being present
feeling connected
and neutral
enjoying life
filling it
with joy
but beware
the underbelly
unseen
evil lurking
waiting
to be seen
life
a constant battle
the good fight
strength gained
in victories
over the darkness
Tag: fighting
Disparate Beings
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.
Languishing Here
relationship blues
twenty years hemming, hawing
death would be kinder
Hot Again, Not Again
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
Trapped
we are entangled
a tedious commitment
rings of life showing
we’re rooted without water
hard to go, dug in deeply
Status Quo
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
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.
Clueless
Involved. There. With me.
Right.
So far removed from reality.
I know.
You don’t.
Still fighting the wrong things.
Proudly arrogant.
You go, boy.
You lose, boy.
Growing weary.
Moving on.
Disparate Beings
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
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.
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.
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.
