Standing In Pain

There was a time when no one cared if I was hurt. No one could be bothered. There was no one to comfort me. Being so young I watched those around me for cues on how to stop being a victim.

I decided then to stop allowing others to hurt me. I decided if someone swung a fist at me, I would be swinging back.

This led to an all-out-assault on humanity. Occasionally a friend or loved one would see the sweet girl still left inside, but at some point they would become the target of my viciousness.

Abandonment ensued.

Spending most of my life in this pattern has led me to fear abandonment and betrayal.

The last few years with Steve have changed my life dramatically. I've learned to be honest, intimate and to trust. I've learned to feel real emotions again, other emotions than longing, loneliness and anger. I've learned to go back to that girl who made the decision to swing and help her learn a new way.

Recently I've been practicing "staying in the emotion". This involves addressing pain or fear as it arises and staying there until it passes, not allowing it to move into another emotion. In the past I move to anger or controlling. I with either beat the shit out of someone or try to jump in and fix everything.

Today I was attacked and hurt emotionally. Being able to stand in the hurt and accept that these people hurt my feelings and I couldn't stop them was incredibly painful. But I was able to do it with the help of my husband. He held me, comforted me and soothed me through the pain. He validated my feelings and assured me that I didn't deserve to be attacked.

This will pass and I won't allow it to turn into hatred or anger. For me, this is the greatest achievement I've made in my emotional growth this year.

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We Should Have Taught Them Anarchy

I think I know what they're missing.

The kids in my daughter's generation, the Gen Y, have learned how to work within the system, how to work the government. I've often heard them referred to as the "Entitlement Generation". But it's not their fault really. It's ours. The parents who raised these kids after watching obsessive moms like Hope from Thirtysomething insist on child-perfection and the art of coloring within the lines. We've grown so reliant on government that we raised generation of self loathing, self involved, socially selfish citizens, veiled behind the "one for all and all for one" concept. They only believe they are entitled to something because somehow, this is what we taught them.

What they weren't exposed to were the hippies and the anarchist of the 1960's. The law breakers, the shenanigans of Lenny Bruce, Larry Flynt and George Carlin. Those demonstrators that staged peaceful sit-ins, the drug users of Woodstock, and the crazy rebels who burned their draft cards. Our parents, whether they agreed or disagreed with the hippies, spoke of the mindset of the Peace Love Dope era at the dinner table and we learned.

In the 1980's we wanted to rebel against our parents, as do most generations. We grew up choosing to make money, to fight wars, to take a hard stand against Russia and put our faith in the government who was trying to protect us from the Red Scare. What we were choosing was to put more power in the hands of our government. From that, we taught our kids to turn to government rather than turn away. We didn't teach them to break the rules.

The pendulum swing from the wicked wildness and vehement demonstrations of the 60's swung our society back to another 10 years of "The Conservative 80's", in which we returned to the family values the Ronnie Reagan was selling. Alex P. Keaton was the epitome of a buttoned-up-go-getter that we all wanted to be, hoping to grow as rich as Gordon Gecko. But we would do it right. And we would pass these values onto our children.

As teens they came to idolize the Grunge Gods of the 90's. Kurt Cobain is their dead, self-loathing icon, Britney Spears taught girls to value their pre-teen sexuality as a commodity (nothing new) and the characters on "Friends" blathered on with incessant whining about how life wasn't fair, regardless of their amazing good looks. The closest this Gen Y crowd has come to rebellion has been the cartoon characters of "South Park" and the outlaws of "Sons of Anarchy", a greatly fictionalized saga which is nothing more than a motorcycle-gang-soap-opera.

As our society becomes more socialist than ever, embracing the mentality of "why doesn't someone give me what I deserve" whining, it has become painfully apparent that we forgot to teach these kids one huge lesson.

Life isn't fair.

We should have taught them to stop relying on others, including government, to reach their full potential and meet their goals. There is no fair share, there is no level playing field, and we all have challenges to overcome. Relying on oneself isn't a bad thing and there's no crime in being a contributor to your own success. And the more we as a society try to regulate every aspect of our lives, the tighter the noose becomes on us all.

Instead of teaching them to become rule breakers, we taught them to become rule makers. We should have taught them anarchy.

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I Hate Christmas

I hate Christmas.

For my family Christmas was just another reason to party.

By party, I mean get drunk and high.

The images of happy families around a tree, opening piles of gifts seems as fake to me as canned snow. It was all a facade, a display to impress others who were as joyless as I was. It was yet another thing out of my grasp of which I envied and imagined was real for everyone but me.

There were few photos taken as an occasional attendee was running from the law. Gifts were sparse and booze was plentiful. At the end of the day the tables were littered with empty beer cans, the floors and couch littered with passed out bodies, and the stench of cheap beer, cigarettes and filth hung in the air.

