muse

and my muse is in such chaos
so much that I can't connect with his energy

his piercing eyes that the world revolves around are grey and lifeless

his laughter so contagious is now contained deep in a dark grey lifeless place where no music can survive.

my muse knows he is the lost one,
the drifter,
the one carnation in a bouquet of roses.
the race horse trying to pull a plow

he is beautiful and strong in his own right

but like a locomotive with no tracks, he can go nowhere.

my muse and i have been linked for many lives
I was hoping this one would be the one where we could get it right.

But this life is far from over. There may still be some hope.

and things were going OK for a while
but then this or that disrupted the life line.
the tether that held us together
that breathing tube that connected to the space ship broke and life started to escape.

all we could do is try to cling to the outside of the  ship until one could save the other.

And I was almost too late and we both almost died,
but we are now so close to helping each other to breath we just need to hang on
hang on for re-entry
hang on for dear life
hang on to each other

the turbulence in will be rough, but we have been through worse

Individually and together
times hard
hard enough to cause the outsiders to say that neither would survive.

my muse we have so much more to go
and everyone in your life needs you
needs your piercing eyes
needs your contagious laughter
needs you to be the proud carnation amongst the common bouquet of roses.

One day in October

And they worked 8 hours in a day
and had families
and had friend
and went to parties on the weekend
and the single men courted the single women
and the parents protected their young
and the teenagers tried desperately hard not to get into trouble
and there were funerals with loss and sadness
and there were births with joy and pride.

But times were hard
and things expensive
and the economy no so strong

and business must seek to streamline
and business must be efficient and reduce waste
and create processes, easy to follow, easy to maintain.

And October 1941 a plan worked on for months was ready to be approved
The old methods were so labor intensive
old methods that create such waste
old methods that take so many just to complete one project

but the new plant soon to be approved would
reduce staff requirements by one third
efficiently re-use energy to reduce cost of buying external fuel
Cost savings by almost 40% could be achieved once full production was achieved
Centrally located on the major intersection of many rail lines to move goods in and out
without the need of the current multitude of truckers and workers.

But approval of the new plant was just the first step, and work still needs to be done.
so the old methods were used
and on October 29, 1941 the team assembled to take care of the project at hand.

and on this date, which is only 6 days after the blueprints for Auswitz was approved by Adolf Hitler

2007 Men
2920 Women
4273 Children
Were shot to death in Kavnas Lithuania.

one dollar an hour

The 10 year old boy smashes a TV as hard as he can.
Shattering plastic
Shattering glass
Shrapnel barely missing eyes
sometime cutting bare skin

Proud of the destruction
The TV's guts split wide open
He feels accomplished

I the onlooker thinks, such a waste,
he should be able to do something better with his time than risk losing his sight for a moment of pleasurable destruction.

He digs through the rubble of the split open TV and sees there is more work to do,
and he lifts his skateboard high over his head to smash some more..

His tool for the destruction was his skateboard?

His skateboard.?

the wood now crushed.
the wheels now bent and useless

useless wheels make the skateboard useless.

Except of course for smashing up TV's

TV's found just laying there, almost like they want to be destroyed.

If only he had a hammer, he would not have needed to use his skateboard.

but the 10 year old boy does not have a hammer

you see that  12 year old boy over there to your right,..

the one there smashing that computer monitor,..

notice he is using a hammer,

the 12 yr old stole the hammer from the 10 year old.

Its Okay by the 10 year old,
there isn't much he can do about it anyway
he is busy working on his own destruction

And truth be told

The 10 yr old boy stole the hammer from some random 8 year old boy.

This is just life,
It is a normal day in Africa or China or some other third world country

Where the civilized nations dump their trash

Where toxic waste shortens lives,
and cuts
and blinds
and destroys hope
and forbids childhood

Where kids need to work 10 hours a day

just to make less than
less than

one dollar an hour.

good people

The conversation was light and casual.

conversation of adult men who were strangers just 30 minutes ago,

topics include adventures of our past, politics, and of course women

then the conversation turned to cities we had visited and people we met there

and one man said "they treated me pretty good, those were good people"

as soon as he said the phrase "good people" the mood changed from light and casual to heavy and quiet.

we all knew what he meant.

those few words spoke volumes of frustration

frustration of being just a man.

a hard working man

a truck driver moving the nations goods

a man with a loving wife

a man that wants his kids to be happy and successful

a man who has close friends

a man that enjoys watching football


The words " those were good people",
screamed out how many bad people he had endured
people that wouldn't let him sit where he wanted to.
people that looked down on him
people that thought less of him

"those good people" were men that understood, he only wants what other men want

conversations with others

love of friends and family

courtesy and respect,
to be looked at in the eyes when you speak to him.

he is just a man.

he does not want to be spit on

he does not want to be paid less than

he does not want to be feared

and most of all he does not want to be called "nigger".

strokes of art

Art is many different things to many different people.

in art,

everyone sees something different
some see the colors
some see the splotches
some see the emotions
some see the lines
to me and my canvass
all i see are the strokes
the individual strokes and how best to fill the canvas with them.

Like with many artist,

what you see is only the surface,   there is a deeper meaning,

Let me share with you for a moment,...

you see this, this gentle stroke means love
the slight wave in this stroke here is fear
and these strokes, the ones that seem so to stand above the rest,

they mean loneliness

and the two long strokes
the same shape and
the same color with
the same depth on both left and right,

they mean that I have control.

There is a Chinese Hanzi, the concept means,.. kind of,  .. lost love, a deep love that hurts,

The canvas over here shows that character;
these two long lines here
these 5 medium lines and
the 3 short,
I hid them by spacing them out too far,
but, if you took all of them,
and centered them around this spot here, that looks like a cigarette burn you could see it.

as I said  what you see is only the surface, there is a deeper meaning.

Well that is enough sharing with you,
my canvas is calling to me,
there are still some blank spaces that must be filled with strokes and  I need to get the shame and guilt out.

you see my parents asked me
asked me not to cut.
not to cut my wrists
not to cut my legs
not to cut my feet

they only see the slice-that-deforms and the scarring and the blood,

but they don't understand,..

that to me my skin is not skin

it is my canvas that must be filled in.

Pepsi or Coke?

"Pepsi or Coke?" I say to the waitress, knowing the restaurant will have one or the other but not both.

she says, "Coke"
I say "fine".

I am a Pepsi drinker in a town full of Coke,
this adds a little more water to the levee that holds together my decrepit life.

