Inhaling Me

 

~ a going away present

 

safe travels ~

 

 

 

the unknown lies ahead

in steps that have yet to be taken.

knees tremble slightly

so I sit for a moment to pause.

on the edge, at the precipice

it will all change from here.

the waiting and wondering put to the test

be careful what you wish for.

dreams dreamt in the safety and comfort

of that cavern in my mind.

where I store away fears and weave

my ever intricate tales.

spinner of yarns, crafter of webs

they are collected within my hand.

placed where I want them lying safe

under my watchful eye.

my dreams, my words, secret things

are packed intimately into these bags.

they are all that I care to take on this journey

the only truth in me.

this is faith, this is leaping

knees shaking, no matter, it’s time.

the ticking hands on the clock that won’t pause

are forcing me to play my hand.

with every belief and dream that I hold

I inhale them deep into my chest.

the infusion of them into my heart

the armor that I will need.

I look at myself in the mirror

for the last time in this place.

the next time I see myself

everything will have changed.

memorizing the shape of me

the lines that define who I am.

so that if they shift in transit

I will know where they have to return.

the mask I wear to keep me safe

is one I made by hand.

it is fragile and can be turned

easily into something else.

 so one last time and one last glance

there will be no looking back.

there is no looking over my shoulder

eyes straight ahead.

 

~ ~ ~

 

never forget who you are...

 

 

Lurking

there is something quietly crawling

its way up the back of my neck.

something clawing and scratching at me

something I cannot see.

it’s back there, though I can feel it

some demon~like shadowed thing.

I’m not sure if I am afraid of it yet

it’s not clear enough to name.

it quietly walks around

tapping on parts of my soul.

trying to find a way in

an opening somewhere in me.

there aren’t many places left in me

where anyone can get in.

especially not some entity

who does not have a name.

there was a time not long ago

where I left the doors open wide.

any and all were welcome

to come and stay any length of time.

the day I came home to an empty house

the walls and cupboards stripped bare.

was the day the door closed tightly

and the locks and chains put in place.

so now there is something following me

sitting in corners in wait.

some thing, some feeling I cannot describe

anticipating what?

those doors are not flying open again

the shutters have locks on them too.

there are keys but they are hard to find

and that search will take a long time.

I know where they are but I’ll never tell

those questions are all up to you.

that being that sits on my shoulder

has never said a word.

 

 

The Art of Dying

I believe I’ve mastered the art of dying

slowly chipping away pieces.

the jagged parts disconnected

the lines no longer touch,

I’ve believe that I have conquered sadness

I’ve got this one mastered too.

dwelling in darkened places

speaking words of pain.

I know I’ve become despair

on every level of who I am.

at one time or another

it has even been my name.

I’ve learned to cry myself to sleep

in the absence of any sound.

at times it’s been the only voice

that I have been able to find.

I’ve taken to singing in a mournful wail

when my heart just can’t form a smile.

again, at least the sounds come out

they are the only ones I have.

I know what it means to grieve

endlessly day after day.

to be wrapped so tightly in desolation

you flinch at another’s touch.

I know what it is when that touch never comes

and the ache that emanates from my skin.

I wear it like a garment

until it becomes who I am.

I’ve become an expert at all of these things

I’d like to learn something new.

I’d like to learn to smile

from somewhere deep inside.

I’d love to be able to laugh

without any other feeling attached.

not ‘until’ or ‘because’

but to simply feel joy.

I yearn to fall in love

with someone who truly sees me.

someone who actually hears what I say

not just who they need me to be.

I want to give my heart

openly without fear or regret.

I want to trust again

it just seems an impossible task.

I’m tired of being broken

tired of being torn.

of constantly trying to hold together

something that may never be whole.

A Ghost In The Dark

the walls are feeling closer

pressing on me again.

the light outside the window

is causing my skin to burn.

I’m liking the dark much more these days

not hiding, just refuge found.

falling into restless sleep

and dreaming away my time.