I knew I didn't belong here. I didn't fit in. I wanted to escape. There was no way to run, nowhere to go, because my mother owned me. My body was her property to sell to her drunken friends for drug money. My only worth was to clean the messes, be her whore, and make her feel worthy.

I hate Christmas. When my child was young I wanted to enjoy it. I didn't want to ruin it for her. All of the years of trying to fit in with others, find joy in the season, decorate, erect trees with handmade ornaments and cookie baking never covered over the agony of the memories.

Now my child is grown and gone and the old memories haunt me more than ever.

I hate Christmas.

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Black Syrup of Pain

I am dark inside and with each passing moment I an only slipping deeper into the chasm.

You reach for me seeking pink, sweet kindness, but I have none.

I am filled with poison. It oozes out of me, my breath, my words, the black syrup of death.

This is why everyone goes away. Because of the black within me.

It lurks in the shadows of my life and pounces on me when I am weak. It eats my soul and regurgitates it back into the prison of my body. The soiled remnants wallow in my mind, taunting me with who I want to be and cannot seem to be.

I will infect you with my touch. The black syrup will spill over you and cause you pain, causing you to reel backwards with disdain. I am black poison. It emanates from every pore, every cell.

I reach for the light, sunshine, goodness, in hopes to feel myself again, to heal myself again. The shroud of ugly, thick, black syrup locks me down and keeps me from the goodness that lies beyond my grasp.

I am bereft of hope. The black syrup of pain engulfs me. It owns me. It shall always be.

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My Time of Dying

The Point of Entry to The Open Space

I sank into the bed after I told them goodbye. Christmas Eve of 2008 I died in the hospital in front of my then-husband and my daughter. I told them how hot I was getting, pulled the blankets away, began to feel groggy and somehow knew I was going.

"I love you. Take care of each other. . ."

Then I slipped away.

Before my body sank completely my soul pushed out of my chest cavity and sprung towards the clouds. The clouds were vibrant colors of orange, yellow, green and blue, flashing one color at a time. As the hum of a vibration I couldn't see changed pitch the clouds changed colors. In the center of the clouds was an opening, beyond which was The Open Space.

I was a vibration made up of three facets; a mixture of a particular tone, a consciousness and of light. The tone was my familiar pitch that I am and always have been. My consciousness was the reasoning, understanding, memory, emotions and comprehension that I've always known. My light was the essence of humanity I gained as a human being. I knew in that moment, free of my body, that I had always been the vibration, the pitch, the tone. But on my journey as a person I gained the consciousness and light.

I laughed at myself. It was all so hilarious how I had worried about all of the wrong things, cared about all of the inconsequential incidents that our days bring and all of the fears we fill ourselves with to feel real. This was real, and it was so funny how I knew it all along, yet spent so much time of my life pretending I didn't.

The opening in the clouds was coming closer and as I traveled toward it, I marveled at the clouds themselves, the puffs of gas that I had never seen before and how they worked in unison with the sound of the surrounding vibration. The gaseous clouds moved and rolled, but could barely be considered clouds by our concept of clouds as humans. These were so vibrant, alive and colorful; they seemed to be the fuel that propelled my soul of light into the next level of space.

The Open Space was far more vast than I have the ability to explain. It was limitless, but felt compact in some inexplicable way. The Open Space was the color of a reflection in a dark mirror, not a color that can be seen by human eyes, so there is no name for the color. Luminescent, vibrant, and alive, it was filled with a type of mist that moved freely, like droplets of moisture hanging in the air.

As my soul, the ball of sparkling light, was moving towards the opening, I could see countless other souls moving beyond the clouds to collect together. This was a combined consciousness, The Gathering we are all destined for. The warmth, welcoming and joy I felt was overwhelming and I found myself filled with gratitude. For a long moment I paused and basked in the gratitude, so pleased to feel safe, weightless, joyful and pain-free. It had been so long since I had been pain-free.

At the center of The Gathering was much like a sun, but instead of the rays of light moving away from the star, The Gathering was all of the souls of light coming into it. I had an understanding come over me that when the appropriate number of souls reached The Gathering, it would implode with gravity and create a new consciousness.

I was heading toward The Gathering when suddenly, my journey was over. Pulled backwards I slammed back into my thick, painful, heavy body and opened my eyes to see my daughter weeping before me.

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I'll Never Have Us

Never thought it would happen

You'd leave me this way

I turned to look

And you'd gone away

I'll never have us

I'll never have us

I'll never have us

I'll never have us

So broken and hollow

I'm left here to stay

Only nighttime will follow

'Cause you took the day

I'll never have us

I'll never have us

I'll never have us

I'll never have us

(After dreaming this song, I woke up and wrote it. I searched for it online first, because the beautiful girl singing it sounded so familiar, but I didn't find results. It was a dream.)