The loneliness in my soul is a crushing weight,
the total lack of  human touch is inhumane
the friendly bumps
the manly pats
the best friend hugs
the lovers touch
now all a distant memory

I am the window that shows a sunshine filled day, but on the other side of the pane
is the bitter cold of the coldest day of the year.

I am the deceiver
deceiver of I'm OK
deceiver of happy life
deceiver of sunshine filled day,

then a chance encounter
handshake only
look into eyes, and talk
talk of safe things
talk of family
talk of comedy
no sadness
no tears
no sharing of real emotions

just talk to talk
talk to pass time
talk because
because we are human and need to talk.

but we are human and we need to share feelings too.

the loneliness so overwhelming there is
no end
no middle
no fresh start

there is just push on
another day
another empty night

no one to share secrets with
no one to share fears
no one to share lonely times

Loneliness so profound
It must be what the last dinosaur felt
last of his kind
no hope for the future
the end of an era.

waves of grief and pain mix with anxiety and push
push hard,
crushing my chest
crushing my will
crushing the sunshine filled day.

This beautiful sunshine filled day calls everyone to enjoy,
and I on the patio of this restaurant,

I sit alone
alone drinking Coke,

when all I really want to do
is to share
Share a  Pepsi.

some future

Imagine if you will a traveler in a car, he is headed for his next destination, his trunk is full of all the stuff in his life, all those thing you take with you from apartment to apartment, couch to couch, hoping at some point you can put the things you carry in your own place, a place known as home.

He is on a deserted road the land is flat, he can see for miles, and what he sees is nothing,, an abandoned shack here an unused telephone pole there, a road-sign full of bullet holes, no life, no people.

Then he gets a flat tire, and stops his car on the side of  the road.  Looking in all directions he can see where the earth curves down into nothingness. His cell phone has no signal, it is early evening, he does not know how to change the tire and there is no owners manual in the glove box.

He has seen the TV shows where they make getting a flat tire funny, and the shows where they make it horrific.  He knows the truth is somewhere in the middle, so he begins.  Not knowing exactly where to begin he starts by opening the trunk.

His trunk full of all that he keeps because it is important. He begins to empty out.
A small wooden shelf he made when he was 13 yrs old - he keeps because someday he can hang it on the wall for some future partner to dust.  
His "finger chopping" magic trick, he keeps so he can teach some future child how to do magic for their friends like he did for his friends.
A picture of him when was 10 with his first dog, he keeps for some future time when he can look back.
His teddy bear he had since he was 7, it has been with him through all the hard times, and is still hugged on now and then he keeps for when he needs some future hug and no one is there.
And of  course a few bags of necessities clothes, shoes, important papers, hats, belts and a couple of ties.

His trunk now empty he looks for the hidden compartments that hold the tire and the tools. Finding everything was not that hard, but how to use the jack and what do you do first takes some time to figure out.

After an hour or so he finally figures out how to do each step and in which order to do it.  It is now dusk, that dark of the day that pretends it is light.

He gets the old tire off and then sits on the ground legs straight out and begins to put the spare on, he did not notice the very slow movement of the car, the dark of day tricked him into thinking tire changing can be a comedy, when the car softly landed on the ground it trapped his leg crushing it into the sandy soil he realized tire changing can be horrific.

Trapped not able to move, on a deserted road, he can see everything he kept because it was important, but can't reach any of it, nor touch the tools to save his own life.

The initial pain subsided by the shock, it is the loneliness that hurts the most, no one to help and even his teddy bear can make him feel better now.

It will be days before he learns his fate, and maybe it is better that he dies alone,
because if he survives, the amputated leg will be a constant reminder of how alone,
utterly soul crushing alone
he really is

and with trauma like that how is he to have some future?

Four dollars

And the pants looked good enough clean enough when I left the second hand store and my peoples commented positively

One dude said "cool, great find"

Another offered be four dollars more than I  paid for them.

And one girl said they are pretty, we all laughed at that one. I said pretty is for girls, you can say good looking or handsome for guys.

She slightly embarrased, stuck her ground and for the rest of the night called my pants pretty. I'm sure years from now we will call these my pretty pants.

But now,

Now I am standing in line at the grocery store..

And i reach into my pocket for my cash to pay.

Within the last hour, I put my last four dollars I have to last me till my last paycheck arrives one week and one day away, lucky me, I was the last employee to be let go.

But within the last four when I left home I folded the last few bills  with creativity so when I pull them out they seem like alot more than they really are, like people on a diet use plate size to trick themselves, or women on welfare with a fake purse and glass diamond ring. 

 Hungry I am, in the store buying top ramen

Top  Ramen the filler of empty stomachs 

Top Ramen that foundation to a meatless meal 

Top Ramen with some frozen vegetables is somewhat nutritious and definitely filling. 

 So in line I am with my two dollars worth of ramen, reach into my new, permanently named pretty pantots  pull out the imitation wad of singles, I so creatively folded a few hours ago.

 And I dig deep feeling for the last bit of money that will last me until my last paycheck arrives, and alass I find nothing but the hair on my leg and the hem of my last clean pair of underwear. 

 A hole in my pocket of the presumably new pretty pants plunges me to a predicament having lost the ability to pay for one week and one days worth of ramen.

Feeling a failure and deeply embarrassed, somewhat confused  and dejected

I look around for a solution,  

a plausable excuse for not having even two dollars.

the sweat now pouring from my brow

I dont know what to do

Dont know where to turn

As the person behind me buying his filet mignon and wine exhales in what is probably only impatience on his part

But I

I feel his one exhale to be an 

Exhale of disgust

Exhale of intollerence 

Exhales in pity 

I wish I could exhale, breath again so I am not frozen helplessly embarrassed and afraid.

I am frozen in a moment of panic.

All over my loss of my lousy last four fucking dollars.

I walk out of the store with no food and no four dollars.

