I feel like there’s something in my heart.
Not you, not a feeling,
Rather a misunderstanding.
It raises when I take a breath,
But it never leaves with my words,
Rather it clings and screams.  
It wants my attention.
Care and appreciation,
But it only gives humiliation.
Like You did.
All my cells, my muscles and bones
My beautiful heart, brain and organs,
They learnt to behave to Those words.
Awful and cruel words.
My body still thinks I deserved them,
This clingy misunderstanding.

A voice, dressed
in camouflage
tries to poison
the delicate mind

A voice, foreign
Seeks to shriek putrid words
that contort & ricochet
about the brain.

Despite subtle tiptoes
A wobble in its timbre
trips a wire
in the maze-like mind

A vile voice, doesn’t belong
to true Self-
Love
seizes the intruder,
to unmask a cowering Ego

She cries during ***,
in an attempt to express & address,
this set of collective regrets that’ve been suppressed,
ever since when she was first undressed & no one confessed,

I let her vent, give her room & hold space so she can process,

I suggest she take some deep breaths instead of stress,
still has some emotions left so I guess in a sense she’s blessed,
in a world that’s gone cold & everyone seems possessed,
people stumbling around like zombies in The Walking Dead,

no Norman Reedus or Andrew Lincoln features though,
just an aborted fetus & a broken heart seeking treatment,
which explains why she’s always willing to give guys a try,
& stay with them faithfully even when she’s mistreated,
& I’m willing to be crucified for the actions of other guys,
so I take her torment away & transform it like Jesus,
bare the weight of her loss like a cross then write the moments,
releasing the feelings in books since I’m a poet not a preacher,

not here for the heroics,
or other crowning moments or admirable achievements either,
so I’m on the down-low drinking hoping to go unnoticed,
at a bar on a barstool with a babe so hot I’ve got a fever,
we’re both discrete because we both need ****** healing,
& I promise her I’ll be here for her & not leave her,

until I get assassinated like Abe Lincoln at a theatre,

but she doesn’t believe the things I say about loyalty,
because she’s been betrayed before so she’s not too eager,
but hey I can’t blame her if I’d been through what she has,
I probably wouldn’t be eager to believe me either,
pause this’s getting too intense it’s time for an intermission,
I need to take a break so I can take a breather,

in a real life Soap Opera drama live on stage in Life’s theatre,
caught up in all the rawness of these women’s feelings,
one minute she’s laughing the next minute she’s crying,
she apologizes & I say she never has to apologize for feeling,

or make excuses to me or anyone else for her feelings,
I mean at least she still feels things,

even when those feelings open wounds that need healing,
lays her head one my shoulder, says she’s been ***** before,
so when I go rough in the sack with her she gets flashbacks,
& it’s hard to face facts that relate to what’s happened before,

I tell her it’s okay I tell her I’ll go slow we can take our time,
I tell her it’s ok to stay she’s safe, she can tell me anything,
I tell her sometimes it helps to open up & communicate,
but she just clams up & doesn’t say a thing,

so I get up to go shower,
to try & wash off the stress,
moments later she comes in & joins me,
somewhere between sedated & upset,

at a hotel somewhere in America,
a hotel they call boutique,
but it all feels haunted & a bit spooky if you ask me,
the wind howls, the windows rattle, & all the floors creak,

so I can’t help but get the creeps,
because this hotel feels more than just a little like me,
all dressed up nice, hip trendy on the outside,
but inside everything’s not at all what it seems,

haunted from the drama of these girls that were abused,
then used *** to transfer that abusive dark energy onto me,
which I guess I kinda deserve because I used to serve,
this sort of abuse to girls who were into me sexually,

you get what you give this is exactly what karma is,
so now I’m trying to help heal the Collective Feminine,
from all the damage that’s been previously done over lifetimes,
by the overly aggressive actions of the Collective Masculine,

so go ahead smash your conflicts into me I’m begging you,
drown me in the ocean of the tears of your traumas,
scream shout let it all out until there’s nothing left to let go of,
& I will still love you continually no menopause or commas,

I will always love you unconditionally continually,
no mental pauses or parental dramas,
you have been hurt before but you still have worth for sure,
no one’s pure but at least you’re honest & willing to work on it,

& it’s an honor to be here to hear & be your platform,
for you to express your regrets until there’s nothing left,
you are an incredible creation resilient & brilliant,
you’re worth it we’re out here when distressed I’ll be your outlet,

so you can vent the stress as you process,
even if part of that process involves crying during ***,
you’re worth it I’m here to hear everything you express,
a Living Light in this world of The Walking Dead,

so it’s totally okay to cry during *** go ahead,
especially if it’s an attempt to express & address,
the set of collective regrets that’ve you’ve suppressed,
ever since you were first undressed & no one confessed,

I’ll let you vent give you room
& hold space so you can process…

∆ LaLux ∆

from THHT3: The Hollywood Hills Trilogy 3
available worldwide.

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The measure of suffering is how distant you are from your own happiness.
There is no distance farther than that.
It’s a gap people carry around with them, sometimes oddly, with pride:
‘Look how long-suffering, look how hard working,
Look how good doing I am.’
Small wonder we’re exhausted all of the time.

Because there’s the whole of our lives to account for, to ourselves,
To the you who is listening to this.
Sure, it’s your hole and you’ll sink in it if you want to
But to me, it’s just another drain pipe, a wound for life to drip out of
Everyone can see right through you
Until you find a way to plug that hole yourself.