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This is not my garden,
i’ve tarried here too long
I cannot keep it,
it does not rise to my touch

This is not my garden,
its fruit does not sustain me
The taste is bland and unripened,
the sun too rare

This is not my garden,
nothing here will grow
No verdance, no smell beckons me,
It’s time for me to go

This is not my garden…
It never was

Image: Gardens of the Dying Light, by QueenOfRohan

Low

Today i’m low
Oh, i’m so low
I can pretend i’m not, but can i not pretend?
Dear Ms. Therapist, i am trying
I thought i had it rough, but now i know i didn’t – not really
My brain can do this amazing thing where it takes me out of the shit and fills my face with someone else
I float
I float up here and watch some actressrobotclone do me for the masses
If it’s too much to watch, the door in my belly bids me come
It locks onto me like a tractor beam and pulls me in and slams behind me
I am nothingness
Was it all that bad if i wasn’t even there for it?
I inch my way slowly past the beckoning door, pressed flat against the far wall
I take the stairs down into my guts
It reeks down here. Like the smell of their fear that i could never scrub off me
Afraid of a little girl
The air tastes like salt and metal, like his hands when he pressed them over my nose and mouth
Shh, be quiet, shut up, stop fighting me!
Why do i have to come down here with these old ghosts?
I cleverly escaped their filthy clutches – why should i return?
They paw at me, and they stink
I don’t need anything down here
I look up and see my heart, beating blackly, shivering with pain
Reaching up, i place my hand firmly on it, the muscle quivers like a horse’s flank after a race
I pet my poor heart until it slows
It stops twitching and warms beneath my fingers
Stop running Dear One, i whisper
The race is done
We won a long time ago
I’m going back up the stairs now
Still tired and low, and this didn’t change me
There’s a light at the top that bids me come
Going carefully up over slime covered stone
I look down and say I’ll be back and that’s funny
The bilge water needs to be pumped out
My shoes are soaked and my feet, ice
I’ll bring salt when next i come, to dry up the fine, slick crust
I wave from the last step, and hope it doesn’t take me as long to clean the basement as it did the attic

Tea With A Friend

Some days i feel warm and expansive and guileless
I see the light underneath the closed door
But there are days when everyone’s ugly and everything smells bad
And the door leaks a shadow that runs out like blood

Most days it’s both, as it is today while i bash away at my keyboard
The sun on the snow in the window behind, bathes me in white light
Sylphlike shadow on the cold, black television screen
I glow in the nothingness, angel of endlessness

Grief is due for a visit, in fact long overdue
She’s been busy with other obligations and i have been, too
Lately i’ve felt her absence distinctly, the chair where she sits keenly empty
My list of topics for conversation grows longer and the words gather weight

Anger and Pain have been at me for months now
They want to pop in for a chat, and they promise “Just 1 drink”
I might as well get it over with, as they won’t stop knocking
“Hello hello, it’s been ages, can we come over?”

I won’t shirk my family obligations as i have so few now
It won’t cost me much to have them over for dinner and i love to cook
They’ll rant and they’ll rave and pound their cutlery on the table
But it doesn’t bother me, i know they just need to be heard

And once they’re both gone, staggering down my front steps
Because of course they both had a few more than 1 drink
I’ll clean up the table and put on soft music while i set the kettle to boil
I know she’ll be by soon so i put on my jammies and grab the tissue

Some days it’s all rainbows and ice cream and hope
Some days it sharp claps of thunder while lightning sets fire to my house
Then there are times when the pit of my stomach opens wide and swallows me
I sit across from her in my rocking chair made from old bones and i weep

She listens and sips while she knits me a sweater
Her needles click rhythmically in time with my sobs, her eyes soft and wet
My heart thrums and pumps out its low dirge, dark and heavy
She hugs me goodbye, kisses my cheek, and promises me she’ll come back soon

I miss her already

Slamdancing

The loose-stringed bass, surfing guitar, and wind-up monkey drums remind me who i am

Large and enraged
Huge
bashing my lips together like cymbals
Words racing out of my mouth and crashing into everyone

Drunk on pain
Shivering
hands curled into fists save 1 pointing finger
Take a good long look at what you’ve done to me

Violent head-bobs
Dancing
my feet kicking and stomping to the beat
I’m mad as hell and i’m not gonna take it anymore

Sudden hard shove
Brutal
careening across the floor and smack into the wall
Come on back because i’ve still got more in me

You aren’t them
Friend
but you’ll do as a stand-in and so will i
We’ll trade hits until they ask us to sit back down or leave

We bail and play chicken with friends and shopping carts in the parking lot of a Safeway

Ha
There isn’t one
Get it?