I wake up on the couch now

day after day after day.

can’t take myself down that lonesome hall

I miss the comfort of my bed.

nothing is right, unsettled at best

the one true signal for change.

I’ve said it before and feel it again

I am sick and tired of this.

I want something static even just for awhile

long enough for me to catch my breath.

it seems I’ve been running endlessly now

I can’t seem to make any of it fit.

the pieces are jagged, sharp at the edge

I keep cutting my hands on them.

trying to put myself back together

I truly don’t know where to begin.

on a recent trip back in time

to the place I once called home.

I slept the sleep of an innocent child

for six nights in a row.

this hasn’t happened in years for me

I’m a ghost haunting my own nights.

holding candlelit vigils

waiting for some dreamt of return.

I don’t even know what I’ve lost now

I’ve felt undone for so long.

unhinged, unbalanced, swinging wildly

like a broken door in the wind.

Excerpts 6

The Excerpts series are poems that I write directly from dreams. I feel that if I can remember them and the dialogue within them, there is a reason for that and so I write them here.

This story , subtitled 'Listen To A Poet's Voice' is about meeting one of my very favorite poets, Natasha Head. She has a unique and powerful voice that I find extremely inspiring. Check her out at http://www.tashtoo.com/ or on Twitter @tashtoo

she sat in an overstuffed velvet chair

with notebooks spread across her lap.

pens and pencils, artist’s tools

were strewn all over the floor.

I walked into the room and sat down

on the floor in front of her.

she said, “which one is your favorite?”

I answered and she began to read.

I closed my eyes at the sound of her voice

the way it wrapped around the words.

she has lived these words and can speak them

as if they come to life with her breath.

telling tales of lives that are lived out loud

even when only whispers are heard.

she turned the pages with the sound

of a flutter of butterfly wings.

graceful and soft almost a hush

mesmerizing delicacy.

she treated the words like treasures

and held them close to heart.

pacing herself only by

the way I reacted to them.

with a hunger I listened and hung on the words

as she let them fall from her lips.

she said, “I don’t do this for everyone…

only those who can hear what I say.”

hours passed, perhaps even days

I was lost in the stories she told.

reading from the depth of her very soul

the magic just drew me in.

the time came to read the final page

in earnest she searched for the one.

the perfect ending to this moment

the words that would complete the tale.

at the turn of the page there were colors

brighter than any I’d seen.

hues that resembled a rainbow

jumping off of the page.

hit my eyes with almost a sting

and she looked at me with a wink.

we both laughed out loud for a moment

as she tore that page in two.

handed one half to me and kept one for herself

“into your pocket it goes…”

“those aren’t the ones we read out loud,

we keep them close to our hearts”.

those were the words that followed her

as she rose and left the room.

distortion

does the frustration finally hit you

when you can’t see yourself in the glass?

when the mirror’s image does not reflect

the way you see yourself.

maybe that distortion is real

and not just the jagged shards.

of where you let your fist strike the mirror

that would not show your face.

bend and twist and turn yourself

as the reflection is so far skewed.

the fragments and shattered pieces

shining at every corner of the room.

and still you cannot see

anything that resembles yourself.

maybe it’s time to stop looking

and just accept what it is you see.

she’s selfish that one whose image

is shimmering back at you.

and in that she’s lost all her shine

a dull image that stares you in the face.

she’s bitter as well and that taste is evident

in that grimace where a smile once was.

grown hateful from the inside yet it’s coming out

she can’t hide it for very long.

angry too, she wears this feeling

like a cloak thrown over her back.

its weight is heavy and drags her down

but she carries it in spite of herself.

she judges, she stares, she covets

and she has lost all sight of herself.

raging and tearing herself apart

from the inside, she’s coming undone.

how did this happen, when did she fall

so utterly far away.

from the heart that once loved so openly

with a capacity she’d never seen.

when did she let herself die inside

to the point that she can’t hide.

the bitterness seeping out of her pores

and leaving visible stains.