The multitudinous clenches of despair joust intermittently.
Make it hurt.
No witnesses. No empathy. Nor apathy. My stagnation.
The question of purposefulness has the inconsequential ringing of tinnitus banging in my noggin.
Who to bear witness?
Beyond “you,” I suppose...
Thou nameless, faceless, formless and ing omnipresent
God? Given my luck...
Crawling and flowing in my body - more so than my own blood - though never foreign. A homogenous mixture “we” are.
Invasive “you” are not.
Permeating and crushing my existence.
Not of me but never foreign, never.
“You” to bear witness.
My brain rackles with any and all manifestations of grief. How predictable.
Where are “you?”
Inside and outside and inside out and outside out - never foreign.
Take my life then.
Be not afraid. Take my life.
Make this invitation to a new aspiration of my decimation my proclamation.
The after-thought of symbolization, of matter, of merit-
Take my life
I am tired - tired - tired of this rigamaroo
Take my life. Take my breath.
“YOU!”
GIVE. IT. MEANING.
Even if invited, I wouldn’t have gone to a Charlie Kirk-hosted lecture dinner.
Like Jesus, I prefer to dine not with the righteous but with the sinner.
Besides, Charlie would not likely have invited me.
We're adherents to different sides of Christianity.
And only time will tell which one will be the winner.
You're Always Welcome
To Evacuate...
From:
The Doo-Doo-Drop Inn!
-Gray Squirrel
EVEN STILL (forgiveness contest)
The genuine is never earned,
Though the gift may be spurned--
Refused, discarded, perhaps burned.
Even still,
Forgiveness will,
Its sacred task
Seek to fulfill.
And mend what wrong has broken,
Heal the hurt of words misspoken--
So much more than a mere token.
Even now,
And evermore,
Forgiveness offers
So much more.
The weight it lifts from heavy heart--
Only beginning, just the start
Of new life that grace imparts.
Even when
The sting still burns,
And vengeance
Fiercely yearns,
Peace replaces heated pain
When grace becomes our refrain--
Given freely and never in vain.
Even though
A debt is unpaid,
It’s powerless
To keep us stayed.
When mercy is our coin of choice,
“I forgive you” takes sincere voice--
Our raptured soul shall rejoice.
The gift that frees the giver,
The gift that opens hearts,
The gift that mends fences,
The gift of new starts.
Neither despise any man
nor detest anything, even in the sand
For every man has his moment in the sun
everything a purpose in the long run …
Once I thought – but not a cockroach
execrable bug beyond reproach
Yet I've learned from neuroscience podcasters
You can Ai-wire ‘em to rescue victims of disasters
Even God suffers,
for it says in scripture,
that God repented of having made life on earth,
and that it grieved him in his heart.
Think about that!
my sister sews
Has a Cadillac of a sewing machine
it cost as much as her first house
it has gadgets, dials, electronic commands
intimidates me
She plunks me in front of a serger
I never even heard of a serger before now
I am going to have to look up how to spell it
On a regular sewing machine, you do not sew off the material
on a serger, you have to sew three or four inches of stitches off the material
It takes me a day to get used to this
fancy sister
fancy seamstress
fancy machines
i tried to end it all last night
i failed, obviously
it's so crazy to me how life goes on
when it almost didn't
i talked to my friends today
laughed with them
smiled as if everything was normal
but i doubt they could tell anything was off
i even hung out with a friend
and i love to hang out with her but
i spent most of our time
just wishing maybe she'd notice
see how lifeless my eyes are
see how yet another part of me is gone
just like the last time
and the time before that
but she didn't notice
nobody ever notices
but that's okay, i know they have their own struggles too
i try to always be there for them
even when i'm not there for myself
it's easier that way
to fix people's problems instead of my own
i'd rather sit back and let my life crash and burn
than confront them
but i'd be lying if i said i didn't want someone to see
i won't tell them on my own
i'll tell them if they ask
they don't ask, no matter how many times i ask them
so instead i'll suffer in silence
mostly silent, besides writing these
until someone finally notices
or i can finally succeed
…and even with a whisper,
revive my depths,
turn me like a veil,
face down
in the
grass
falling asleep,
with
the
feet in the sky to be born -- maybe,
maybe
something will stick to my soles,
growing arms from the rain,
flying among the clouds
but what are the depths?
other than the
unheard
pulse,
the
untouched
breath,
palms-braided-in-roots,
the flower withered
because of a kiss,
the
leaves
blown by the wind,
dew fallen on
crosses,
but what are the depths?