Stop

I don’t care if you label me, judge me and stare at me
Well, really i do but i’m working on that

I have men that enable me, gird me, encircle me
Hands under my arms so your whispers fall flat

I have women who speak to me words of encouragement
Their voice draws me to them away from the sirens

The girls in my life they look up at me, woman-sent
My beautiful daughter who heals my environs

I look at them all and i know that i’m okay
So your vicious slander doesn’t actually matter

My armour is simply i’m never alone

But what of the friendless that live all around you
That suffer in silence and never speak out

The hot acid sewage you carelessly spew
Seeps into their pores and it causes them doubt

They can’t hear a thing but your words of dismissal
Or look at the sun and be warmed by its rays

For you’ve built around them a wall of denial
That no one could love them for all of their days

Their invisibility angers and frightens me
Makes me want to shake you until the world breaks

No person should ever be left all alone

The Very Bearable Lightness of Being

There is no perfection only life
Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of BeingWell then. I’m here today, and although i’m so self-focused that i can tell you how that is in a literal way –i mean, that’s kinda what my blog IS, isn’t it– i still find it a sign and a wonder. A sign and a wonder.

Yes, i’m very aware from whence those words come. I’m doing my own thing with ’em.

**********

I was cursed from birth by my own lifegiver, but here i am, and i am not who i was supposed to be.

Her blood in my veins was a poison, her breath in me was a pall.

I cut myself open, deep, sucked out the venom, and spat it on her grave.
I dragged my slow body outside to breathe fresh air and purge her pollution.

And i stand, not who she tried to make me.

A sign and a wonder to my descendants and all who know me and want to know.
Born a slave. Made to serve.

And yet i stand, free.

I chewed through my own bonds and escaped into the desert.
I drank the heat of the sun, my mouth full of sand.

Stumbling, often crawling through the shifting lands, sometimes blinded by the stinging grit. My skin baked, then burned and blistered, then sloughed.

And i stand, no concubine nor consort.

A sign and a wonder. A new being, birthed from my own death, a servant only to myself and my sweet abortion.

Glowing flesh, blood of gold, gossamer wings, crown of light.
My own Saviour.
Sandals by Adidas.

Chubby little fists held tight by hands but a little bigger, and on.
Spanning our hand-in-hand across our intended desolation, until

HERE I STAND

Promised Land.

I release my descendants from their destiny of servitude.
By my emancipation, so too are you freed.

Look upon me, for i am a sign and a wonder.

Not a warning, but a jubilant proclamation that all might stand and be free.

Walk with me a while, if you would, for my wings aren’t quite dry.

 

A single metaphor can give birth to love.
Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

My Testimony

And now it spills forth like a fountain
Not pouring from some chubby baby angel
but from a foul-faced demon
Its stone phallus gouting filth
I cry tears of blood and semen
I burn my own ears with the acid words coming out of my mouth.
Shame and fury bubbling magma in my belly
Scorching my throat

I can still smell it
I could wash the stench off my hands, but no amount of brushing,
Scrubbing, gargling,
toothpaste, mouthwash, soap,
toothbrush, washcloth
could get the taste out of my mouth.
Breathing out the stink of
Fear and evil

I’ll fill this fountain with my bile,
Verbs that tear flesh and nouns that crush hearts
Brackish water from an ancient cistern
I’ll purge these rusty pipes and post a warning sign
It’s probably not necessary
Everyone knows the house is haunted.
Only children come here to dare each other
And they’re already dead