just mere pretty, fluffy words for you.

Poetry's something I, almost know, you appreciate~ so heres an apologistic-free vers hyphenate.

Lips as red as rose, skin as white as snow, body as still as stone. Yet this was not the fairy tales that I had been raised to believe in. This had no happily ever after.

    The heavy weight of the melancholy anguish fell awkwardly on my shoulders. I was barely old enough to even understand what sorrow was, let alone what to do when every person I had ever admired was now helplessly crumbled in the solid white room. Unthankful walls stared bleakly down at us, as they were numb to these feelings by now. It was a hospital, after all. They had seen their fair share of the dead.

    Something strong, pressuring, and overwhelming continued to force itself into my chest, burrowing itself deeper and deeper. Nothing had ever felt like that, as if it was eating me until I was nothing myself. When I glanced around to my family, I could see that it had them too. Consuming them in this helpless, dark pressure, the kind you only pretend to escape. Drying them of the good memories and replacing them with pain and despair. Squeezing them until tears fell from their eyes so much I had almost forgotten what they looked like without them.

    A voice beckoned me to the side of the bed. The smile that had filled my childhood was replaced with broken eyes and a grin that I knew was a lie. I wanted nothing more but to crawl into her arms and cry until everything stopped hurting so much, but I was too afraid. For in my mother’s eyes I saw she wanted more than anything to do the same.

     Dad’s arm came around me and held me tight, he needed it as well. It was terrifying, to be able to compare my parents to how I looked after a nightmare. They were kids again, frightened, and desperate, and alone. All they wanted was a hug and smile and someone to tell them it would be okay, that the terror was nothing but a dream. Sadly, we would never wake up this time.

     The nurse came around with a camera,  and I knew then that this was the last time we would see him. I glanced down at the perfect little face I realized I would miss for the rest of my life. With the pressure eating my heart, I said inside goodbye to the little boy I had dreamed to know. His body, small and teaming with untapped potential and dead life, was an image I would never be able to forget. Yet he never even got the chance to see his big sister’s face. Maybe it was better that way, never seeing what he lost as we saw him. Things were going to be different now, without him. Things would never be the same. A nurse started to count.

     And in a broken photograph, I smiled.

i can't stand all the lying society does
and all the while they do it just because
the words they say just to fit in
little do they know my patience is wearing thin
i think that they're all egotistical,
their stupidity has become a ritual
maybe if they opened their eyes
they to would be surprised
they got so caught up in life
yet their actions were in strife
balling my fist as they attack my flaws
that's fine by me because i can fight my own brawls
because i realize they have people pressuring them
and all the while just to fit in.

There once was a great beast, now but a myth, who sat atop Mr. Atlas’s throne. So the story goes, the beast had become so heavy, and such a burden on Mr. Atlas, that he enlisted some folks to tame it. ******, that beast could fight back. He fought for ages, centuries, eons, a near-******-eternity to stay on top of his throne. He would not be defeated, until the world stopped turning up on old Mr. Atlas’s back. After fighting back on and on, pressuring the tamers for years on end, the gargantuan beast was slowly getting tired. Energy seeped out of his body. But he kept fighting. He kept fighting until he didn’t see the point anymore, and he fought some more.

To this very moment, the beast is still fighting up there on old Mr. Atlas’s back.

The beast, our voice, our final bastion of worldly balance, should very well be tamed by now. The idea of submitting to our tamers is a very unpopular one, though popular at the same time among some. But they are the tamers, and we are the beasts, fighting back to little avail but not giving up on the mission, though thoroughly futile.

Folks, it’s time for us to submit to those who are taming us. As awful, as cowardly, as utterly asinine as this sounds to most of you, we just cannot go on if we continue to fight back.

Those in charge have ****** it up so thoroughly that we must live life through simplistic principles. We can’t afford to **** around with “the man” anymore. It simply will not work. We have to find our happiness. We have to enjoy the little things, little victories, little comforts, little joys, little hardships, and big souls with big aspirations on the little scale that we are left with. As we enjoy these things, we in turn do not submit to those above us. In fact, those above us hate that we are content. Our contentment is their pain, and if they feel pain, then they stop taming us and they themselves become the ones who are tamed, subdued by their own (now) unsuccessful attempts to tame us.

So we have to find comfort in the uncomfortable, and joy in the hardships of life, and accept that we cannot change a thing unless we are content with the conditions that these folks have presented us with.

