Why is it, in the darkest nights, we cannot sleep?
Do we require a hint of light in order to rest?
Maybe light prevents us from adapting too much to the dark.
Whereas the darkness tempts us, dares us, defies us to look deeper,
hoping for the way out.
m.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Testing my patience...
Goddammit.
I talk about your compassion, how you taught me so much.
How you taught me patience.
You haven't been gone a day and you are testing me.
FUCK!
Filling my day with people who can't be bothered.
Mightier than thou fuckers,
False martyrs, and selfish pricks.
Wanting just a day to focus on me. To gather my thoughts.
To sew the hole in my heart closed one stitch at a time.
And there you are. Reminding me it is not about me.
Testing my ability to be patient with others.
To see their flaws and find compassion.
And reminding me that love is the only way to fill the hole in my heart.
The above is dedicated to my friend who died yesterday. He was truly the most compassionate human being I've ever met.
Rest in Peace my friend
Kimball David Paul 3/10/1958 - 8/12/2014
m.
I talk about your compassion, how you taught me so much.
How you taught me patience.
You haven't been gone a day and you are testing me.
FUCK!
Filling my day with people who can't be bothered.
Mightier than thou fuckers,
False martyrs, and selfish pricks.
Wanting just a day to focus on me. To gather my thoughts.
To sew the hole in my heart closed one stitch at a time.
And there you are. Reminding me it is not about me.
Testing my ability to be patient with others.
To see their flaws and find compassion.
And reminding me that love is the only way to fill the hole in my heart.
The above is dedicated to my friend who died yesterday. He was truly the most compassionate human being I've ever met.
Rest in Peace my friend
Kimball David Paul 3/10/1958 - 8/12/2014
m.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
She watches how you die
She watches how you die
It's never the same twice
She sees the horror (as it is always horrible),
It's never the same twice
She sees the horror (as it is always horrible),
how she is notified (she is crushed),
and the funeral (everyone is there).
When she starts to picture her grief is when it stops.
No need to get emotional; you didn't die yet.
She is just being foolish and shouldn't have such distressing thoughts.
Until the next time. And you die all over again.
m.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Looking for a fight
Agitated
And looking for a fight.
Pacing and shaking, she's struggling
to hold it together.
Can't they see
They are challenging her, daring her
to break her calm.
She trying
to be patient.
But they keep coming.
Wordless pleas spilling from her eyes
Can't they see
They're too close, too loud
She's tensing; the world slowing around her
Daring her to be still; readying her to strike
She needs to flee.
Can't they see
The signs are there
if they just open their eyes.
They have to let her run.
Or they will need to brace for the fight.
m.
And looking for a fight.
Pacing and shaking, she's struggling
to hold it together.
Can't they see
They are challenging her, daring her
to break her calm.
She trying
to be patient.
But they keep coming.
Wordless pleas spilling from her eyes
Can't they see
They're too close, too loud
She's tensing; the world slowing around her
Daring her to be still; readying her to strike
She needs to flee.
Can't they see
The signs are there
if they just open their eyes.
They have to let her run.
Or they will need to brace for the fight.
m.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Broken fucking ragdoll
Broken fucking ragdoll.
Sawdust for brains.
Loved and used until there is nothing left
then put on the shelf to rot.
7/1/2014
m.
m.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
New Armor
She needed new armor.
Hers was chipped and worn.
Had the repeated blows across her shell taken its toll?
Or were the battles not fierce enough to forge her armor's true strength?
Or was it because after each battle she cast it aside - neglecting to mend and polish?
Would the next direct hit break it and scar her deep?
Or would she discover that which raged beneath was more powerful and defiant than metal?
he picked up the jagged pieces.
they were so small and delicate compared to his.
he was amazed it could ever have protected her.even at it's strongest.
he fanned the fire,and started melding his onto hers.
he had some strong pieces.he could remember every blow to every centimeter .the pain,who brought it. how it was deflected.
he hammered until his hands were as raw as his soul.
she watched in amazement,as the two suits were mangled into submission.
covered in sweat and blood,he knelt before her,and offered it to her.
it fit perfectly,and for the first time,she knew this armor was just right. impenetrable.
but,now,he had none.
she dropped her cloak,her metal. she took his hand.
they conquered everything.
***After I wrote the top part about Her and Her armor, my dear friend Steve Silver wrote the below portion to finish it***
If you like Steve's writing (and you know you do), he's recently started a blog recounting bits and pieces of his incredible life. Please check it out. - http://www.thismighthurtabit.blogspot.com/
Originally written June 16, 2014
m.
Hers was chipped and worn.
Had the repeated blows across her shell taken its toll?
Or were the battles not fierce enough to forge her armor's true strength?
Or was it because after each battle she cast it aside - neglecting to mend and polish?
Would the next direct hit break it and scar her deep?
Or would she discover that which raged beneath was more powerful and defiant than metal?
he picked up the jagged pieces.
they were so small and delicate compared to his.
he was amazed it could ever have protected her.even at it's strongest.
he fanned the fire,and started melding his onto hers.
he had some strong pieces.he could remember every blow to every centimeter .the pain,who brought it. how it was deflected.
he hammered until his hands were as raw as his soul.
she watched in amazement,as the two suits were mangled into submission.
covered in sweat and blood,he knelt before her,and offered it to her.
it fit perfectly,and for the first time,she knew this armor was just right. impenetrable.
but,now,he had none.
she dropped her cloak,her metal. she took his hand.
they conquered everything.
***After I wrote the top part about Her and Her armor, my dear friend Steve Silver wrote the below portion to finish it***
If you like Steve's writing (and you know you do), he's recently started a blog recounting bits and pieces of his incredible life. Please check it out. - http://www.thismighthurtabit.blogspot.com/
Originally written June 16, 2014
m.
