Below is something I wrote months back but can relate to more now than before for sure. I’m really tired of seeing the same days happen and happen again. But everything hurts in a certain way when you don’t think you belong. When does that stop getting in the way? Or does it ever.
You set the pace and motion
And advance without fear
Through every door – the next and next,
Once similar- then same- and all you see.
Now you are carrying what you had given up,
Repairing – restoring all that was gotten rid of.
How letting go led you a circle
Back to here, back to home.
Every wall has a window shatter edged
Where by every single one you have thrown yourself from,
Yet fall after fall would give you no place else at all
But in grace back to here, back to home.
To hollow whisper of a soul.
The death day is reaching
And though overdone in years –
Always near and never silencing
Its beat of urgency
As your scream was given life and chance to be made whole.
But this hell was meant to happen – they’d left you alone.
Convinced there is a reset, you were raised
Then snatched at the very end. And from that spin out of control,
Beaten mercilessly low…
And brought back to here, my dear.
The fifth of those crayon drawings…
Below is a short, poor clip, written from one of the posts I recently put here titled Still caught, those sentences used as lyrics…
I know how it goes
How many others without a face?
Without a name?
I am here for no one
And no one is here for me
And I will always need too much
I realized today at work that I’m in real need of friendship. Before I just thought of it as something that would happen again maybe down the road- new relationships and eventually having people to count on. But now, with the desire lately to burn my paintings and writing and myself in the process, I get how frustrated I’ve become with the lack of connection I feel toward anyone and everything I see/hear about. Stuck behind a wall still, even if things have slowly gotten better…It’s not yet enough to forget how easily and more often things can and do get worse. I want to let go, but that still means ‘not be here at all’ to me. Just need more time I guess.
A few more sketches…
Things are getting complicated again, all due to my impatience. I feel like I’m tricking myself into believing there is something special I’m going to do one day- something that really matters to me. But that’s not clearly defined and I don’t think it ever will be. I have no idea where to start.
This is a photo I took at a park one day years ago. The whole atmosphere there felt like it was trying to tell me something; I’m still trying to figure it out. The poem below started out as a short story way back, but I’m awful at writing them and rather than ditch the whole idea, I reduced it to an extended poem-like thing. Too insecure to share it before, but here it is. I had so many images in mind and tried my best to describe each scene the way I saw it. Anyway…More music, drawings and photos I’ll update with soon.
Into the After
Their roots hurt and ooze
These dreams float around this sky
Like clenched pieces of ghost strapped in dark shadow,
And on the envisioned ground, memories lay
Gutted in petrified display
I’m half way into the after
Feeling through strange tints throughout this in-between
A desolate plane, my last thoughts at the dying note’s cue
A soul has woken here alone
With bloodlessly gaping grief deep in flesh – arm and leg
And from the peek of life behind the darkened sun
I track down its scent and search out its foot steps
My old, put together self’s death greased remains
I find and drag in chains to a river of our blood
The parts I kick over the edge
And all at once- a melt and freeze
An absolute sweep of tangled bones and rot
Then I kneel and cup my hands to sip the old life liquid
Satin sheen, warm to touch, lifted to my wind crusted lips
A moment past and the drain-less gash of limb and limb
Pour resplendent and quick again, and dark reaches to close my eyes,
Fills me up, floods my mind
This world in between separates and falls away in quiet flakes,
Spirit seeping beneath now, at rest
Another one of those crayon drawings from after that last session with my doctor. The short song below is something I wrote in just the hours following that appointment, too. I was feeling like a huge disappointment and needed to get it off my mind somehow.
I deserve nothing less than to scream
For the worse I mean-
An agonizing death.
Here’s the truth:
I’ll never move,
I’ve wasted your time,
Yes, it’s all in my mind
And I refuse to save myself.
This is as far as we get.
We watch her rise –
Sweet moon’s shy evening glow
Of a warm and whispery yellow
As soon as our sun sets,
I will have a dream for you. She says
I will drift low to you, my dear and
Sing softly into your ear the secret I know.
Within the mirror of my shadow.
Be still, for the many faces I have
Will be in tune of those claimed by your past.
The wave of secrets and fury
I swear to you won’t last
As I shuffle through every worn thin mask
And purify the stricken glass
Fulfilling all it takes
To be made safe again.
I wait for you to look up
Healed now and whole
I wait for you to see – forgive all you could never be
And let breathe the soul.
Allow your light to reignite and grow
By letting go.
It’s not easy trying to feel better. Mostly for me it means trading one sort of pain for another. And once that is done, I’m still left hoping another day doesn’t show itself.
There is no ‘better’.
The second of those crayon drawings I did in the days following my last therapy session. Of the bunch, this was the most surprising. I wrote the lines below several months ago, thinking about the people around me not knowing who I really am/what I do and have done in the past. I often think I don’t deserve for anyone to care and don’t understand why if they decide to care. To even weigh such a decision seems ridiculous, because of how little good is left from what I was.
At Corners of the Sky
A soft whisper in darkness once met.
You reach and call to me
In view of the edge,
Innocently unaware I have followed through.
And now I sneak the in-between
Behind the rise of a drop beneath
I witness my dearest circle round,
Lost in search through a deadened world
For their pet, never to be found.
The scattered pieces they meant to me…
Part of the old chore, as they suffer no more now
My burdensome role –
A disregarding soul, bled cold by its hatred
For the whole.
Rot slithered about my grin.
I said it forever far too sweet,
Yet they all had failed to learn
Never trust when I agree.
Still, never quite forgotten or given up…
These attachments of blood, a weak watery red
For all my life I neglected the
Willingness of their love.
I have turned away and withhold my own
Far enough from.
The small things I
Treat toward dim corners of my sky.
How I do wish they knew
They don’t deserve to be mine…
I have a part time job now. Packaging cookies. If I can handle it a month I will have exceeded my own expectations and may reconsider all that I put myself through for punishment. This is the very beginning again and I don’t want another.