Man up

and the boy,
did not know what to do..
so he let his body shake
he let the tears and snot empty his mind and he lost control

lost control of his senses
lost control of his thoughts
lost control and let his emotions be free

he in absolute emotional crisis was a blank slate,
 ready to take any advice
ready to gain control but did not know how,

he did not know what to do

and his dog equally upset, tried to console, but only made things worse

his dad hearing the whaling from the boy and the barking from his dog

 comes into the room, and sees his son in such a chaotic state,
It takes him a few minutes to figure out what has happened,
the boys tears and snot muffled his words
the dogs continual barking and whining adds to the fear
adds to the confusion
adds to the powerlessness


the parent shoos the boys dog out of the room.
and then not knowing what to do, the dad, takes parenting advice from the media, gives the boy advice that will set the boy on a path of destruction.

the dad tells this little boy, with emotions run rampant
this sensitive, intuitive, boy bound for greatness

this boy in a vulnerable state
ready to gain control but not knowing how.


the dad tells this boy
"don't let them get to you,"
"push your emotions down"
and he says it,
without a hug,
without a consoling phrase
without a word of compassion

the message is delivered.both by words and example.." push your emotions down"

and the boy open,
vulnerable and desperately needing affection,
but with no one in the room to give it.

the boy inhales the words, deep into his core,

and  the little boy tired of feeling
feeling scared
feeling alone
and most of all..
feeling unloved
did push his emotions down.

a year later,
one afternoon,
the boy was told by his dad that the family was going out to dinner,
the boy asks " where is my dog?"
his dad said, "..as you know she was getting really sick, we had to put her to sleep today."  the dad continued
"we are leaving for the restaurant in 15 minutes."

this dog was the boys confidant,
pulled him on his skateboard

this dog was the boy's best friend
she consoled him when he couldn't push the emotions down
she loved him.
and he loved her,...

the boy went upstairs to get into different clothes, and with less than 15 minutes,
there was no time for grief
there was no time for sorrow
there was no time for emotions
the past year in training of pushing emotions down has now paid off,

the boy was ready in 15 minutes and no discussion of the dog was ever had.
no tears were shed
no sorrow expressed
no longing to pet her,....

she will never kiss his face, again ,....

and there was, not any talk of  emptiness felt with her gone.

with no emotions there is no reason to talk

With no emotions     There    is           just             silence

Lost Youth

And so many years of life have passed me by
kids
grandkids
our favorite house that we had to leave behind
the tattoo one for each child as they were born
the time we could not afford a new starter for that old bus
so I had to push start it for two weeks, till we could get it fixed.

The many family get togethers
the little ones stick-fighting with thier uncle.

and now our first born grandchild is ending high school

We have told him of many stories from his childhood, those memories must  be embedded  deep into his core.

and this christmas he is old enough to hear some of his aunt's and uncle's childhood stories, those things we laugh about only because they survived.

sneaking out of windows
taking cars without permission
caught out after curfew

and then he shares some of his tamer escapades,
knowing full well he is still young enough to get stern words from his parents.

and we laugh
and we gasp

and then he turns to me and says what did you do as a kid?

the question took me by surprise and I could not recall.
not recall a single thing from my childhood
.
It has been so many years ago
so many sleepless nights ago
so many stressfull times ago

so many memories have come and gone
raising the kids
struggles at work

I almost forgot
forgot that I even had a childhood.

and afterwards I thought
thought long and hard for any recall
any story.

I wondered if there was anything left of my youth
or had it all been wiped out like a sand castle at high tide.

and sadness hung over me
a sadness to think, that my foundation of life is lost

lost forever,
not to be shared
no one to pass the experience to.

those things of my youth will die with me,
causing no laughter, no gasps.

they die with me here and now.

a few days of depression went by and then my grandson said comeover over for dinner.

after dinner he pulled out the home-made DVD's.
and we watch
and we laugh
and I gave him the missing pieces, those things that the DVD can't explain.
like why he called airplanes "biggie"
and what did "pink" mean when he said it at the circus

and then he asks "do you have any DVD's from when you were a kid?"

And I say  "no.   We did not have DVD's when I was a kid"

and then he asked "well were there pictures when you were a kid or was a camera not yet invented?"

I laught to myself, and then say "I am not older than the invention of the camera"

and then it hit me, I said, "hey hop into the car I need your help at my house."

the 10 minute drive went by with him asking 100 times what was so important.

and I said, you'll see, when we got to the house,

and I told him there are five or six small boxes, you've got to find them for me,

Let me pull down this latter

My youth is spread across some pictures in the attic.

Please hurry climb up and find those boxes.

lots of "E"

expressing emotions telling the audience;

previous times where absolute exhilaration, existed

ever changing feelings,
emplore me
"write, write write"

examining death
desiring life

ending poems, in delight,

negatory,

reading personal poems  requires fearlessness
exploring
fear

exploring
fear
fearlessly

However excluding the letter "E"?


exceedingly, challenging


All the previous words all had at least one letter "E".

the next poem has none.

no "E"

"Look Grandpa you did it" my grandchild said.

and I said "It is you on his back,
you had control,
you and your old stallion did it, I was just standing as a position on a map"

On an animal just short of my six foot-four, my grandchild sits.

An old stallion,
an animal with many hardships during his long survival
with hurtful, barbarians,
also known as humans,

and now in scrub lands
his coat is so scraggly, .hard to touch
his hoof so frail,

Arizona sand, hot and brutal, has not hurt his will to stand up tall and carry a small child.

A kind animal, skillful at instructing a young girl,
how to work with,
how to control,
control an animal so tall and so strong.
his will is calm around a such a small girl

with only spring and fall to go,
this stallions vitality will cusp,

a young girl has his load, his trust, and his pain.
his spirit is high, with a young girl, known as Kay, on his back


his strong back, mood and humanity,..
joins with Kay,
in harmony.
in thought
in spirit
in trust


so stubborn an animal, who gladly, allows, a young girl, on his back

and a young girl who awards him with many hours of joy.



fall is now upon Kay and Stallion,
days short
his back is not so strong now
Parting is to soon.


a look from Stallion to Kay that says
"too much ,....   pain,...  now"

Kay starts sobbing.


bound by trust
both downcast
sick with sorrow
both know, but don't say, how this will finish.


Mom calls animal doctor
Stallions own doctor
doctor says,...
doctor says,..
doctor says,... no light,...
his condition is fatal
now only thing to do is lay him down.



sobbing by all
sobbing too much,
sobbing for loss,

sobbing for too long until grandma says,

call to mind,
this past spring and fall,


this past spring and fall
full of joy,
and instructions,
and trust

and most of all

this past spring and fall
so full of humanity


and Kay's first crush?
now and always
Is this old stallion

mantra

Mantra:

hummmm
Be averaeeeeeeeege (average)
don't trust yourseeeeeeeeelf (yourself)
they,.. are out to get youuuuuuuu, (you)
so don't trust themmmmmm (them)
and hate your job.

This is the mantra I grew up with.

I was stuck in a cycle that was generations in the making
Poverty, hardships, abuse and failure that span from the old country to the new
and funneled into me and my childhood.

My sister was hit with it four years before my arrival,
her regret to me is the same regret I have to her,
that we could not have absorbed more of   "it"   for the other.