Comfort and contentment is everything, and it is what tames the tamers of the beast.

perhaps it was the water
the touch of pressuring drops
and unspoken words
the larynx blocked
perhaps by water
and hands pressing skin
perhaps moist hands
and air
triggered her tears

(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 20, 2015)

The tendency to give high accuracy ratings to descriptions of your personality that supposedly are tailored specifically for you, but are in fact vague and general enough to apply to a wide range of people. For example, horoscopes.

P.T. Barmum’s boxcar of fortune tellers, religions and personality tests
predict I may be inadvertently pressuring someone.
I may be inadvertently over-extended. I need to be proactive
and not be proactive in taking on more than I can handle.
However, the sun is in my Professional house
which may affect my relationships. I blame this on my Gemini.

People suspect he’s holding out on them.
(That would be me.)
His problem will continue if he continues to stonewall.
(That’s right.)
If he throws someone a bone, that will buy him sometime.
(Interesting.)

Nothing is any good in the long run.
Something is always changing.
You never give yourself credit for being specific enough.

I want you to scar my back
leave wounds deeper than
the ones they gave me back
In high school
Bite me in places where
she could only kiss me
because she couldn’t
handle what was underneath
I want to feel the crushing
weight of you pressuring my skin
to touch my bones
every place where you and I meet
There’s a moon begging the sun
For a solar eclipse

As true as the sky is blue,
A best friend is always there for you.
From dreaming of dragons in a dizzy daze,
To standing together in scary school hallways.

Jessica the daring, Stephanie the brain,
They are two links in a chain.
Jess is ready to jump at the drop of a hat,
While Stephanie would prefer to pet a cat.

Steph's test is an ace,
While Jess's is a slight disgrace.
They say opposites attract,
The two were made for each other, and that's a fact.

However, a problem has breached this affinity,
There's a new boy in Jess's vicinity.
She has fallen head over heels,
For his bad boy disposition and decked out wheels.

Steph is not too fond of this new addition,
She's finding loneliness is her new condition.
Jess is too busy and cancels plans,
Steph worries and begins to wring her hands.

An attempt to capture Jess's attention,
Jess has yet to mention,
Steph has boldly dyed her hair,
But Jess just doesn't care.

Lips pressed against Blaine's,
Jess's head is in the rain.
Her judgement has gone cloudy,
With Blaine, she's beginning to act rowdy.

Every day they go farther and farther,
Blaine is pressuring her even harder.
Blaine has gotten into her head,
And hungrily leads her to his bed.

Now Steph stands alone in the halls,
And Jess stopped answering her calls.
It's been months now since they've conversed,
Steph's heart is about to burst.

Bad boy Blaine is not so great,
For Jess's sensative mental state.
They have begun to yell and fight,
Steph notices and thinks it's not quite right.

Steph tries to help; Jess tells her to stay out of it,
But there are signs that she's been hit.
She comes to school with bruises black and blue,
Steph knows this is nothing new.

Everything's beginning to fall apart,
Blaine has shattered her fragile heart.
In tears, Jess has a confession,
Her life is now ruled by guilt and depression.

After weeks of sobbing and crying,
Jess decides she should be trying.
She hesitantly picks up the phone,
And calls Steph at home.

Jess tells Steph her regrets about Blaine,
About her letting him inside her brain.
She gave him everything,
He toyed with her heart like a cat with string.

Jess and Steph now see eye to eye,
Now that Jess and Blaine have said goodbye.
They are once again two links in a chain,
They help each other through the pain.

After all, what are friends for,
Than to be there when knocking on each other's door?
A best friend is always there for you,
That's as true as the sky is blue.

I was…
Alone.
Alone in a large, large place.
Larger than I ever could’ve imagined.
Larger than, even maybe, outer space.
Looking around at all the terrible sight,
The looming darkness that stole my
Breath  away…
In the midst of night.

My mind was in a haze,
And myself in a daze.

All these eyes staring at me,
Pressuring me,
Their looks...
Soft, hard, objectifying.
Melancholy, wise, forceful.

Forceful, forceful, forceful.

All these eyes, straining their visions
Just to look at me
Just to stare


Pressure.
There is no way to go.
Pressure.
No way to get away.
Pressure.
From the pressure of a million eyes.
Pressure.

Alone, in this world,
I was.
Alone, in this world,
I am.

