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.

One day

And the look she gave me when she found out

was a mixture of pain and regret

with disbelief and, of course,..

anger, the anger that turns your vision red
The anger that hides

her the quivering lower lip of dis-trust and the tears of betrayal streaming down her face.

I did not intend to cause her so much pain and so many tears.

I got caught in my addiction.

So many years and weeks and days of

honesty

sincerity,

faithfulness

trustworthiness

shattered and now rent useless.

Cutting into her chest with a razor-sharp wood chisel, slowly stripping the skin off her ribs, would be less painful.

Breaking her exposed ribs one by one, would be less painful.

It was me, piercing her exposed trusting heart, with my selfish behavior

that causes me to be guilt ridden
labeled "betrayer!!"

and the shatter-er of lives.

and it started not too long ago, ....

One day I was bored, nothing more nothing less,....

Confident in myself, I thought about a short escape from reality.

other people can look,...... once

other people can taste,........... once

it had been so many years since I have done either,

and with the years of accomplishment as my justification,
I believed I was like the other people that can taste,... just,..... once.

One day I was bored, nothing more nothing less,...

That one day, no one was home, it had been a rough week at work and the family was at one of the kids ball games without me. I was alone and bored.

That day I took a look and had a taste, not too much,.... just enough to time-warp past the boredom.

When the family got home, I was cool,

... and no one knew what I had done.

The family was talking to me, but in the back of my mind, I was playing again and again and again, that secret-feeling, not hearing a word they say, I just wanted that secret-feeling again.

All of a sudden everyone was laughing at what my oldest had just said,

I not listening

missed the humor,

missed the spontaneity of the moment

missed the moment of family love and togetherness.

I laughed, not knowing why, ...
and inside I felt guilty and alone, ...an outsider to my close, loving family.

Just a few hours ago had a small taste and I am now thinking more of that,.

than being with those that I love so much.

The next day, using my self-inflicted guilt I tried to push that secret-feeling away,

but the work too stressful

the traffic too much

the money too little

blended with my guilt.

The secret-feeling wants me and I want it.

Living in the anxiety that makes my head explode I search for relief, and find it in the fantasy of using again.

The fantasy turned into a goal.
With the goal in mind I created a plan,
The plan gave me focus and my anxiety went away and I felt like I had control of my life.

That day, I left work earlier than normal, and got home later than normal.

By the time I got home,
I had missed the dinner table conversations
so I did not have to fake laughing at a missed joke,

By the time I got home,
the kids were in their bedrooms already
so I did not need to look into their precious trusting, crystal clear eyes.

by the time I got home,
the kids were asleep
So I did not have to give them hugs and remember how important they are to me.

by the time I got home,
I could justify just going to sleep
so I did not have to hide the telltale signs of usage from my wife.

I passed out, not feeling the guilt,

I passed out and not feeling the anxiety

I passed out not feeling the love.

I passed out not feeling.


This was the first day that led to me
to be guilt ridden
labeled "betrayer!!"

and the shatter-er of lives.

boy crying

the little boy begin carried by his mother

looking over her shoulder crying

screaming

DAAAD

daddy

daddy

DAAAAAAd,

and his older brother looks back to see his dad as they move out of of sight

gets a slap to the back of his head and stern words from his mother.

and as I turn the corner I see a man with a tissue with water filled eyes

using the the tissue to blow his nose and hide his emotionally ravaged countenance.

sniffling as if he has a cold or in his truth crying uncontrolably

crying as if it was his fault for the previous scene,

I put myself here

And I cant stand the thought,... that I put myself here

choked up

tear filled

stomach wrenching from the pain

pain of longing for

pain of needing

pain of so desperately wanting to be with

one more touch

one more hug

to smell their hair one more time

my very core

and my heart

are now both void and hollow without you.

I can't find enough distractions to ease my pain, to ease my guilt.

The death metal that can rip the skin off my bones as it erupts through my speakers has no effect.

I am numb to the disgust of the cockroaches crawling across my feet.

Numb is all I can hope for,....

my pain,

my agony and

my regret

it is ALL my fault.

I, . . . . . did the abandoning.

I destroyed the utopia, thinking that it would all work out.

The movies always show living happily ever after, our life had been a wonderful storybook, so it should end happily ever after.

but like the only survivor of a plane crash in the desert, it is, I, who tries to survive.

To live one more day.

using images of you,

the hope of seeing you,

the need to hold you and breath you in again

to get drunk looking into your eyes

to hear you laugh, one more time

I the solitary survivor - do what I need to

to live one more day.

and my self inflicted torment makes my sick

food wants nothing to do with me.

something is trying to rip its way out of my chest.

I am suffocating on my loneliness.

The music can't get loud enough.

I can't write enough.

I can't become numb enough to forget

forget the way you can get soooo mad

forget your cute little phrases

forget your never ending smile.

The homeless have shelters.

The suicidal have hot-lines.

But for me there is no help for me while I survive the loneliness.

no help from the repeating thought,

I put myself here

its my fault - I put myself here

I put myself here

its my fault - I put myself here

I put myself here