My sister was the bastard child that forced my parents to marriage.
and I,
I was the unwanted baby caused by my fathers grunt in when he should have pulled out.


unlike many today, I did have two parents,
but, most of my friends had two parents
dads worked, mom stayed home or worked part time.
it was an acomplishment of the times,... not of my parents.


living as the unwanted son,
famished for affection
I ate with greed every one of my parents regrets,
digesting thier failures as nourishment
and
drinking in their Cynicism as sustenance


and the mantra continues:
hummmm
Be averaeeeeeeeege
don't trust yourseeeeeeeeelf
they,.. are out to get youuuuuuuu,
so don't trust themmmmmm
and hate your job.


A childhood full of the extremes of
total absence-of-acknowledgement and
abuse-of-many-kinds
deeply embed the mantra.


I became the perfect loser,
a shell of a child,
numb,
socially inept,
that kid in school who smelled really, really bad,
hands filthy
clothes mismatched and stained.

I was that kid,... that did nothing when he was spit on.


I was bred to achieve that highest level of mediocrity reserved only for the
mentally ill,... numb from their medications.


My sister internalized the same mantra,
she too, had a stench about her
and she had already proven her failure
failed attempts of suicide,
failed attempts at running away,
failed at school
failed at keeping a job.


and the mantra continues, in us both.


hummmm
Be averaeeeeeeeege
don't trust yourseeeeeeeeelf
they,.. are out to get youuuuuuuu,
so don't trust themmmmmm
and hate your job.


The school nurse, knowing something was horribly wrong in my life,
took me aside, and tried to get me to open up to her,
but mantra line number 3 "they are out to get yoouooooo" protects me
so I say nothing of the truth.


Then an English teacher assigned a daily journal to the class.
we were to write daily events,
thoughts,....
and feelings.
she said we could ask any questions,.. share any issues with complete confidentiality,...
manta line number 4 "dont trust themmmmm" comes to my defense so,.. I wrote fiction.


Fiction of happy family

Fiction of family dinners with laughter in the air and everyone eyeing that last piece of
cake and pitching together to do the dishes,

Instead of the truth of the dishes being pitched in the air with the shattered pieces just
missing our eyes.


I wrote fiction of having friends come over to my house, and doing homework and playing
catch.

Instead of the truth that no one really wanted to be my friend, and those that did try  were afraid of what they would catch playing with me at my house.



I wrote fiction that my sister would be out of school for 4 days because she failed to see
a piece of broken glass on the ground that slit her wrist as she tripped over a plastic tub..

Instead of the truth that the failed suicide attempt number 4;  was her breaking a hand mirror
and grinding the broken glass into her wrist while she sat in the bathtub.



And of course I wrote fiction of "honor thy parent,"
Even though there was a 3:am every day.



The English teacher never commented on my words,
my hidden feelings,
my disguised torment
my fiction, that protected the truth.

One day she told me she would guarantee me a "C" for the class
If, I.
wrote a poem and submit it to be considered for the yearly school art and poetry
publication.


She said she liked the stories in my journal
and
that poetry can be fiction or truth.
and
that she wanted me,
to write the truth,..
but make it look like fiction.


Write the truth but make it look like fiction,
I thought to myself,... that, sounded like an easy "C".


I said I'd write her a poem!


and so with only the truth, I started
and it was hard,
the words
the fear
the secrets
the feelings
that was the hardest


But one assignment to get me a "C" for the class.
all I had to do is.
 hide the truth in a lie
I pushed on until I had one poem.


The poem was called Quazimoto,
the poem started with the line
"Quazimoto you poor lost soul with a grotesque hump on your back"
the poem talked of loneliness
and being an outcast
and not fitting in.
and the poem ended with him having the brazenness, and most of all the gall to live with
his deformity.


The poem was accepted into the publication.


The nurse said "congratulations",
and mantra line number 3 "they are out to get youooooo" lost some of its power


The English teacher gave me the "C", as she said whe would,
and mantra line number 4 " so dont' trust themmmm" released some of its hold.


and in a quite moment, where it was just the english teacher and I,
the english teacher said
that everyone that read the poem was very impressed,
with the flow,
the words,
and most of all the emotion.


a week later in the hallway as I was getting books out of my locker.
A girls two rungs higher on the social ladder said
to one of her friends loud enough for me to hear,

that Quazimoto was in the top three of her favorite poems.

and
Then
slowly
very slowly at first
the mantra,
the foundation of unhappiness and failure
that destroyer of childhoods'

that mantra started to go away

and writing

Writing poetry took its place.

under the surface

surface stretched tight is strong and must not tear

there is work to do
deals to make
kids to take care of
And pain to push down


three little ones will survive,  but will pay,
the cost is pain
the cost is fear


Parents not in love
still teach
teach by example

teach of loneliness
example of emptiness
teach of fear
example of confusion
teach of anger withheld


the foundation split into two,
the only house they have ever known,..
soon to be Gone!!!


but the surface is strong and the pain is momentarily burried

but the tension can be tasted by all,..

tongue curling bitter..
Bitter, like unsweetened bakers chocolate.

The same chocolate that only a few months ago was mixed with love and sugar,... and
became,...
hot brownies
and family movie night
and ice cream.
and giggles
and everyone falling asleep in the family room


That chocolate is now the bitter reminder of how there is,.. no room for family


but that surface stretched so tight,
is tough
marine tough
leather strong
keeps all the emotion in
inside
in tightly


but emotions are like a wild cat in a small cage
clawing and spinning out of control


hitting a surface that does not budge it is
the inside that takes the punishment
Ripping
tearing
mutilating organs
Lungs that used to inhale beauty
Heart that would skip a beat when they touched
Stomach that used to flip flop like it was full of butterflies.

now all are indistinguisable one from the other
shredded beyond recognition like Filet Mignon  through a meat grinder.


but the surface is tough
no evidence of the wounds
no evidence of the pain
no evidence of the shredded beef that used to be a heart.
no evidence of the now collapsed lungs that used to exhale confidence.


but like war has its propaganda to demoralize and crimes to humiliate
the enemy is attacking the surface
slowly weakening
slicing,
poking,


a facebook post of,...  "them together"
the posting "my soul mate has been found"
a former best friend,...  "liking the post"
and then the comments on "how cute they look together"



soon the surface will be shredded too much to hold
hold in the pain
hold in the sorrow
hold in the anger
and hold in the betrayal

And then the-one will curl up like a baby and the tears will flow
like a cold shower that never runs out of water

Tears will come from deep inside trying to fill the void that has been avoided,
for these past many months

and when the tears have momentarily dried up,
the organs can begin to put themselves back together.
the flesh will begin to heal

and then a random scent of chocolate will waft in the air,
and the tears will start again.


to a person named Matt.

