I dreamed my way here
I’ve had my cringe moments
I feel pressure, I lose perspective
I’ve wholeheartedly failed
I misspeak, underthink, overreact
I try to do the right thing
the right thing isn’t always clear
I’ve tried to hold on
I’ve let go with grace
I’ve charged ahead
I’ve stepped aside
I self-sabotage, then try to do better
I’ve self-consciously retreated
I’ve stood up for others
I’ve backed down and apologized
I’ve rinsed and repeated
I’m a chameleon, but I’ve never been perfect
I’ve under-reacted to challenges
I’ve overreacted to the ordinary
I devalue likeability
I indulge the language of play
I share my human experience
I don’t know what else to say.
To my readers,
Never think highly of me.
Do not think me strong or gentle,
For I speak praise of gentleness or humility all the time.
Do not think me being kind.
Day light has been toils,
This scorching sun has erased my memory of time.
The cold fights at night with my damning thoughts,
My bed, a spread sheet of dead roses and thorns.
Some mornings, covered in mundane of sadness.
Don't think me kind,
Overreacted to pressure and disappointments,
Been silent when they needed me to talk.
Distanced myself when they needed my help,
Said harsh things to those I love.
Embraced compromise and ignored faithfulness.
Been in the sea, battling with monsters.
Don't think me strong,
Under this flesh, is a grisly heart,
flows with fountain of lies sometimes,
My legs are fast than the sight of my eyes.
Thinks highly of myself sometimes,
Independent, able, clever than them.
Prone to wonder from an obvious path,
Crooked I am.
To my readers,
Never think highly of me.
Do not think me strong or gentle,
For I speak praise of gentleness or humility all the time,
Do not think me being kind.
She was a slow spoon type of woman who did not rush
Unhurried even if her kitchen curtains were in flamed
We tried to get a rise out of her, but she never overreacted
Amazing those of us who were experts at it.
She was a quiet soul, a gentlewoman who understood things
She spoke with the trees, the wind, the woodland creatures
They enjoyed her enthusiastic meditative ways
Her strength was apparent to them, and they flocked.
She dressed simply, keeping her funds to herself
We never knew how much she was worth in coinage
But in the ways of the wise, she was priceless.
Unhurried, yet commandingly confident and strong.
He was the kind of guy who overreacted
Frenzied over nothing, played devil’s advocate
And revved up every meeting by poking the bear.
Other employees either loved or hated him.
There were almost no gray feelings about Sam.
He was a hero to those who loved drama.
The workers who felt uncomfortable with heated exchanges,
Tried their best to bow out of meetings if he was attending.
He was the boss’s son, however, and showed up at most of them.
One day social media posted a video of a bear shaking a man
It was funny to people who did not know Sam,
But hysterical to those who do.
Because they would have expected Sam to yell and scream
Run away, and lead the bear on a happy merry chase.
Instead, Sam kept calm. Something he never did in meetings.
This was the turning point for Sam.
He became a hero, and much more quiet at work.
Many said it was his realization that life can be short.
Thus, he decided to not waste another minute poking the bear.
Today the boy who sexually abused me got married.
I.
I got to spend the day feeling like the contents of my overfilled stomach were going to cascade out of me.
I got to spend the day glued to my screen, pretending I wasn’t feeling guilty, disgusting and a failure.
I got to spend the day hoping to catch even a glimpse that his bride left him. To hope she saw the light.
I spent the day feeling physically and mentally nauseous at my inability to speak about it.
I spent the day convincing myself that it really wasn’t that bad, perhaps I overreacted. She would be fine.
Whilst he married the ‘love of his life’, I convinced myself that one day I too would be loved enough.
The broken carcass of my soul would be good enough for somebody.
Today.
My sexual abuser got married.
U n c o n s c i o u s while the entire universe
fights against her reality,
she seems to have been MISTAKEN…
She makes all things decent worse,
holding an insensitive mentality,
while all her inhibitions have been TAKEN-
She carries on without contemplation,
forcing her into an oblivious revelation.
C o n t i n g e n t upon her choice to let go,
she reveals the reasons she was rejected-
Stoic and heedless, she craves CONCERN…
Preoccupied with loss she sinks below,
never feeling appreciated or connected.
For absorption of memories she does YEARN.
She craves the desire of a burning sensation,
Forcing her into an oblivious agitation.
N e g l i g e n t to life, she’s always distracted,
feeding off intellect while absent-minded-
Uncurious as to why she’s never felt LOVE…
She once found hope but she overreacted,
and always had to be kindly reminded,
that sometimes awareness comes from ABOVE.
She feels a rush of an inadvertent obliteration,
forcing her into an oblivious orientation.
Form O-Only One
Sponsor, Broken Wings
May 8, 2017
Overreacted to what
Was placed within the
Current path
Went emotional overboard
With reactions as of late
Emotions took brief control
Over the heart of the matter
Then crazy fogs has passed
Leaving claim in its Wake
Thank god in heaven
Maybe you shouldn't send the letter
Argued counsel in my head
But the moral compass pointed
Toward transparency instead
I have always walked the straight path
From the time I was a boy
To the noble and the righteous
Revelation brings but joy
There's no gangster or homemaker
President or CEO
That is going to subvert justice
Not while I am on patrol
Now the careless and the reckless
Not necessarily a crime
To you I'll give a warning
Do not cross me one more time
Like apocryphal Washington
If it's a lie I cannot tell
Inclusive of the truth withholding
It is I who sounds the bell
There is too much information
Some is fresh and some is not
I'll call an investigation
And we'll find out what is what
Maybe I overreacted
Turns out there's nothing to see
Let us have it all redacted
This revolution's not on me
January 13, 2017