I am an amalgamation of all that come before me. I am both the ending and beginning of a real-life redemption story. I am not a fairy-tale or a parable containing lessons to be learned. I am a messiah of a mess on a mission-carrying respect waiting to be earned. This is MY turn. I will set fire to the words that have previously bound me. Bind my fists with the split ends of the definitions that surround me. I will make of myself everything and nothing that you have ever expected and then I will reject it. I will take the potential that you’ve weighed on me for which I never asked, and I will take its full enormity and shove it up your ass. See, I never break but I shatter-and the scattered pieces left to be placed, they never really mattered.
It bothers me. When I have to lock my door to go to the store for a cup of coffee. That is not me; I’d rather trust and have it floored than let it stop me. I’m at my best when I’m putting breast before the thought beat-what has caught me, my emotion is the press to push out this heart beat which repeats With the same kind of openness. It’s why I’ve always spoken thus. And put it down, and broke the bus and beat the band to boot. I’m no fool. I do what I do for a reason, it’s true but I don’t have to explain shit to you. But I do. It’s called communication, and it’s a small donation to thought and open mind. And I find, the more I provide some background on who I am, the more I know of who I want to be. And who I want to be, it changes. Builds up, falls down, it rearranges, it paints itself in light for strangers, and through their eyes I see how to achieve that prize, the big brass ring of me. And that’s kind of neat. But it has its up and down falls, and when it comes to taking judge-calls, I’m no better than the rest. It tests my strength of virtue, my point of view and purview, and the stupid things we all do, well, they’re my kryptonite. I’m easily embarrassed, and why I’m compelled to share it-well it’s really beyond my sight. But I fight to keep composure, because truth be told you know you’re-only given just one life. That’s right. And if you spend it forever fearful of the people that surround you and the things that they MAY do, well you might as well have spent it in a bubble. And there’s the trouble!! that somehow sensory deprivation presides communication and we’re rationing the space and times we can be touched. And it’s too much! We’re a social group by nature, and I’m not trying to berate or blame you for enclosure, because goodness only knows you’re just one of far too many. But please tell me. How does fear enrich your life?
You know me, gotta dip a toe before I can wet my feet. Tap a finger before I follow the beat, I’ve got half of a rhythm in a faltering speech. But I speed myself up when I follow the sound and it brings the lights up as I follow it down the rabbit hole to a place in my mind where the product of soul-searching is sure to provide some definition to the shapes in the mirror, The image stays the same but the message gets clearer. And I fear I can’t raise voice loud enough to project the feeling of these words that haven’t left yet. And I left it on a note that was sour in tone, But don’t go picking bones because you’re sure not alone. In this world, I’ve offended a few, When I was young I was cruel, but I’ve amended my view. And I see matters now that are close to my heart-like all these people putting walls up to hide from the hurt when in truth putting a hand out for a hug would do more But instead they’re holding cold off and hold out for a cure for this condition, this feeling called life. Where the shit you have to sift through isn’t treating you right and the only right to make of it is the right that you do, and there’s no cricket on your shoulder, so it all falls to you And the pressure get the best-you’re falling out of your line, But sometimes boxes aren’t there to provide, but confine the truth from your eyes. So break the barrier and be a carrier of good news. You choose. If it’s all gray today, paint a different view. Just breath and be a peace with you. Cause we all trip up and make track of mistakes, and track shit through our lives and pave through our “big breaks”. But when you break it all down, that’s the chance that you take; Life is all chance, and we all make mistakes.
I don’t know what they told you, you can’t hide from yourself-it’s everyone else, that you can tell lies to. And I don’t really suppose you, have even thought this through, You just call it code blue, and then you do your damn-well best to follow through. Emergency protocol. Is that all? You have to show for judgment’s fall (and folly)? A badge on chest and duty’s call, revolves the door and sends you out to shout that you know what this world’s about. When you’ve only ever seen a teensy piece of it. The places that you’ve been could literally fit inside the edges of a thin dime laid flat against a State map. And you snap and react like I’ve burned you, like I didn’t just turn to my fellow man and say “Could ya lend a hand, see I got this plan, to help some others out”. That’s what this world’s about! No man is an Island. And I would rather take the high land and stand my ground, than to be tried and found… Guilty for lack of milk of human kindness. And it’s times like this that remind us that love and hope are timeless, and it’s the hope of love that keeps this world tied together. Whether you are rich or poor, you’re human and nothing more and nothing less than a miracle. And I peer at the world from over the rims of my rose tinted glasses, and the question I feel the need to ask is “Are you happy with yourself?”.
I used to say that men aged like wine. And women aged like unpreserved fruit. Now these concepts aren’t really mine, but I still maintain their truth. Because whether a fellow gets sour or mellow, he still obtains some use. But when a women gets dried up or sags down-she gets traded for something new. Like fruit. Tossed out and composted then walked on like she’s dirt-the condition of her flesh impresses-on others what she’s worth. She’s cursed with the fate of a sell-by date, and SOME are packed up and shipped off and sold by weight. And they say, that it’s ok. We’re the fairest sex so it’s best that we’re treated this way. A major in commodity, we’re not permitted our anonymity. The fruit of this womb is set to consume, and I shouldn’t presume, to say what comes through. But it’s untrue. Cause I’m made of meat and bleed, didn’t come from dirt or seed. And I PLEAD with this patriarchal society to see ME. Beyond the flesh that bruises is a person who thinks and feels and chooses, and I think I feel my choices being taken away from me. And you call me a peach, and I scream because a peach don’t bleed. when you cut it. And a seed won’t grow just cause you love it. And you think you know, but you can shove it because I am so fucking far above it. And my sisters, and mothers, and lovers and friends weren’t born on this planet to be ate up by men. So I mean what I say when I’m talking to you, a woman’s a person and not some sort of fruit. So you’re fucked for biting more than you can chew-Cause this peach is fighting, and she’s coming for you.
You are marginal
Like the tube that they feed you through;
It’s out of view for the need of what it gives to you.
And the greed that supersedes your instinct to chew?
You’re just left to digest what is fitting through,
What they feed to you.
Did the thought to say no even occur to you?
To legislate hate for the State when the vote’s come through
And pave out the way for the past un-do.
For whom do you fight when the bill’s come due?
You know it’s not right, but it’s a faster move
Than breaking your sweat for a body not you.
Eerily, unearthly swell
Drives against the ear drum well
And swells into a thrumming hum
Telling you the tide has won
So pulling you into the sea
A breathless wash of floating free
And thickly, lungs wrapped wet in wool
Your chest concave against the pull
And empty sucking, impotent
Has breath from rushing water rent
Soon air-choked mind begins to thrash
As burning lungs from water splash
The cloying doom of salty shroud
As passing looms in drifting down
But sudden does the reflex pass
And mind and form move to relax
So drifting pleasant can become
-Man and sea becoming one
It’s that time again! OneStopPoetry is having the Wednesday poetry share, and all are welcome to share if they like, or just come in and browse all the lovely work. Have fun! (and don’t forget to congratulate the team of OneStop for their much deserved shorty award!)