Successful Day

and it hurts
deep and hollow while being
overstuffed and cringing in pain from the slightest touch

both full and entirely empty

so much actually all at the same time.
but nothing actually happens

brain cells firing off as ants in crisis after their mound is stepped on
pain so great yet so much to do


so overwhelmed by the enormity I wish I were the Zebra.
The Zerba grounded by five lions, there is nothing left to do but die.

but the Zebra is lucky, death comes quickly

For me I am the cricket missing one back leg, that avoided the cat's play.
Alive, but injured.  Not able to live the life of a cricket, no sounds, no mate will want me.

I hobble, a cripple, but unlike the cricket who is missing a leg, no one can see my deformity.

and a moment of relief comes,  as two more hours of  wasted life, bites the dust.
 
not closer to beauty
not closer to love
not closer to happy

With the two hours gone, guilt and despair crush me for the next hour, like a Boa contstictor killing its prey slowly squeezing breath out of life.

and then my body says "I'm hungry"

so, the safari to find a clean spoon in the kitchen begins.
Deep in a sink full of cold slime with a thick protective layer of bio-matter lurks the object I need.
Breaking through the protective layer causes the unnatural ecosystem below to erupt with activity and it burps out the stench of rot, so strong neither Fabreeze nor Lysol stand a chance.

Spoon found. I still have my fingers, only lost a few nose hairs, 
I leave the unnatural ecosystem alone to repair itself.
and to the bathroom I go to wash the spoon. 

Back to the kitchen to check the 'fridge for any nourishment to appease my hungry body.
tortillas without any mold,...
peanut butter,...
and jelly - which at second look is fermented - and thrown into the overflowing trash.

No energy to clean the counter or stove from the layer of bacteria and mold, so I use an 11" piece of wax paper as protective layer, then put a 10" piece on top of that.

Peanut butter spread on an old tortilla - the body is momentarily satisfied.

And I see the meds laid out, neatly, on the only spot on the counter that is not disease infested.
Seven small containers each with a day's worth of medication. Medication both prescribed and from the health food store. So many during the day, each day needs its own container, normal people can buy those week-at-a-time-containers with seven little attached lids, I can't.

The containers tell me, it was not, just, two hours of  wasted life that bit  the dust.   It was 2 days.

Today is Wednesday, the pill-containers show me I did not take my meds today, nor did I take them Monday or Tuesday.   I did take them some Thursday-through-Sunday in the past, but right now I don't know how far in the past, so my 2 days of wasted life, may have been two-weeks, and 2 days.

Doesn't really matter, I see the problem now, and will take today's meds.

I just hope that I can remember to take my meds tomorrow, or that a meteor hits me in the head and kills me instantly.

Either way it will be a successful day.

dmv

joy is just a test score away,
while Boredom so strong
numbness being the state of being that takes so long
that drags you down
that sucks life out of your soul

see reason

Like a germanword that looks like they just stuck a bunch of small words together.

And my picture is taken as I stare at the forbidden, most likely it will be on the news in minutes.

"exclusive footage" from the heros cell phone, then the store will release their survelance footage.

The newstations will broadcast non stop my facebook comments.

Hunt down my friends and coworkers and they will all say "I would have never guessed"
And as much as I try to deny or make the masses listen to logic it will be a futile waste.

If I am lucky an attention-whore atty will take pity and fight for my privacy, but that would be a career death sentence, he would never be able to get into politics with a smear like that on his record.
a black-mark where he tried to make people see reason,

"see reason" a crime so vile that generations ago the politicians outlawed such behavior and there have been many punished under the clandestine rules

Kennedy
Bruce lee
Jimmy Hoffa
All silenced because they wanted the masses, the people, those sheep watching the news.
They wanted the people to know the truth.

That news is not neutral they need to answer to the politicians.

And that politicians do what is in their career best interest, not caring about the country or its citizens.

They play with people's emotions and get the masses wanting action, then the politicians can be the hero and save society, knowing full well that the piece of legislation they fight for will have no positive affect on society.

The politician goes from one office to the next, hiding their indiscretions, while creating laws that feel good.

feel good, that is what the people want,
feel good, that is what TV brings to the people,
feel good, is not news - they must sensationalize the horror otherwise the political machine would have nothing to stand on a stump for.

And so like a german-word that looks like they just stuck a bunch of small words together, the society is a mash of long winded politicians with incomplete news and useless laws, with the peoples trying to figure out where one word begins and the other ends.

pen bleeds

Everything that needs to be be said, has already been said.

and yet I write, ..
well I stare at a blank sheet of paper
and let my mind go

I know it has aready been said.
the pain
the hurt and sometimes joy,

a short story
a tale
a feeling

I know, everything that needs to be be said,... has, already been said.

and then it happens the blank page conspires with my pen
my pen screams for me,
I respond

I respond by
pushing my pen into the paper up to its braking point
it screams back wanting more
blobs of blue blood splatter as it rips the paper and bleeds even more
I wonder how much more it can take.

my newest blue friend,
knows that it must be,
for me,
what I can't be,
for me,

my hand cramping
but my blue friend has so much more life.


my intellect tries to stop the insanity of pain and blue blood,  tries to convince me that everything that needs to be said has already been said. intensifies the pain in my hand and says "you should stop", "Why burden yourself so?"


My blue friend bleeds still and wishes to not die yet,
Only in his death can he agree the cramping pain in my hand is real

my hand a slave to the real me,
trying to get the next emotion out
while my intellect uses logic to make me stop

but stopping means reality is crushed, and I can't allow that to happen
not while my blue friend still bleeds for me.

my grip so fused to my friend, he encourages me to write
one more word
one more phrase

We become one,.. and the words begin to flow

my great intellect gives in, and it sees that life is meaningless
meaningless without color,
meaningless without flavor
meaningless without emotion ,

Just because it has all been said before,
does not mean that is the ONLY way to say it,

we are different people at this time than ever before,
and things must be shared;
in today's world
using today's emotions
and most of all using today's words.

Dammit,
"a Punk"  is not decayed wood
"a faggot"   is not bunch of twigs and
"in a minute"  is  not 60 seconds,

not now at least, it once was,..
and that's why it matters!

The fear
the pain
the hate
the concern must cry out

cry out with, ..  my-words


my words that can make you cry

my words that cry with the tears of others
tears of blue blood
tears of the past
tears of the present

My words that can release the tears locked inside me.


things must be shared;
in today's world
using today's emotions
and most of all using today's words.



Because

Because I can't cry,

unless my pen bleeds!

Dog flat out

Post from a phone

they owe me $400, will you call them for me?

