Write when you don’t want to

Sometimes you have to write when you don’t want to,

Make a movie you think is going to fall apart,

Sing a song no one will ever hear,

Keep going until one day someone hears you,

The movie keeps going until it’s shown;

And suddenly you want to write something 


Watching from the outsideĀ 

The doors are closing in front of me

Things I’m doing are just a symptom of the winds that swirl outside.

I can still see into the building

Demons crashing and screaming against each other

A sign up that all those outside are going to hell.

Is that how it works?

The Bible says Those whose sins you shall forgive I will forgive.

So maybe I’m fucked. 

A Book

People talk about how reading a book is like going on a journey.
In some ways, that’s just a thing they say.
But when you read something that really speaks,
And especially if it is really about a journey,
That thing they say holds something more.

It is a reality that springs up in front of you and admits itself,
Reveals itself as truer than truth,
Blossoms like a flower of some cheesy cliche,
And presents as a known fact for a science book.

At least that is what I saw when I finished journeying with Cheryl Strayed.
Following her as I had begun to stray,
I managed to find some kind of grounding in her-
Grieving my daughter as she grieved her mother,
She hiking as I read, until we met in conversational intercourse.

Ice ash

She spoke one word and the blood in my veins turned to ice hot ash.

I stopped breathing and everything that I’ve ever done twirled through my brain.

Is she mad about my every secret?

She has no right to judge me!

How could she do this to me?

Why is she such a bitch?

Hours later undercover of night I finally hear a voice 

Telling me I’m not accountable to her anymore.

Do people get angry at themselves if Hitler says they are evil?

My own personal Hitler is cruel to so many 

Why would I want to be her brand of virtuous? 

Something Original

I close my eyes because today something black is inside but not outside.

I’ve been too busy for it to come out and play.

I hush breath to see if it can hear me or I it.

And we can, but only a little.

Where did we go yesterday? 

If I let it, it will swallow me whole until a sea of tar buries me alive.

But if I don’t breathe it can’t see, so hold your breath.

I like being busy without being miserable. No more tears for silence or death.

Come to Me

The darkness was supposed to have lifted.
And maybe it did.
But I could not see it because I was still screaming.
In the fetal position on the floor with my hands covering my eyes and my ears.
Screaming like no one has ever heard someone scream before.
Feeling every tendril of despair wrapping around me.
Bits of my heart being sucked through my skin to fly off into the outside.
It was like a tornado inside out screaming red blood into space without stars.
Screaming until air ran out.
Then and only then I was shaking,
Shaking like leaves in the rain or a body seizing with a brain bleed.
Hairs up on end.
Terrified for me.
Fight or flight after we already fought and flew.
“Please God make it stop, Help me survive!”
But He already did.

Then someone touches my shoulder tenderly.
I ignore it at first but it stays.
“Oh God, am I alive?”
My lungs tear out to meet the stranger,
Erotically I wrap myself around it, or him.
Come inside me, give me every inch of you.
What is this monstrous lust(?) inside me?
Come to me!

Burdened suddenly by desire my breath ceases.
Enter me.
The darkness seeps between my lips
Yanking my head back and sending my arms back in acceptance,
Surrender to my hearts last beat.
I breathe tar into me,
Pulling at it with something from deep inside me.
Eating it without chewing for a moment.
Consuming it until it is all in me,
Choking me, taking me, killing me, eating me.
Being me inside out.