Disparate Beings

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Our exteriors present a line of similarities.
A million influences offer up different presentations.

Variety is the spice of life. Or so they say.

Some are kind.
Or evil.
Or mean.
Or liars.

Some are immature.
Or honest.
Or hard-working.
Or decent.

Some talk openly.
Or hide.
Or cheat.
Or pretend.

Some are rude.
Or helpful.
Or giving.
Or caring.

Some are decent.
Or takers.
Or users.
Or slime.

More like butting heads with what we can’t align with.

Worth it? So many years are wasted trying.

Let’s teach our children to find the alikeness for connection, with some.

To choose the respite from the struggle of interdependence with the dissimilar.

Getting along without giving up anything that shaped us, with some.

Let’s help to create an environment of peace.

For with some, it happens.

Originally published on WP 1/28/18

Hot Again, Not Again

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love hot
then awry
smooth and gellin
then rage and yellin
deep expressions of amore
trampled hurt feelings are telling
of the up, down, left, right, inside and out
this relationship changes at a fever pitch from good to bad and back

let me get off this ride

 

 

Status Quo

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ALL the communities they stomp on have been pounded down long enough.
As the oppressed, we’ve seen and taken abuse in all forms.
Many have died.

We’ve watched and endured their childish ways.
And been on the receiving end of their vile behavior for way too long.
Suffered too much.

The oppressors – all shapes, colors, and forms – have ignored decency for an eternity.
The torture, the depravity, the madness of their control must end.
It is ENOUGH!

Things must change for the better.
We’re done with going two steps forward and six back.
There is no place for them at the table of civility.

ALL who they deem disposable will have their revolution.
They’ve pushed them too far.
There is a storm coming.

It’s time to clear out the rot.
Return the evil to the rocks from under which they crawled out.
May we learn to never repeat the sins of our past.

And may the nefarious never return…

In Recovery

Forever Alone

It took my last bit of strength to pick up
every last bit of shredded me off the floor.

Left with bloody fragments of a torn heart,
a distorted mind and a shaken psyche.

My existence, Picasso’s The Weeping Woman feel to it.

Feeling awkwardly out of place and lost in my space.

I had to recalibrate; I needed to rebuild.

Now I’m new and different, possibly improved.

A little wiser for the wear; a lot harder around the edges.

More protective of me, not so naive anymore.

Self-preservation took me to new heights.

I’m back and ready.

Don’t ever hurt me again.

Disparate Beings

Untitled

Our exteriors present a line of similarities.
A million influences offer up different presentations.

Variety is the spice of life. Or so they say.

Some are kind.
Or evil.
Or mean.
Or liars.

Some are immature.
Or honest.
Or hard-working.
Or decent.

Some talk openly.
Or hide.
Or cheat.
Or pretend.

Some are rude.
Or helpful.
Or giving.
Or caring.

Some are decent.
Or takers.
Or users.
Or slime.

More like butting heads with what we can’t align with.

Worth it? So many years are wasted trying.

Let’s teach our children to find the alikeness for connection, with some.

To choose the respite from the struggle of interdependence with the dissimilar.

Getting along without giving up anything that shaped us, with some.

Let’s help to create an environment of peace.

For with some, it happens.

 

Cook, Meditate, F#@k

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Pausing my distressed state, I distracted myself diving deeply into gastronomy.  Immersed and focused on fusing the flavors of carefully selected ingredients, I relished the finished product. Ingesting my creation, finding enjoyment in it, allowing a small measure of an easement to occur in my current state of dysfunction.

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The problem at hand begged for inner reflection. Waking every morning was a ritual of opening the eyes and viewing out my bedroom window, just staring at the trees and listening to the sounds of nature. Sometimes for hours. Processing, mulling over and remembering every moment of pain. What felt like agony and torture initially gradually allowed a sense of understanding to move into the grey matter.

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A deep need to release anger and frustration created a passion for a familiar act. I required the physical focus, a hungry attack on the flesh. It was an attempt at duplicating intensity, replacing pain with pleasure. And it was had.

The process helped.

I got through my trauma.

Transformed

 
Connection wanted, needed even.

Fantasies fulfilled create a warm shield of protection.

But a damaging interlude pushes itself into and through our sanctuary.

Full-on, satisfying love speeding towards being barely loyal.

Distance is welcomed, disconnection required.

Wounds need healing.

The psyches teeter, the connection as well.

Alteration, on every level, begins to occur.