than frankincense, - the place where
rivers never dry,
the place where rivers run away from us towards
forghetfulness
of oblivion…
towards
forghetfulness
of oblivion…
stir up my depths,
…and even with a whisper,
stir up my depths,
turn my
face down to earth,
hopefully
i can lose my steps in the sky-- maybe,
maybe
something will stick to my soles,
in the sky maybe,
maybe
something will stick to my soles
I closed the door, but I didn’t lock it
I kept the key in a secret closet
My guitars are in their folders
And my spirit is undercover
Even on my worst days, I’ll still believe
Some temporary things are for eternity
For a homesick mind like this
New year, new songs, same storyline
People keep asking if I will survive
They don’t know all the assets in my hand
Because I’m addicted to beat the game of life
Even in my best days, I see perfectly
How you destroyed all my dignity
You came, you ruin me, then leave
The wedding flowers have already withered
and with them our last opportunities
All my strings are worn out
And my voice got tired of lies out loud
Even in my best days, I secretly
Kept asking if I enjoy all the time I bleed
My limits went down
My knees were begging down
Could someone hear me out? I scream out loud
don't touch the time
not even with a single feather,
your wings will fall like leaves
tattooed by the sky,
don't touch the time
not even with a single wound
when swords fly like stars, and
you fall to the ground
covering your head:
i never want you like the sun wants the moon,
i only love you like a samurai,
even if you are a bird, and you fly,
don't touch the time
not even with a single tear,
let it boil like a soft egg:
how sad that your time no longer loves my time,
see how the six billion will double in a hundred years,
and how Japanese stairs lead nowhere
OF WE AND THEY/EVEN US AND THEM! *
In the beginning
We were the architects
Of God’s designed world;
Then came them—
The devastating forces
Of its Garden Of Eden
Decline:-
We were the flowers
And fruits of the Garden;
Then they became
The slithering and coiling
Slime of disobedience
And disrespect:-
We were chosen
To teach cross bearing
With the Bearer thereof;
Then they—save Mark—
Tried to leave out
Our Simon Of Cyrene hue:-
As you read, my children,
Listen to these 83+ years
Old screaming words:
We must know that ourstory here,
Did not begin with their slavery!
They’re just lyingly implicated this,
In their fecal canvassing
Of their diuretic history:-
While we remain
The crucified oppressed,
And they, the crucifiers,
Realize our Ancestors
Ensured that we would be
Today’s resurrected ones;
Overcoming and ascending,
Memorial total liberation:-
Thus, it be between them
And us, in waning oppression
And waxing liberation;
We ascending the mountaintop,
Not as children of Sisyphus,
But, the ebony-hued of the Liberator:-
I have said so many prayers
that sometimes I feel they are no longer mine.
That I inherited them
like clothes too large.
I say them, but do not understand.
I utter them, but do not believe.
And yet, I cling to them
like the hand of a father who never held me.
Perhaps belief is not needed.
It is enough to keep hoping.
Even lost prayers
find their way to Heaven.
Even now,
with your hands still stained
from the thing you did not mean to do—
you are not beyond the river.
You are not lost.
Even now,
with the bridge burned,
with the silence ringing where love once stood,
there is a thread still holding you
to the center.
Even now,
when shame has folded you small,
and the mirror shows nothing but smoke—
there is a breath that still believes in you,
a name that has not forgotten.
And if you think it is too late—
if you think the damage is done,
that grace is for softer souls—
then hear this:
The stars are not angry.
The light does not close its door.
And the ground has already forgiven your footsteps.
Turn,
and you will find
the garden still open,
the gate still swinging,
the path lit by
every kindness you forgot you gave.
Even now,
you are not unworthy of redemption.
You are the reason it was written into the world.
We burned the map the moment we kissed,
turned our bodies into a hiding place
no architect could redraw.
No altar here, no prayer survives,
only the wet silence of mouths
that knew how to lie
better than speak forgiveness.
You—an algorithm made flesh.
Me—a heartbeat pretending to matter.
We walked into each other
like sinners into fire,
not hoping for salvation,
only heat.
I held your breath until it broke,
you traced my spine
like a roadmap to damnation.
We never asked to be saved,
only remembered.
If there's a heaven,
it was too slow.
If there's a god,
she's blind to the dark between us.
This isn’t exile.
This is the place before Eden.
So when they come to erase us,
let them.
They won’t find you.
Even God won’t find you here.
Only I know where you buried yourself—
in me.
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