For days and days,
These straining eyes
Stared at me.
For years and years,
These straining eyes
Pressured me.

Those eyes…
Awaited my every move.
Like I was a chess piece
In their game.

Throwing me around
Without a second thought.
Throwing me around
Without a second thought.

It felt like a waterfall.
Pouring down on me,
Pressure…
Pouring down on me.

I drown.

There is something
that I wanted to tell you.
  
                                      Earlier this month,
I was talking to my best friend
About a lot of important things
such as boys, dating,
                                      and careers.
  
                                      I came across a
                                      very, touchy subject.
  
I asked my best friend
about my body image.
  
I asked her
“Does my image matter?”
My best friend
                                      responded back with,
“Well, what do you think?”
  
To which
I start to think about it
for a very long time.
  
When I got back home
from my best friend’s house,
I went straight
                                      to my bedroom and
changed out of my day clothes.
I was completely naked,
except I was wearing my bra
                                      and my underwear.
I went to the mirror
and took a very, long look
                                      at myself.
I turned to the left, right, and back
and did the exact
                                      same thing.
All I see is a healthy, curvy,
Beautiful young woman looking
                                     straight back at me.
  
I started to ask myself repeatedly,
“Does My Image Matter?”
While I was asking this question
  repeatedly to myself,
                                      All of the past memories
start to come back to me.
                                     I kept thinking and
asking and thinking and asking,
until at one point, I gave up.
  
Does my image really matter?
  
Does my image matter
when I watch TV, surf the web,
Read newspapers, magazines, ads,
and I came across
Some attracting people showcasing
their perfect bodies
And when I look at my body,
realizing that it’s not
Perfect? That it’s not just like theirs?
  
Does my image matter
when my mother
keeps on pressuring
me
and not anybody else
in my family
to lose some weight?
Doesn’t she like my body
the way it is right now?
Why does she want me
to change it?
  
Does my image matter
when I finally got a role
in a TV Show,
Feature Film,
or a theatrical production
that I have dreamed of
For a long time,
only to find out the directors,
executive producers,
And my agent
wanted and pressured me
to lose a few pounds and
If I don’t do what they tell me to do,
they will reject me all because
I’m not following their standards?
That I’m not just like the
Other actors and actresses
With their perfect, fit, &
Attractive bodies?
  
Does my image matter
When I joined the
Bandwagon of
Millions and millions
Of people all
Across the country
Spending my hard-earned
Cash on
Products upon products of
Hair, make-up, skin, manicure/
Pedicure, weight-loss programs,
Diet pills/shakes, at-home gym
Equipment, gym memberships,
Diet plans, and all that jazz
Only to find out that
It never works with my
Hectic daily schedule?!
Or it never works
at all?!
  
Does my image matter
When I watch an episode of
“Glee” that is about
body image
issues,
When Kitty, a cheerleader, told
Marley, a glee club member,
About how to lose weight by
Just sticking 2 fingers in
Her mouth and
Just ***** so that
Marley can fit into
The costume that
She is going to
Wear in order to
Portray the role of
Sandy Olson
In their school’s
Theatrical production
Of “Grease?”
What would I do if
I was in Marley’s
Shoes?
  
Does my image matter
When the professionals,
Scientists, and authors
From the University of
Washington
Explain that the
Media itself
Is responsible for
Holding up “a
Thinner & thinner
Body image as the
Ideal for women?”
That they also state that
Throughout their
Childhood,
Women are extremely
“unhappy with their
Bodies”
And the percentage
Representing that
Statement
Increases rapidly from
Age 13 to age 17?
Was I happy or
unhappy with
My body during that
Time?
  
Does my image matter
If I stopped worrying
About my body?
That I could just eat
Whatever the heck I
Want?
That I could just sit on
My ****
All day long
And not get enough
Physical activity
So that when I
Walk down the
Streets of my
Hometown
Proudly,
nobody would
Notice how big,
Fat, and ugly
I have become?
Would I just be a
Doormat?
Would I become
An easy
Target?
  
Does my image matter then?
  
Does my image matter now?
  
Would my image matter in the future?
  
Would my image matter anytime soon?!?!
Now you listen to me.
Just take a very, long
Look at me.
What do you see?
What do you like &
Dislike about me?
Do you love
Or hate me?
And in your
Honest opinion,
  
Does my image matter to you?
  