And sadness comes in waves mixed with fear
Thought is gone, one blurred vision of the past not to long ago.
Blurred but clear, crystal clear and fuzzy at the same time
love not shown
the words said
and the words Not said.

Self-Esteem broken

No actions taken,...

His friends would say he was very well behaved. Yes.
but able to defend, No!

and so now the adult that was the dutiful child is scared
afraid of life, and wont defend himself.
and his family is doomed,
doomed to be less than
less than Mediocre.

But beer and big screen TV, will take them to numb
take them to mindlessness

Drones just existing, full of regret
full of self doubt

scared to do
scared to try

so they follow the TV
follow it blindly
so it can tell them what to do and what to think
they follow it till their feelings are as numb as a coma patient

only they, Are alive
and going to work
and complaining about their self inflicted misfortune
and taking care of their child
and their dog
and the house plants
and they bitch they don't have anything
and now maternity clothes to buy
and laundry to do
and cars to repair
and bills to pay
and worrying how to afford the pregnancy, let alone the second child on its way

lucky for them the TV is now on, and there is this show on that
is funny
and another show on that is scary
and another that mixes drama and emotion and humor

and the shows make them forget
forget the present
forget the past
most of all they can forget their future

Their worries and fears melt
their mind goes numb
the beer cans open
and the drones exist

to scared to be more than below-average,

to scared to make a phone call.

that phone call that will confront a Real person.

happy christmas

And the woman tells her 15 year old son on the other end of the phone

" ... Dammit Seth its not that important. You don't need to be such a cry-baby"

and with the disappointment and guilt inducing tone only a mother can say, she finishes the conversation with "You should be ashamed of the way you are acting, IF, you cared about me at all you would not be acting this way."

With that he made one more comment and he hung up the phone.

And the woman that just crushed her 15 year old son on the phone, hangs up and cries.
cries tears of helplessness
cries tears of abandonment
cries tears of anger that has no resolution
tears of a mother when she realizes she is not protecting her child.

Uncontrollable sobbing for a while as she hears The Christmas Carol playing on television....

Less than a year ago the divorce was finalized, she and the father of their children had the courts memorialize what people told them was in the best interest of all concerns.

All their friends said that usually, the kids stay with the mom, and the dad get the kids for a bit of each month and holidays are split, so that over the years the adults needs are met.

The court did not disagree, but then the adults did not fight tooth and nail for anything, they just wanted out of each others life.

The father moved into the lover's house - a 5 hour drive away.

This is the first Christmas and per the agreement the boy was to be with his father.

When her son is with his father, she lies to herself that 15 year old boys would rather be with their dad's than their mom's, when the truth is:

 When a boy is 15 years old, he need both parents equally - it is very hard for a person to not be a child any more and at the same time not be an adult.

And yesterday the day before Christmas she, dropped Seth off and put him in the hands of that selfish bastard, that fucking prick who broke apart the family.
...
...
...

It is now Christmas day and the boy goes with his father to the store to get a few last minute items. While there,  the father runs into one of his friends and they toddled off to the bar for 'just one drink' - as the boy finishes the shopping, and takes the items out of the store.

Not seeing his dad back from the bar, the 15 yr old puts the items in the back of the pick up truck, shoots a text to his dad saying "lets go foods in the truck" and waited. and waited and waited.

An hour later he had caught up on face book and emails and texts to his friends.

and waited and waited

to his dad he sent a few more texts and called and left messages,  all of which went unanswered.

un-acknowledged,...

It was now dark, he was feeling lonely, scared and abandoned. He did not know how to get to his dad's house from the grocery store, and did not want to wait in the truck any longer.

The vulnerability, uneasiness and fear he was feeling came out as tears, while he was dialing his mom.

He started the conversation with "I don't know what to do" which led to him crying more as he unloaded his helplessness onto his mom,

She was trying to give him calming thoughts, but he was not hearing it, he just kept saying "its not fair"
"its not fair"
"its not fair"

Then she told him, "the courts decided, It can't be un-done"

He had let the emotion build too much and tears kept falling and he said "but mom, I want to be with YOU!"

And the mom overwhelmed by feeling helplessness to protect her child,
overwhelmingly frustrated by the injustice of the whole thing,
and the anger generated by that selfish bastard of a father explodes out!!!

 unfortunately, the explosion is felt by the person on the other end of the phone and she says:

"Just one more day, then you'll be here,... Dammit Seth today is not that important. You don't need to be such a cry-baby"

And with the disappointment and guilt inducing tone only a mother can say she finishes the conversation with "You should be ashamed of the way you are acting, IF, you cared about me at all you would not be acting this way."

And with that Seth said "why are you talking to me that way?" and hung up the phone.

he pinched me redeaux

re-jigged for spoken word, the hook is only 9 words long and if not heard the piece is medocre, so this is me re doing for spoken word

so I am at 4 min 15 seconds, which is about a minute too long - I have been obsessing over this piece for a bit too long and don't know what to cut, so I do one more tonight april 25th, then I've got to get something else out of me


and after months it is commited to memery and I deceded not to place it in public view

so this is an invite only poem,

censored
and apologized for.

the two things you should never do in art

is censor yourslef
or
apologize.


*******
3:am formerly known as he pinched me:

you the patriarch of the family,      organized this impromptu
early-morning, family outing of coffee and scones,

pebble

and I am trapped

by the sand and grit

stepped on

rolled over

ignored

and i think to myself

i am important

i am needed

but with no way of showing it

i am taken for granted

a permanence of reliability

that is me

heat, cold rain or snow

I endure it all because

without me, you have no foundation

piss and puke spray on me

and I say nothing

how can I, trapped by sand and grit

I don't have the breath to spit

that what you are doing is pure shit

I should throw a Fit

and leave here,

but I remember the time I tried to

tried to get free from you,

I did get a a little bit lose it was true

but you saw that slightest shift

and you reacted quick

you said I was in so much trouble

and I was but back in my place,

with your steam roller feet

and jack hammer hands

no friends could save me

no acquaintances knew me

I am trapped

by the sand and grit

rolled on stepped over

I do have your security

your tight concrete grip

that grip to keep me in my place

that grip so strong it can make me feel safe

a grip strong enough to squeeze death into life.