Waves
The rhythm of the waves used to calm her.
Their ebb and flow never fazing her.
Creating the gentle hum of life.
A white noise, if you will.
A wave crashed loudly on her shore.
Shaking her. Waking her.
Retreating only to crash harder.
Waters creeping up her sand.
The cadence of the waves had shifted.
Breaking at a new pace.
One that quickened her pulse,
Tensing her for the next wave.
It came. Roaring up the sand. It’s water covering her toes.
The next chased her up the shoreline.
Her knees.
Until she was out of sand
Her thighs.
She was scared.
Her hips.
Should she stand and wait for the waves to reach her tears?
Or drop herself into a bottle floating off to who knows where?
Or maybe pick up a pen and let the words
spill
out.
Originally written June 3, 2014
m.
Their ebb and flow never fazing her.
Creating the gentle hum of life.
A white noise, if you will.
A wave crashed loudly on her shore.
Shaking her. Waking her.
Retreating only to crash harder.
Waters creeping up her sand.
The cadence of the waves had shifted.
Breaking at a new pace.
One that quickened her pulse,
Tensing her for the next wave.
It came. Roaring up the sand. It’s water covering her toes.
The next chased her up the shoreline.
Her knees.
Until she was out of sand
Her thighs.
She was scared.
Her hips.
Should she stand and wait for the waves to reach her tears?
Or drop herself into a bottle floating off to who knows where?
Or maybe pick up a pen and let the words
spill
out.
Originally written June 3, 2014
m.
Rage
Her insides coil
With familiar rage
Bending her senses
Twisting her brain.
Tighter it knots
Deep within
Like an animal crouched
Waiting to spring
Her soul screams
The storm surges
Boiling her blood
Her pulse feeling urgent
Stillness settles in
Muting all sound
Scary and looming
Her fury bearing down
Others walking about
Completely unaware
Of the wrath that is raging
Inside her gentle frame.
Originally written May 15, 2014
m.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
"What do you want to be when you grow up?
That question always tortured her.
That question opened every vein of curiosity in her body.
Possibilities bleeding out in every direction.
Every drop chasing a different life.
'What wouldn't I want to be?' she wanted to scream at them.
They couldn't understand.
Their paths were so clear. So definitive.
They saw one path; she saw every path.
They couldn't understand her ceaseless wonder of the paths not explored.
How every fork in the road made her want to split in two.
How the choice paralyzed her soul.
How ever decision felt flawed.
She tried to make wise choices (some would call them safe)
And got lost.
Originally written May 6, 2014
m.
That question always tortured her.
That question opened every vein of curiosity in her body.
Possibilities bleeding out in every direction.
Every drop chasing a different life.
'What wouldn't I want to be?' she wanted to scream at them.
They couldn't understand.
Their paths were so clear. So definitive.
They saw one path; she saw every path.
They couldn't understand her ceaseless wonder of the paths not explored.
How every fork in the road made her want to split in two.
How the choice paralyzed her soul.
How ever decision felt flawed.
She tried to make wise choices (some would call them safe)
And got lost.
Originally written May 6, 2014
m.
She
She made people uncomfortable.
Not by how she dressed (well, maybe sometimes)
Not the way she wore her hair (well, maybe other times)
There was just *something* about her.
No one put their finger on the same point:
'It's the way she looks at you.'
'It's the way she speaks.'
'It's the way she sits. Well...not how she sits, but the way she is...just...THERE.'
Yes -- they all agreed on that. It was that she WAS.
The real problem is she saw through them.
Their inadequacies were reflected by her eyes.
Their facades cut by her words.
Their insecurities beat with her heart.
They decided it best to ignore her. And while they did, their efforts were palpable.
As if she was their tell-tale heart,
Driving them all to madness by their shortcomings and doubts.
Originally written April 9, 2014
m.
Not by how she dressed (well, maybe sometimes)
Not the way she wore her hair (well, maybe other times)
There was just *something* about her.
No one put their finger on the same point:
'It's the way she looks at you.'
'It's the way she speaks.'
'It's the way she sits. Well...not how she sits, but the way she is...just...THERE.'
Yes -- they all agreed on that. It was that she WAS.
The real problem is she saw through them.
Their inadequacies were reflected by her eyes.
Their facades cut by her words.
Their insecurities beat with her heart.
They decided it best to ignore her. And while they did, their efforts were palpable.
As if she was their tell-tale heart,
Driving them all to madness by their shortcomings and doubts.
Originally written April 9, 2014
m.
Translucence
Translucent with just an outline.
No one even notices unless the light hits the corners just right.
Some instinctively walk around, but not sure why.
Others try to pass through you and are shocked something is there.
Originally written 1/12/13 -- I just didn't want these words to get lost. Written after a strange evening.
m.
No one even notices unless the light hits the corners just right.
Some instinctively walk around, but not sure why.
Others try to pass through you and are shocked something is there.
Originally written 1/12/13 -- I just didn't want these words to get lost. Written after a strange evening.
m.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
And so it begins...
I've never been much of a writer. I mean, I've always appreciated having written, but I never enjoyed the process. I used to feel that if it didn't flow perfectly from within, then you didn't have "the gift". Well... I've since grown up and while I still don't think I have "the gift", I suddenly have a lot of words that need to come out.
This is my attempt.
m.
oh - and everything here is my own words, unless stated otherwise (and I will ALWAYS state otherwise). If you should quote anything, please give credit.
This is my attempt.
m.
oh - and everything here is my own words, unless stated otherwise (and I will ALWAYS state otherwise). If you should quote anything, please give credit.