Child's Pose

i don’t write.

i don’t write. i come. 3 months in hell, 2 attempts (both unsuccessful thank christ) and i’m finally happy again and they want me to put on a suit and revisit my demons again. finally back working again, feels good. greasy hands, tan arms, boots covered in 540 and paint and dust. found someone who is okay with my old sadness, comforts me. told her i was anxious tonight and she called me. what did you ever do? run away. damn shame. i guess she was right, you’re too young. but you’re a pretty girl you’ll find a nice guy and be comfortable. i don’t regret anything, without my past i wouldn’t be where i am today. these kids look up to me, it’s crazy. they see me getting showered with awards and respect from my chiefs and don’t know the horrible shit i went through/did to get to where i am today. they don’t know how big of a fuckup i was for so many years. “i really don’t like her” but darlin you wouldn’t’ve met me if it wasn’t for the heartbreak and selfloathing. ready to dedicate my life to protecting others, not an empty oath “enemies foreign and domestic.” the brotherhood forged in the fire of days gone with no sleep pulling men from briny grip, i can sleep at night knowing i’ve managed to yin/yang make up for my sins by doing some good. the Republic has given me everything, i owe Her my life. i can tell the kids that aren’t ready to die for Her yet. i don’t take them out with me. i’m ready to die for the Flag. every time we go out it’s understood. no one else can understand without taking the blood oath. i pray my brothers never have to spill blood for me but i know they would, and i know i would for them, so that others may sleep well at night. no newspapers, no tv interviews, i’ll strap up and armor down and so long as my woman at home sleepin tight with the rest of beautiful America i’ll rack 1000 hours with my hand on my shotgun and my face to the wind, sucking down offshore breeze and waiting for the day when She asks me for my blood. Amen, and fuck everyone.

-ism

hardest part of learning to love yourself is accepting the fact that no matter how much love you pour out, most people will never return the favor. you will try your best to prove yourself to people you care about and they won’t give a rat’s ass, turn their back and never speak to you again. never take this personally, always understand that circumstances are more complicated than they feel and the only healthy way to live life is to fill the vase in your heart while you sleep, wake early and plant a hundred seeds every day when the sun rises & praise God when one roots and crawls toward the sun.

stained glass

repeating my life story once a week through one way mirrors, “why can’t you forgive yourself?” because no one else can seem to and that’s not helping, lost a reader but i suppose it was only a matter of time before you started to hate me too, before i began the transformation from lostboy mistakemaker to one of those “wish i nevers” i’ve been so terrified of becoming. speaking of myself in the present tense and being corrected by a blonde woman with a lanyard and master’s degree, sure she’s right but she’s only known me for two 60 minute blocks so how can she really know? describing the punch in the gut every time i’m reminded of you, “how often do you feel that?” how many seconds are in a day, miss? i wish you didn’t see me as a demon but i can’t fault you for that, i wish someone besides my mother saw me as a good man but i’m trying to keep making good decisions and think good thoughts and hold out for the day i wake up and look forward to getting out of bed, i’m on the cusp but the type of person that needs a breakthrough to make things sink in

king

dreams of ruby red as your lips that spread to plead to heaven to let you back in, last week was a hard one. pills that erase feelings, i’ve always been the kind of person that likes to feel every thing, new things, my favorite things, the things that try to kill me, so to have every emotion ripped out of me and stuffed into an orange pill bottle was the ultimate in loneliness; after you left I had only my senses left — stolen by misguided doctors with good intentions. regimen complete so i can feel again and whose voice do i hear below? providence strikes at the oddest times.

i prayed last night, like i do every night, for you to smile today, to feel full of warm Pearl River waters and that your eyes might sparkle like i remember. it’s hard to grieve the complete loss of someone you love so deeply and dearly and see them right in front of you, refusing to speak and pretending you’re the ghost in the room&not there. but your guard is down (laid to the wayside with your memory if this isn’t ringing any bells) and i hold you and whisper a line and you kiss me. i don’t know what to believe: the daytime message or the one i’d rather believe a few hours later. maybe you’ll never read and i’ll never know. but one thing’s as certain as the moon will fall and give way to another day’s battle — my mind may have left for a bit but my heart never did

the crux

12 hours straight of wracking my brain and i came to a very tough but very crucial discovery: i have hated myself my entire life. that’s why i lash out and destroy everything i love, why i continue making bad decisions, why i’ve shunned god and imbibed in whatever i could get my hands on, why i’ve been completely destroyed by depression and anxiety for too long. because i hate myself. i don’t want to anymore, but self love is a tough thing to teach. every day is a fresh start and a new chance to show myself i’m not a bad person, i can be a good man too. today was that start. wish we could’ve had a conversation about it but you didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk to say the least

volumes

i have so much to tell you, so many exciting things. so many low things, so many things. deleted your number from my phone that way i cannot invade your space on an impulse. i still miss you more than words can construct, i miss you like empty canvas misses oil, like gray March Michigan sky misses Sun, like tiny seedling misses the caring coos of tender gardener. but i understand you cannot bear to see me and i am happy you are no longer colorblind. perhaps my prayers are not in vain. i am sure you no longer read my rambling rumbling moody prose but to even hear that the pink rose has begun to spread her petals fills me with joy, warms my blood after so many dark nights. i miss you more than the moon misses our tangled legs after months apart; i am here. always here. and if you never come back? god bless you, you’re happy. and if you do? god bless us, for he has delivered us from evil.