Let me tell you something.
As of right now,
my image does matter.
  
It matters to me
And me alone.

Take off your robe and wig
And quit being a Judge
The person you are judging
Is at the peak of his battles

His guns are running out of bullets
He's losing it already
Your words and actions are missiles
You could be on his team,
Instead of aiming at him

Stop pressuring him
You are taking camouflage off his face
You have no idea what he's going through
The least you could do is let him be.

To Love and Lose

Once upon a time…
There lived a shy little boy and a chatty little girl. Though the two lived really close they never knew each other. That was until one day, the girl entered high school. They met for the first time on the school bus. The boy eavesdropped on her and for the first time spoke to her. Although she was especially irritated, the boy responded. It was with those words that a lifelong love blossomed…
“You love me, you just don’t know it yet.”
Through the many trials and errors of high school life they grew together. And so, They lived happily ever after.

Or so I thought. Life is not the fairy tale I made it out to be. August 2008, my angel flew away. The woman I loved for ten years of my life lost faith in the power of love. More importantly she lost faith in me. What follows is my most honest recollection of the end of the era of Ryan and Lisa.

When I first met Lisa, I was little more than a persistent annoyance. Gradually, “like a fungus,” I grew on her. She was my first friend, whom I had met at 15. That little boy desperately yearned for love, and she accepted. We became inseparable throughout high school. She even graduated early to keep pace with me. Ultimately, due to my growing family dysfunction and her desire to widen the gap she felt between her parents we moved out on our own. Truly, we demanded our freedom to leave behind the stains of childhood.
Our apartment years were far from a nirvana. My darkness and her porcelain demeanor fought many battles. Moving beyond, we asked, “What next?” Purchasing a home seemed the obvious answer. Unfortunately our American dream was in the hands of Judas the Contractor. It did not go well and stress always marred our relationship.
All was not war, however. We loved as hard as we fought. Shortly after buying the home we were married. We were ever confident in our ability to weather any storm. It took 3 long years, but the house issues eventually settled.
With the tumultuous waves settled to a peaceful reflection Lisa was left with a void. “What will I do with the rest of my life?” Waitressing was not the solution. Then, one day, in the midst of her woeful exile, her answer walked in and sat down at her table.

“This is it!” “This is what I want to be!”
Her epiphany was a chatty RN munching assembly line breadsticks. The next piece was a friendly pair of regulars. Tom and Colleen were in their 50s and never had children. When they learned of Lisa’s mission they instantly adopted her. They constantly tipped outrageously to help fulfill her goals.

Meanwhile, I was stagnant. I was content with enjoying my home. I couldn’t understand why Lisa wouldn’t relax and enjoy what we built. I also had a crippling fear of change stemming from a vicious cycle of depression and guilt. Depression from a series of unsuccessful jobs. Guilt from inadequacy, feeling as though I couldn’t be the man Lisa deserved. Once Lisa had realized her ambition, she began pressuring me to utilize my vast potential. I was lost. The home and “happy” marriage was more than I ever had imagined. What more could there be?
Then, Colleen grew ill. She developed Alzheimer’s disease. Lisa had recently completed her STNA license certification as a mini trial for nursing. Lisa had embraced Tom and Colleen as surrogate parents, feeling a closeness to them she was unable to with hers. She became Colleen’s caregiver. Between Colleen, school, and serving, it meant 100 mph weeks and very little sleep. The stress and exhaustion weighed heavily on her.
A new civil war began. I tried relentlessly to get her to take her school and work slower. Slow was not in her vocabulary. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t share her vigor for a pursuit of my own. I was clueless and feared what new horrors change would bring. She misunderstood my concern for her welfare as denying her independence. In the war of hearts, I was quickly losing ground.

