Devoid of dreams.
Not in the mood.
Too many people.
Sit in silence with me.
Just be here.
Let me bask in the
Truth of your living.
My father asked me once
If I was happy with my life.
I said –
“Maybe – a little bit.
I have my books to read and
My desire to write.”
I said –
“Sometimes I wish I was stronger
And that I had a little more ambition.”
Then I’d go into the world and conquer
And get paid to do what compels my mission –
In this Heart.
Words beat in this body of mine
I find myself discovered
In each and every line.
For all the things that fail to
Leave my lips
I find clarity
Speaking my soul with ink.
I won’t lie –
Sometimes I wonder
If I will live this life like this
I know it’s bound to get harder
But am I brave enough
To step out of the shelter
My comfort zone
The safety of my job?
Sickness never sleeps and
Therefore they’ll never let me go?
If I got that pink slip in the mail
Would I be broken or relieved
That I would be free now to live my dreams?
“Are you happy in this life?”
I said –
“There’s so much more that I want.
Things that are outside of me
Things that may very well have never
Been in God’s design
For me -”
Am I happy in this life?
A little bit.
It’s the end of the last 84.
And I’m going to let myself feel all the
Things that I wouldn’t allow myself before.
It wasn’t as bad as it seemed –
So what would the crying be for?
Of that homeless man on the street
That I am determined to ignore
When he has no food to eat
And I’m just mad coz I dropped my meal on my floor.
I’m in public and people will see
And they’ll ask all these questions
I should remain silent in my anguish
Until I cannot feel it anymore.
The world is going to shit
And I’m sad that he didn’t call me.
I’ve lived so long without these things
It’s all so unimportant in the grand scheme.
Kids are out there with nobody to love them
And so, it seems inadequate to express my lonely.
I try so hard to get out
And when I do, everybody sees me.
I’m so quiet and uneventful
All I want is for somebody to notice the absence of me.
There are people out there going
Through some shit
And my drama doesn’t even seem so real –
I will sit in the presence of God and myself
And allow myself to feel
The apparently small things…
I’d finally gotten into the damn swing of the book I’d been reading for months – on page 164 of Vagabond.
And then, I discovered the Language of Eleven – when I finally got into Stranger Things.
And then – tonight of all nights – the very first page I wrote for a book I started nearly five years ago, finds itself in the second installment of what feels like a series – on page 343 of The Journals of He : Book 2.
Everything just seems to come together in the dead of night at odd hours when everybody else is asleep
But I am not… These are the times, aren’t they?
When conversations go from – “Do you like bread?”
“There was a time things got so dark, I actually wished myself dead…”
What is it about the late nights that make
The desires and vices and evils
I don’t know –
I almost don’t care!
But that is what I long for when I look at you.
When we talk while the sun shines
And everyone’s paying attention
And they’re all eyes –
I wish for 3am
And I wish that I could find you there –
I feel myself unmoved.
I see the stagnation in my truth.
Burns inside me like the glowing embers
Of a flame
That refuses to die
Again and again.
Can it be
That I have reached the end of my being?
That there is nothing left to do
But to live and to breathe?
All I will do is pass time and wait
For the cold blanket of death to settle
Feel myself saturated
By my own personality
No matter what befalls me
It all falls into the same category
There’s not a damn thing
That comes across as new to me.
These days, I find
There’s no motivation in me
To change my Life.
I have no cause to be driven.
I exist on autopilot.
I sit still and there’s nothing for it –
It all dawns the same
Each day anew.
I can’t wait for the moment
That something in me sparks –
For that moment where
I can’t resist the pull.
I can’t wait for
The day I rise
Knowing that for once
There’s more to my Life . . .
Steady out here showing me flames.
Doesn’t give a damn if I’m falling to pieces.
Doesn’t wonder what I feel.
Doesn’t warn me that I’m gearing up to fail.
Staring me dead in the face.
Throwing situation after situation at me.
Like – it’s trying to distract me from all that’s happening.
And then, by the time I’m alone in my own presence
Alone enough to think about the absolute mockery
That Life is creating of my resilience
I find my tears standing still in my eyes.
The melancholy within me dies.
And I hear the sound of my own voice.
I am confronted by the consequences of my own choices.
And I find myself –
Not cowering on the ground like I want to.
But laughing hysterically
While Life laughs at me too…
Who wrote the memo
On this ‘Adulting’ gig?
Where was I?
Why didn’t they consult us?
The actual adults?
I hate this feeling.
I hate these days.
I have no reason to feel the way I do, but I do.
I can be good for a long list of days but then this day comes – days like these appear – and then I’m here feeling like I felt that day.
Hopeless and miserable and sad.
And wondering when the clock will stop ticking.
On the days when I’m away from that World, I legitimately feel like I’m never coming back.
An then I’m full of joy.
I feel like I’m making that fantastic walk with light all around me and there’s hope everywhere and I’m going to wake up and execute some perfect plan that makes everything fall right into place.
But none of that happens and I’m in my room, annoyed by people, unable to read and too frozen to write and waiting around the clock for someone to say that I am good and kind and valued and important and all those fabulous affirmations of life.
For someone to say that the words are being used right and that it is indeed a Gift and not a hobby.
And then I realize that it almost doesn’t matter whether this is all relevant.
I have felt like shit many times before and every single time, I have survived those days at work.
But my system never learns and every single time that I’m due to return, I feel like shit.
It’s clear, right?
I’m no longer happy there, am I?
Just how long will it take before I don’t recover from my – misery at the prospect of entering that place?
What will happen then?
What if I lay me down to sleep and then on the morning that I have to get into superhero mode, I just don’t?
I felt my voice rising
But it stalled in my throat
Being crushed by the weight
Of my Emotions before
They surface broke
When I realized where I was
And heard the Words before I spoke
And gathered myself
Before the Beast was
That creature that lives inside
My very Soul
Staining it a dark color
That glitters like onyx and coal
With the consistency of black tar
On this darkened road
That seems to swallow the beam of light
That I try to cast on this creature
As it tries to unfold –
I cannot scream
But I want to
I try to Dream
But I fail to
I push forward with Hope
But that dies too
And the long night stretches on
And unmoved . . .
I am a Nurse
Mama was a Nurse before me
Maybe she had a different time of it
But for me it has never been easy
I was told
That I should never speak against one
Of my own
That I shouldn’t stir the pot
Or voice what’s in my head
And when they shit the bed
I should swallow my pride and clean
The mess they made
And use my strengths in the places
Where they failed –
That I should turn the other cheek
Seventy times and seventy again –
That I should lead by example and
That I was once a student
And that I should be gentle
With the recipients
Of whatever knowledge that I’m wishing
And that I should
That I’m onto the next book
And they are only in Chapter One
Of the first Part –
What happens when they don’t
Carry their weight?
And they slack off
Over and over again?
And they refuse to grow despite
Being given the chance
And when the true test comes
They simply drag you down with them
When they fail?
Am I supposed to do
Knowing that this is the team
I was given?
Stand there watching as I lose
My best guys
Just because of one single element?
How do I put my foot down
Knowing that I will rock the foundation
Of someone’s world –
Knowing that once she falls from the weight
Shall she be risen?
Mama said –
She said that I should stand with my kind
That I should pull them back
When they step out of line –
And no Mama
This one – she is NOT my kind
And I won’t do what is easy
In place of what is right –