I lie to myself, that

I am important

i am needed

my permanence of reliability

is not taken for granted

but after year and years together

I am seeing the lies,

the lies I say to myself

the lies you say to me

yes I see the lies more clearly,

i see,

that you see my scars in what used to be perfectly smooth skin

but you don't see that it was your unyielding grip

that started the decay

that caused the injury

which you now see as my deformity

but when I look at you,

I don't see your now weak crumbling form

I see only the strength when we first were mixed together in that cement mixer of life.

and I the permanence of reliability

know the only reason you have loosened your grip on me

is that you hope to find

hope to find a younger,.... me

a smooth skinned,

unblemished

rounded

plump

thing that you can grip tight

one that will fill the hole when you finally lose all grip on me.

you have done so well to keep me in your control

and I now know

i have no control

i have no importance

I gladly let everyone walk on me

let the piss and puke spray on me

and like a loose pebble from the side walk, I will leave a small hole in you,

but I will be kicked from one side of the street to the other

until a final ricochet off a passing car tire

will spit me into some dark dirty unseen corner

untouched

unloved

with no one to hold me tight.

boy crying

the little boy being carried by his mother
looking over her shoulder crying
screaming
DAAAD


daddy
daddy
DAAAAAAd,
and his older brother looks back, pausing walking backwards as his dad goes out of sight, the now 8 year old boy stumbles as his emotions are flooded with loss, fear and confusion.
the boy gets a slap to the back of his head and stern words from his mother, and stays in step with his mom, as a cloud of withheld tears exhale from his chest.

and around the corner is a man with a tissue and water filled eyes
using the tissue to blow his nose and hide his emotionally ravaged countenance.
the background of tears fills his world and all he sees are shadows.

the darker, painful places that are exposed only in the bright light of his four-year olds expressed trauma.

that horrible screaming of voice pushed to its cracking point
tears and snot flooding out of the littlest one,
vividly screaming


DAAAD


daddy
daddy
DAAAAAAd,
Don't go


Please don't go

Please don't go

writers block

Today started without addiction in my thought today,

Freedom from hell

an escape with hard fought with tears

And over coming fears

as the awareness nears,..

I’m almost afraid to cheer.

Overcoming this shit should not be my career

I want to scream to all far and near

That I am now here !!!

And hear me now,

Because I have gone through that door

I have turned my back for now and ever more

Listen, you may be bored

And heard it all before

But I tell you I need you now more

More, than I have ever, ever before

Through that door, I will not go back

Like a man that has survived a heart attack

I am stiff and scared and need you to have my back

I need you to assist

I insist I am not full of bliss

I know I can’t miss

As long as you can persist, ....In your love and support for me.

You never before had it out for me.

You were always there for me.

And now I need you more than just for me.

You see,

I woke up without addiction on my soul today

It’s like I have never told you

How much I love you

Even though all I seem to do is shit upon you

My soul stirs when I’m near you

I can once again be strong for you

I woke up without addiction on my spirit today

Happiness so near

And confidence so far

I have never before been so near

And you my dear have never been so far

I can’t do it alone so please come here

Don’t say its to late, you’re not that far, ... away from me

Away from me,

You are so Far away from me,

I see its too late for you, and me

But not for me, you see

I woke up without addiction in my heart today.

A heart that I now see is like a piece of used dental floss

I was on too much sauce

to feel the loss

and I swear and cross,.... my hear and hope to die

that you cat again rely

on my love for you

and to again be true to you

yes my dear, . . . I see it now to be true.

that what once was me and you

is now me, . with-out you

today I woke up without addiction, and

today, my dear, I woke up without you

the required poem

There are rhymes

that stand the test of time

that can change lives

that are said to wives

and that can hide the lies

and then there's the shit that I spit

it comes from a deep pit

and my sharp wit

and hides from me my shit

hides from me my shit

and rhymes that hides my lies

you see i am on a journey

to the best poem ever

something you will remember

words weaved together

in such a way it will be real forever

my goal is to be be whole

to fill the hole in my soul

so deep and full of woe

I am empty and worthless

so full of feces,

i should be another species

and E.T. simple likes Reeces

and wants to go home not in pieces.

to go home

away from being alone

emptiness be filled

Please make this a happy poem.

you see I write to fill the hole

I write to become known

because at times I am like, the world of warcraft gnome.

tinker, inventor and mechanic of words.

words on paper

words in the air

words from nowhere

that fill my mind

and above all fills my soul

you see I could never explain a poem

least of all one of my own

I try to give you tone

and something you can take home

how real it is to you, will never be known

girls being thrown

boys being owned

sadness begin shown

and so i write

write for the good of my soul

write for the millions untold

write for the illiterate young and old

you see i am on an endless journey

to the best poem ever

something you will remember

words weaved together

in such a way will be real forever

the war on drugs is a good thing

and the man's little child, dies in his arms
Bruised a little about the head and body
The death certificate will read: "internal bleeding; unknown origin"

the place Afghanistan,
the time now, right now.
A man with not a lot of money and two small children.
Needs more than his meager crop of corn can provide.


drug lords invite him to a meeting.
so much food, he has never seen before.
he drank till he had no thirst,
they gave him food to take to his children

they showed him how well his neighbors do.

they said that if he grew just one crop, he could have enough for his family for two years.

He desperate to provide, agrees, to the deal as stated by the drug lords: "grow and harvest our poppy, and we will pay you handsomely"

they supply the seeds,
he provides all the work and the land,

they check on him weekly
he shows them everything is well taken care of

He hears the local men talk of something called "war on drugs"
The European's and the American's have a problem and they use a group called
Peacekeepers, to help.

He thinks nothing of it, in Afghanistan, Poppy is a good thing,
it feeds the family,
provides schooling for children,
gives farmers enough money to keep their homes in repair.
and if other countries use "Peace keepers" it must not be that bad

three weeks later, he hears a commotion in his fields, he goes to investigate
military vehicles, tanks, and armed men, flank his lands as local police destroy his crops.

Emblazoned on the military vehicles are the initials "U" "N"
...

that week the drug lords show up to check on their crop,
the farmer explains "but... but.. but.... the peacekeepers... not me,... them"


the drug lords having no compassion
seeing only lost revenue
explode

their violence erupts in the mans small shack.
the man's children hide
and they beat him beyond unconscious
and then kick him a few more times

When he awakens his 8 year old girl and 10 year old boy are gone
his lungs on fire from broken ribs
bone sticking through skin of his right arm
his face deformed from the cruelty
as he stands his broken bones in his leg, cause that cause him to vomit and pass out.

hospitals require payment in advance
he has no payment
his bones set by neighbors, may never heal

Three weeks later the message comes
Since YOU let our poppy crop be destroyed we need $20,000
we understand your plight so we will give you two months
$20,000 in two months or we keep your children,...