April 25th, 2008-Lisa’s 25th Birthday, her “Other Mother”, Colleen died. I didn’t realize it yet, but as I carried the casket my marriage was tethered to it. As the dirt went over, the fuse was lit, and the countdown began.
As the two who loved her most, Tom and Lisa fell into a deep depression. Both began drinking heavily…
“More and more just to get through the day, more and more just to feel okay.”
Lisa still worked 70 hrs weeks (now at a nursing home) as well as attend school full time. Often she didn’t come home. A gnawing sense of dread and paranoia washed over me. Not for a suspicion between them, but for her safety.
However, the world progressed as though nothing was amiss. Soon, it was nearing Lisa’s entry into the Nursing Program. I could not longer fight working a second job and begrudgingly accepted a position with her. Our proximity only increased the mounting tension. The cracks in our armor were beginning to show.
Finally the bomb went off and my world crumbled to pieces. The last week of July, following another fight I demanded to know the root issue. I received the answer I never wanted to hear…
“I don’t love you anymore.”
After a three day absence she returned home. However, that night I found an incomplete letter to Tom that finished, “I can’t wait until my divorce is over.” After pulling the arrow from my heart I immediately woke her. Without a word and in a panicked rush, she got in her car and drove out of my life.

The end was a series of saddening and maddening clichés…
“Couple gets married too young.”
“Woman chooses career over love.”
“Mourners seek solace in each others arms.”
“Man falls for wife’s nurse.”
“Woman pities sorrowful widow.”
“DIVORCE!”
Etc., ad nauseam.

Upon Lisa’s departure I feel into a black hole. Carelessness is not in my nature. I feel everything. For the first few weeks I was dead. Frequently, I contemplated finishing the act. Depression waxed and waned as the uncertainty of our finality wavered. I pleaded for help.
My journey taught me this…
When you’re sinking, in over your head, reaching out for someone to help, no one will come. You have to drop the arm seeking pity and use it to pull yourself from the muck. The climb out of the pit is a solitary journey. It’s only when you’re back on your feet that you notice all that stood around you. They are powerless to help, only watch as you cried and flailed, their hearts cut by the shards of yours. They are there to dust you off and stand you up, but never to pull you out. Only you must do that. My fear of change ended there. That which I feared most had come to pass. I survived; scarred, yet alive.

I describe my life as a learning process. Lisa’s life can best be described as a frenzied quest to prove something to no one. What does she have to prove? I always knew she was worthy of loving. She cannot trust anyone, therefore cannot trust herself. In the pursuit of her blind ambitions she sacrifices everything and everyone. When complete she feels lost and confused, until her next futile crusade. She is a soldier without a war. Her “self” is defined by her monochromatic goals. She puts so much of herself into them that there’s nothing left inside. She’s destroying herself from the inside out. Decay in a pretty wrapper.
When Lisa was a child she suffered an extremely traumatic experience. She never told her parents, the chasm between them seemingly insurmountable. It left her feeling sullied and insignificant. Since then, she has desperately tried to prove worth noticing. The child within her cries out, “Please pay attention to me. I need help.”
This inadequacy bled into our life. She is incapable of accepting death, instead diluting her sorrow with an obsession, fixation, or addiction. Her confidence in any decision is brittle at best. She views our marriage as universal shackles, keeping greatness just out of her reach.
However, I must also stand trial for my sins. On several occasions I did show her violence. No blacks eyes or broken bones, but that’s hardly a justification. Each morning I wake alone the weight of this guilt bares down on me. Lisa caught a glimpse of my dark side and it scared her away.

What lingers of my love for Lisa? I won’t hide that I harbor some hostility. Ultimately, though, I will forgive her. Beneath all the rage and guilt, denial and anxiety, I just want her to be happy. I owe her my life, now it’s time I gave hers back. I can never deny the light she inspired in me. She gave me a gift and moved on. As it is frequently said and not understood…
“If you truly love someone, set them free.”
What is true love, anyways? True love is giving all that you have and letting her leave with it. True love is letting go when all you want to do is hold on. It is not dismantling her dreams simply because you’re no longer part of them. Sadly, Love is all too often, a dead language.

As the dust settles, What remains of my life? Our love lies with Colleen now, a wonderful woman who had a huge impact on an impressive array of people. I still trust in the power of love. Now, I stand at a crossroads. For the last decade of my life my entire identity has been “Ryan and Lisa.” The question left is, without Lisa,…
“WHO AM I?”