Take all the time you need to heal and I will wait every minute of it, and if you can never speak to me again may God bless you with a better man than I. But never forget there is a man right here that is always here for you, who will always love you and want you to be happy no matter what that means. I miss you more than words can express

tearing

there is a very fine line between being an anxio-depressed night fearing wreck of a man and completely losing control of your mind. i crossed that barrier on friday after months of mounting pressure and rapid heart beats and reckless sleep (I have the same exact dream every morning right before i wake up, every single day) and it was beyond terrifying. to feel your mind crack and ripple and escape you, to feel nothing physical but boulders on your chest and hands that wont stop shaking, eyes that wont stop leaking, mouth slinging spit with each frenzied word. doctor told me in confidence today she felt it in med school and cried at the memory, odd for a doctor. head full of demons screams clutching and tearing at my hair, run run RUN head shaking “no no no no not me not me” is there anyone you can call? no, they’re all gone they’re all gone >give me your phone, ‘hello?’ images of crayon notes scribbled on back of envelopes and terrified faces flash one after another “please, medicine!” front seat whispers does he need to go? we should take him. i feel crazy you’re not crazy, all my favorite authors broke at some point, why does my path feel the need to mirror Ginsberg or Kerouac at every step? old Dean Moriarty is alive and well, the old goose, scared phone call from a friend today “dude are you alright?” yeah just had a slip and spent a few hours in hell, doctor says i’m not ill or damaged but when you’re deep in the devil’s grip you feel like you’ll never escape and the fear of losing your mind, your identity, your life completely…is tremendously terrifying. she says it’s understandable given what i’m going through and it will get better soon. old friends coming out of the woodwork, god has touched their hearts to check on me, what beautiful people. i pick my friends well, the real ones, not the ones you take shots with and “see you next weekend.” i hope, if you want (emphasis, the idea of what you need is now internalized) that i can be that friend for you. i have laid naked in the pits of hell, i am near penniless, i have hurt you deeply, but all is not lost. believe in me, believe that Jesus can heal me, believe that i can be a good man to you, believe that the Holy Spirit planted the visions in my head that saved me from stopping my own breath, believe that i have skinned my knees on rock bottom and now look up to the sun, broken and humble, finally able to embrace the man i need to be. for my own sanity, for my family, and for you if there’s a place left in your heart for me again. i have defeated this obstacle but i find chronicling significant life events here to be helpful. never have i written something so revealing, but never have i written something more true

insomnia

this morning sliding my tie up to look presentable before the Honorable X, i looked at my self in the mirror. eyes tired and low, face sullen, a shadow of the physical man i used to be. “search inside for strength,” today was my most challenging day in a while, so i dug deep into my heart and felt my new seedling beginning to sprout, felt the ash and ember of old hate burnt to dust, and as my fingers prodded and poked inside chambers i felt a hollow place. a place a name echoes, where another heart once beat too with mine. god has a weird way of working when i saw you, agitated to see me or perhaps with your pending appointment? i’m sorry you had to sit there alone but i didn’t think you wanted me there.

i’m getting the feeling you aren’t reading these anymore. your vague electronic messages more sparse too. feeling as though you don’t want me to wait, that the love you once felt has faded and i’ve become that bad memory that just won’t go away. i understand it’s hard and i don’t blame you. i don’t deserve the grace you showed. but do i keep loving you and caring for you, should i hold on to hope that it is truly time you need and not a complete absence of me? you said you could hear my voice in my writing, does that not warm you anymore? it’s so deeply wounding to see someone you so deeply love slowly pace backwards. even the comfort of knowing you still want me here for you, however physically distant, would be enough to help hold me up in these dark days. have i earned that? or have you already moved on to find new love?

all i ask is a response

chapter 91

i will wait, but without a reminder you haven’t given up on me every once in a while it gets hard.

chapter 91 opens tomorrow morning, 9am sharp, i will look behind me to the pews scratched by anxious officer’s pistol butts and see empty rows. fitting.

do you read me anymore? have i lost you too? as a turtle on his back i wait for the wind or favr’ble wave to roll me prone again. i will wait until you ask me to leave. i will be patient because the most beautiful flowers bloom not when they’re told, but i now struggle with if you can’t be there for me in my darkest moments or if you won’t.