Conflict

What I know about my internal dialogue.

I wanted to die. Not feel the pain and isolation anymore — knowing that my absence would be of no real consequence to anyone. One thing that made that moment worse was knowing that if I did jump, everyone would likely say, “It’s her own fault anyway.” Even in that instance I’d still be blamed.

Now that I think about it, if someone killed themself, my initial reaction would be, “What would drive that person to do that? What kind of torture was that person going through, that ending their life would be the only way to end the torture?” But it was never like that for me. No one would ever think to investigate why I killed myself (if i had).

Three things would happen in succession right after. (1) I get blamed for being stupid, and causing so much inconvenience for others. (2) Someone would be happy I’m out of the picture, after getting over being inconvenienced. (3) Life would go on instantly. Or maybe right after some damage control. My room would likely be converted into something more useful than anything connected with me.

STUPID GIRL! That would have been the end of it. My non- existence looked very similar to my existence.

Maybe it was one of two things that held me back.

I imagined myself falling, then “Splat!” On the ground. Would i feel pain? Would I feel freedom or fear on the way down? I was fairly certain I’d be instantly dead. Five glorious stories down into dirt and gravel. I imagined how our neighbor would react to seeing me broken-bodied on the ground. I don’t remember if I ever wondered what would happen to my body after. Or who would come see me. I do remember thinking something about God and if life could be ended as simply as killing oneself.

Maybe it was because I thought about not wanting to give them the satisfaction of getting rid of me that easily. Maybe it was because I was afraid of what would happen to me afterwards.

As i closed my eyes, thought about stepping off the ledge and lifted one foot up, some “thing” poked at my heart and made me step back instead.

Alice

Today, i flit through a world ; hungry for identity . A touch or a glance of familiarity , all is still for the moment . A moment lost , turbulence stream in . Maybe . 

A patch of dirt , tilled and unburdened ; hunting grounds and feeding grounds . All the same toil . 

Fearful . Lines drawn in sand , plundered by tides ; swept in time . It is I . Built and shorn .

——————–

I dont want to bother you. But i find myself thinking about a great many things. Maybe they are worth saying. But there are no words.

Poetry is an imagination. A projection of words. The stillshots i have, they are of no consequence. 

I saw this movie, about racing in the rain. Always the present, never the past, never the future. How much of what i feel colors it all. 

What i want– the way i want– is never the right way. I was always the hard way. 

If i talk to you like i talk to –, this would be the end of it. But it’s not, is it? There’s always a reaction, a counterbalance from the universe and its laws and bylaws. 

Writing this would have very little effect on me. But what of the energy it has unleashed? No words of man can ever be measured, save by its intent.

I do not come from a place of love. 

There, i said it. I believe it. I know it.

These thoughts are smoke and mirrors. Pretenders.

My process of being

Ballpoint ink on paper

Learning self love through discovery of the self.

Unknown

What no ears have heard nor eyes have seen

Peppermills and pancakes

Love

like no other poetry

to perceive

the beauty

in life

in pain

in darkness

in sin

What no mind can see nor hearts can hear

The secret 

byways and highways 

Untold

Unkept

In allways 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I’ve not met you

I’ve not known

Yet,

in noways and nothing is everything in you.

Weak

Flutter of an evening chill
the black rain, bores into me

Another diamond
engulfs me

Opaque
Tarnished
Branded

Announces
a failing
flickering candle
then smoke

The lower breeds
Lust
Consumes

Mantra

The ebbs and flows
of withered grass and moss green skies

Alone
I still hold your hand
watch seabirds fly
The pond searching between my toes

and i fly with them
Still holding your hand

harmony

there are things worse than death. death is a release. A culmination
of things, of who you were. i come here to think
of all the things i can be thankful for.

the low lights are drowning the stars tonight.
they push them deeper into the heavens
like a fetus refused its way out.

a plane flies by where birds used to flock.
the sound of sirens and construction
pounding and clicking is acceptable tonight. i can talk to you

and not feel awkward. the crane rotates next to me.
i’ve never seen one of those when i was young.
workers carry on, laboring for minimum.

the gusts of wind blankets me with a chill. i embrace it.
the freedom of the wind. not knowing where it comes from or where it goes.
it could be you.

This will not make sense

En Soul-ment and tone
Will never fade away
The undulating skies and fervent seas
The bowels of grass and scum
The mighty winds
Careless tangles of swarms and open bridges and catfish and crayfish and
The reverberations of sounds and laughter
Sonorous and somnolent and alabaster
Mounds its way through the desert storms and wingless chills
Panafery conglomerates itself
Call me
It calls me
And extolls itself
Exaults itself
Highly highly praise and praises be

Revenant

Revenant

You say and i heard –
the ease of this pain,
the taming of the winds.

Howling the unspoken,
never knowing the light of things

is easily dismissed.
An imagined feeling,
a dreamful wish and such fancies.

How many times have you visited
and left messages and crumbs?

Seeing the entirity
before it ended,
and your footprints lifting me
until i flew across the sky
this dead night in the daylight.

Every snake and folly trampled on
and the dirt roads travelled us far from each place,
led me back without you.

So i listen now,
the silent vows fulfill themselves

in time.

and so, it goes…

I want to hold you until a certain time
of day when the sun lays his head
on the winter grass, gazing steadily unto you.

We turn our eyes and avert meager glares and
hoisted brows
Alas!

What makes this day unlike any other?
The telltale signs of freedom and solitude
whispers
among the dreams and fairytaled wonders we
foresaw.

I want to hold you one last time.

—-•○●*●○•—-

Look ahead
Buried deep in the ocean’s array of waves
Evening passes
The screaming nights

The deep silence 
And the stillness of
This moment
This eternity