TO BE CONTINUED…

Written August 2009

Please read "The Phoenix" for Part 2

Muddy Muddy Monday

Cold air
Cold glare
Lurking on a window that shields our felt insecurity
Summertime we all come to
We all come together then unravel apart
I am a man for a short bit then I quit
And retire
Retire to regimented round the clock lonesome longing of money and a schedule, scheduled schooling of sorrow
Growing up I,
I'm utterly useless
I’m painfully plain
This become the real repetition
The depiction and depression in the U.S. Of A
It's simple
And simply it's dull and sad it's melancholy at its finest
And this carnivorous cancer grows calculatedly sneaking steadily and processing with prowess
And Lexus lingers after Lexus near our neighborhood of suburban sadness,
Sorrowful slumps stuck in sand
Succumbing to ******* the life out of myself muddling through murky days
And this depressive digression into normal no-thing-ness that does not know nothing
But private school privilege pressuring me till I press my heart and it pops
Mundane money Monday murdering my mind mother and might
Monday each day
Becoming Monday
My mothering Monday
My absent adolescence

I sink
deeper and slower
into emerald
and turquoise so dark
it's almost black
the water claiming me
finally, as it should
pressuring my lungs to collapse
under the lightest weight
engulfed in deep blue
love

The dark demons in my head
Would all proclaim,
The pain is dead
The shot so hard
The price so high
As gawking, ghoulish grins
Come forward to flaunt
The chains emasculating me
In wild, ecliptical regressions
Pressuring my senses
To lie in a calm
That no longer exists

The needles of my peace
Frustrate my confidence, sublime
As i await the restoration of my sanity
The renaissance of my agility
So i squander reality
Like a cyclone
About to unfold
A devastation
This whirling charade goes on
Until the hours
Have long passed their bedtime
The magic of the wasted clowns
Begins....

If i share with you my story
Will you tell a different tale?
For what I am about to say
Would cost my heart
The tears i’ve cried in vain
But i must tell it just the same

Do not close your eyes
Nor cover your ears
If the pretty pictures fade
For there will surely be
Devils where i come from
Within my room
Inside my head

When the magic drugs me
To sleep
Dreams are often dark and deep
Sorry slumbers shattering
A shivering soul
Predestined to meet its end
Where drunken cannibals blend
Into a wretched scenario
Of an afternoon in hell

There is no awakening
Once the reason is shed
There is no truth
To the demons in my head
No truth at all
About what they said
No truth at all
That the pain is really dead

It never was
And never will be...

Once the magic of the
Wasted clowns
Start to begin..

"Come on page, where do the words fit?"
In the puzzle that is my brain, i ask as at
The table i sit
My hairs have split, like cheap ****** Remy
But then again maybe my idea bulb isn't lit.

"Come along pen, why can't you write?"
We've been up with this piece since last night
I ask myself again, this is really starting to frighten me, i know i might be pressuring myself too much,
But that's where the best moments come from, in the clutch.

"Come on heart, where's your spark? You usually flutter in the act of creating art!"
But alas no wings flapping, and no adrenaline rushing like a spotted chameleon
Just stone faced cynicism like a gremlin

My mother is the type to tell me "oh, so you want to be alone? Fine. Ill be alone with you."
She gives me my space. And yet she doesnt leave me alone. I will never look back and wonder why she wasnt there. Everywhere i turn i feel her presence.. everywhere.
She wont pressure me to talk. And yet her silence will make me tell it all.
I feel as if my mom is special. And no one could ever replace her.
I would hate to disappoint her or bury her in my problems.
"I will not leave you, i will only built columns, to protect you from your hollow."
This has been proved to me and followed.
I have many challenges to overcome. All piled up so high.. i am climbing a mountain i am all ready on top of. A pile i say so reaching so high.. Its hard to miss.
Many problems created in my own head that she will destroy with the strongest love known to man. Its funny how all she has to do is hold me close and lend a hand.
Her galaxy sunflower eyes make me feel reassurance.
Her galaxy sunflower eyes have seen much more then possibly imagined. She shares with me her stories and wonders, and walls shes had climbed over.
Her long dark hair defines her strong and willing power. Strength shes carried all this years.  
I am not glass. I do not brake. I am not broken. I know this. She makes me believe it. I am not broken. yet she fixes me with every tight hug pressuring all of my broken pieces into one full heart.
Her Glowing skin shines in the sun and in the darkest room. She will make a statement without saying a word.
Her glance will make the strong tremble and the weak fierce. She is the perfect example of the most imperfect person. And to me? That. Is perfect.