In a country with such poverty $20,000 is 10 years worth of salary
in such a country, the police are powerless
in such a country, ancient laws make it OK to trade children for debt.
in such a country, outsiders force un-welcomed change.

and to the 8 year old girl they torture very little - fresh, untouched meat on the open market is worth much more than used merchandise.

and to the 10 year old boy, a perfect unblemished piece of wood, that could be sculpted into a beautiful delicate figurine, they instead pound in 6inch spikes,
splintering
deforming
turning wood into paper that is written upon, again and again and again.

The 10 year old boy, is thier favorate toy and played with many times, but then, like all toys he becomes no longer fun he becomes a rag doll with all of its stuffing spilling out.

The boy is thrown from a moving car in front of his fathers house.

the father, thanks his God for return of one of his children,
the boy does not speak of the last month
no doctor will examine for fear of what they will find
no police to call

And two days later the man's 10 year old son, dies in his fathers arms
Bruised a little about the head and body.
The death certificate will read: "internal bleeding; unknown origin"


As the man shuffles back to his beggars spot,
a US reporter asks him if he has heard of the war on drugs,... and does he think it is a good thing?

papa

and the nurse comes in to turn off the noise

that steady tone

that signals the end

that soon will be upon us

that squiggly line now flat

that sadness now real

that sorrow heavy

that tsunami of emotions as he takes his last breath

The closeness of three generations, now becomes the grief of two generations.

His life was long, with some deception.

he and his red truck made such accomplishments

his gruff exterior melted the first time his then baby granddaughter needed comforting.

such a long past he had, and yet his death only took a week.

Day One:

He called and asked "I know you'll be here tomorrow, but can you come today?"

A request not heard in the past two years, we say "of course"

...

We arrive all seems normal, but then

but then,..

He tells us of the past,

of past sorrows,

of the past secrets,

and then he tells of present appreciation.

and then he tells of the pain

a pain so incredibly unbearable that a failed suicide caused the phone call.

and we listened, and we jotted down notes of things so important we did not want to lose them

and we convinced him, and took him to the hospital,

Day Two:

Without our knowledge they shove tubes down his throat into his lungs

and poke and prod

and test after test after test after test

many many things not right

and they find lumps in his lungs

and heart barely beating, his legs full of water,..

and I remember 4 weeks ago, he dug a 3foot by 3 foot by 3foot grave for one of his large dogs in Caliche-dirt of the desert, dirt that is hard, hard like concrete.

Day three:

We show the hospital his wishes on death

"no extra ordinary efforts"

"no tubes down throat"

and the lung specialist hears nothing and looks at the lungs

and the heart specialist hears nothing and looks at the heart

and the others look after other organs

they all want to keep their specialty-organ alive,

they so focused on their specialty

treat the organ and not the person

they do not talk to each other about the person

they see only one organ and not the person

not caring of his wishes

not caring that the person is loved

not feeling his readiness for peace they poke and prod.

Day Four:

He fully coherent, demands the tube be removed from his throat.

His great grandchildren visit him for a scant 40 minutes

His grandchildren visit and they talk for most of the day

Day Five:

Fully coherent but tired, I, the son-in-law,

talk with him about death

talk with him about regrets

talk with him about thankfulness

and then he flashes a grin,..

a smile,..

a smile of a 16 yr old boy about to tell his friends he touched a bare breast

and tells me,....

that the night nurse,.....

"is a real looker"

Day Six:

When he was coherent he would say, "why is there a white owl in that closet"

he would drop back to sleep

and when he would awaken again, he would ask us if we saw the white owl, and why is it in the closet of this hospital.

with no logical explanation for him, we said "yes we see it, and it is there to watch over and protect you"

The heart and lung monitor started to jump erratic

and he was a little scared

and wished for parts of the past to have never happened

Day Seven:

Morphine filled his veins, so he was calm and painless, perhaps for the first time in his life he had no pain, no sorrows, no fears.

in the room was his granddaughter, his daughter, and his son-in-law

and the nurse comes in to turn off the noise

that steady tone

that signals the end

that squiggly line now flat

that sadness now real

that sorrow so very heavy

that tsunami of emotions felt by the two generations as the last generation begins his final rest.

daddy

The sensation of being lifted and swung around by your feet,...

Exhilarating!

Trusting and fearing your daddy's grip on you,.. to protect you, keep you safe.

Faster and faster
you can barely keep your arms crossed on your chest
your shirt crawls up your back.
faster and faster and the floor misses your head by what feels like less than an inch

then he swings you so high it feels like you are flying

you almost forget,

forget that he is mad at you

and the spinning, ends as quickly as he jerked you from your hiding place when he got home from work.

the wall came at you too fast, no time to react.

your face, no match for the plaster, is slightly crushed, and blood pours from your nose

your neck snaps back as your body slams into the wall.

its as if your blood and pain stick you tight to the wall and you slide down, a crimson line seen from across the room marking your decent.

and you, a crumpled mass of childhood flesh, can to nothing but bleed out.

you know to be more concerned about getting blood on the floor than checking for broken bones.

and the words
stupid
useless
lazy
fucking piece of shit

continue the assault as he stomps across the room flipping chairs out of his way.

you try to roll and sit up.,...

you feel the insults emphasized by his boot slamming down on you and bruising your still crossed arms.

words to vicious for one so young, they burst your organs with every kick.

words to hateful for a child, they shred your skin with every drop of blood that comes from your body.

While the assault continues, your need for tears turns inward to become a deafening whimper that only you can hear.

Then you hear silence, like the absolute silence after an atomic bomb has wiped out a city.


His emotion spent at your expense, ...


you get up,...

and, ..

and begin checking.
check to see if you can still see
check for blood on the floor
and check for blood on the wall
check if you can stand up

and then clean up the mess you made.
sit the chairs upright
wipe the blood from the wall
hang up the picture of your grandma that fell, when you slammed into the wall.

when there is no trace of violence in the front room,

you can go to the bathroom,

and clean the dried blood from your long hair,
examine the bruises for bone fragments sticking through, or funny bends that were not there before.

your emotions with nowhere to go, burrow deep,
a deep, one-way tunnel down into your core,
deep so your body does not feel.
deep so you can control the tears
so deep,... that you can survive.

tonight, like every night, you will go to sleep afraid that he will kill you while you sleep.

The next morning comes and you wake up, alive one more day.

You and your mom need to decide if the right clothes will let you go to school, or will she need to call the school and say you are sick.

Your mom tells you to go to bed and she will bring breakfast in a minute.

She tells your 4th grade teacher, you will be sick for the rest of the week, but should feel better by Monday.

You are too sore to move, so you will be in bed all day.


And you are glad that you are bedridden, because today you can't do anything wrong to make your daddy mad at you.