Broken
open and vulnerable
pieces falling
invisible
only to show
like dew drops
just appear
shattering atop
concrete
loud as thunder
though
only I can hear
peace passing me
like clouds sometime do
dragging confusion
along
I'm shopping for solitude
In a middle-eastern country
within my mind
choices raining on me
pressuring me to face
reality
and open up my eyes
purple clouds elude my vision
rainbow skies brighten it
although I'm seeing things as they are
I am still missing the haunt of reality
The truth under the atmosphere
Seeing all I want to see
yet, not seeing all there is at all

I used to believe that happiness was in
gaining a love, gaining security
gaining hope from within

but the longer I live
the more I lose touch
with what I used to believe
and what I once thought
was the right things in life
the best of them all
but everyone suffers
temporary or permanent
life changing downfalls

and we all grieve
at some point in life
either the loss of ourselves
or the loss of loved ones
we all feel and will feel
endless bouts of pain
sharp pains that can feel
like strangulation
or self-inflicted
times of illusion

misguided thoughts
and moments of weakness
psychotic rages
and times of
confusion

I have felt so much in a short space of time
it is hard to believe that I am somewhat 'fine'
the amount of trauma sustained
from the painful migraines
the way it felt like someone
squeezing and pressuring my head
the way it felt like my brain
was going to explode
at some known time and place
the way it felt like system malfunction
was taking it's course of faith
how it took so much away from my life

people say strong people never feel pain
and that they have no reason
to feel anything but joy
well those people are wrong
because I was once strong

and look what the **** happened
depression took over my soul
and stripped me of my voice
it broke me to the point
of almost shooting myself
in the head with a gun
that's what my dreams
always consisted of
suicide and a loss of pride
a loss of consciousness
felt like someone was
controlling my heart
poking holes
and making me bleed
until I was seeing stars
even if I was behind doors
my mind made me delusional
made me drift away from reality
I'm still not myself at all
not functioning properly

I don't sleep anymore
not even drugs are a cure
not even *** stimulates
my naked body is a disgrace
when I look in the mirror
I can imagine it shatter

my whole sense of view
about everything of me
is honestly the worst
there is no in-between
sometimes I wonder
if life will ever get
as good as it once was

that chapter of my life
is still yet un-explored
but I picture it
in my head
all the time

You have always encouraged us, your deplorable neighbors, to be open-minded, to be tolerant, to build consensus and to appreciate diversity. In light of recent electoral events, we think you have a golden opportunity to practice what you so tirelessly preach.

    We sense that you are upset, bewildered and disturbed by your new president. We are sorry you feel that way, and hope we can make the next four years easier for you. Please keep in mind that many of us irredeemably deplorable clingers endured eight years under that community agitator, although he had not received our vote. We also put up with the grating, strident scoldings of that woman senator and ex-Secretary of State for a long time. While we certainly despised many aspects of their agenda, we did not march, chant hateful slogans, or smash up any property. We did not inundate electors with pleas to switch, nor did we threaten even one. We did not melt down on YouTube or fill Facebook with melodramatic profanity-laden tirades. Please pause to consider this. Perhaps it is time to be tolerant and to appreciate the political diversity of our Democratic Republic. Calling people fascists, racists, misogynists and bigots is getting old now. Instead of telling us what our values are and why we are such bad citizens, why not join us in some small way as fellow Americans on a quest for greatness?

   Yes, we know. It bothers you that that we do not get all our views from NPR, MSNBC and the NYT. We are aware that our vibrant variety of news sources is not pleasing to your erudite sensibilities. (And please forgive us for not being as apocalyptically alarmed as you are over "Global Warming"). We are aware that the tactical failure of vote recounts, pressuring electors, and throwing infantile tantrums has left you feeling hopeless and without a game plan.

   Mother Russia is also concerned about you, for you are in fact as dear to her as as any of her adopted children. In your deeply troubled state, she longs to embrace you. Maybe this is an opportunity for you to seek solace in Orthodoxy and to delight in the richness of timeless Christian ritual. This would be far better activity for your souls than crying over lack of gender-fluid bathrooms and easily-procured abortions. Mother Russia is grieved by your confused notions regarding faith and family. Rather than celebrate perversity, why not participate in true diversity and join us in making our sovereign nation great once more?

   Liberal progressives, we have need of your enlightened and broad-minded creativity in these troubling times.

Sincerely,

a brainwashed dupe and minion of Vlad Putin☺

We all*  like to blame society

How *disgusting is society today
How is society so Judgemental , so pressuring and dangerous

We act like society is some isolated terror organization of some people
That have no affinity to us or to the rest of the world

And we tend to forget
We
Are
*Society