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Life to Ride

In the moment the spoken words lifted me from my seat, I knew that I had arrived. Meaningless, lilting prose spoke to parts of my soul that had been set free by unapologetic honesty. The poetry group seemed to last only moments, although the clock indicated hours. Fitting in with those who fit nowhere only reminded me that these moments are too few in my life.

I'm tired of trying to fit in. I don't want to be weird, or to stand out; only honest about my purpose. I want to act natural, feel natural, live natural, be natural, in my own world. And no, you can't be part of it. This is only for me.

Mounting my motorcycle Gracie I realize she belongs to me, with me, under me, between my thighs. She roars with delight as I stroke her throttle and bring her soul to life, the way she brings mine to life with each mile. She was once forgotten, forsaken, neglected and alone, the way I had been. We found one another by happenstance, the way one finds a penny in a parking lot. I wasn't looking for her, but there she was. Taking her meant parting with my good friend Katie, but my soul knew the time was right. I seized the moment.

Gracie roars on misty streets in the moonlight, harmoniously weaving through the manholes and streetlights, tickled to simply be in motion. She wishes we could ride farther, longer, faster, but she does not complain. She waits ever so patiently at the curb, under the streetlight, for my next approach.

She knows I need her, I want her, I love her. With the turn of the key, the ignition sparks my heart, charges my desire to chew yellow-striped asphalt and swallow wind. She rumbles between my legs with anticipation of our next road, hoping there is no destination, only a life to ride.

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Brewing

I'm climbing the walls, coming out of my skin.

No real reason. At least not outwardly. Or something obvious, evident, clear.

Something is brewing within me, deep inside, where things tear apart the fabric of my existence.

I've been through so many changes the last few years, I fear I cannot take another right now. I don't see any way to avoid it. How can I avoid something from within?

I'm waiting for change. I see it on the horizon, regardless of my wishes for peace, calm and serenity. Change still lurks just beneath the surface.

Ready or not, I'll take it, stay on course, and grow.

But Jesus Fucking Christ, I would sure love a break.

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Scars

Grasp the bars
Kick through gears
Let the wind
Dry my tears

My rolling tires
Ride so far
Take me away
But not the scar

The pain inside
I left behind
Cleared away
From my mind

Though miles heal
Wounds you made
The scar you left
Just won't fade

Scratches in
My paint & chrome
No matter how
Far I roam

Scars remain

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My Church

My Church ~ My Heaven ~ My Religion

The racing ribbon
Striped of gold
Rising and falling
Soothing my soul
Cleansing my sins
Healing my ills
The ribbon of grey
Keeps my heart still
My crimson tank
Gleams of morning shine
Passing bracken hills
Green gold sublime
I found the Christ
On my leather pew
Behind chrome bars
In skies of blue
Breathe him in

My Church ~ My Heaven ~ My God

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Spoiling in Virginia

Virginia fields of soybeans wave
Marshy cattails gaze at passers by
Reaching tall from green and gold
Cornstalks tickle clouded skies

Asphalt trail winds among the living
Trees branching across the span
Aching limbs long for more
Embracing spirits with leafy hands

Struggling to maintain her dayshine glory
Beams of fire throb from sinking sun
Hot horizon gulps her downward
Swallowing daylight with a thirsty hum

Sullen sunflowers drop their heads
Bending low, long past their prime
Each sunset marking a gallant struggle
Of standing bravely for a lifetime

Stationary, each living embodiment cries
Rooted so deeply in Virginia soil
Roots give them life with binding purpose
An imprisoned life will only spoil


with imprisoning tethers

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Pecans

Her name was Luka and she was my only friend. At the age of 22 I was less than a year sober, lonely and living in a city where I knew no one but my co-workers. I was angry and scared. My fiance dumped me after cheating with another girl. Trusting no one, I still longed to be in love, to be loved, to find "the one". In my desperation, love eluded me, other than Luka.

After work each day I would go home to my apartment and to my Luka Marie. Greeted with 30 minutes of meows, I imagined she was complaining about my being gone all day, how bored she was, and telling me what she did to entertain herself. Then after chewing me out, she would forgive me and rub against my leg, begging to be pet.

Once I had gobbled down a frozen dinner, I would rush out the door to an AA meeting and directly back home to my Luka with her favorite treat. We cuddled in bed together sharing Butter Pecan ice cream, licking from the same spoon, watching TV. We savored the ice cream, and being together, until the ice cream was gone and I dropped off to sleep, only to start my sad process over again the next day. She was my friend, my loving, patient friend, and I was so grateful to have her.

Eating Pecan Pie 25 years later in Tulsa, that flavor takes me to those days. The sadness is now gone from my life, the past now rest in the past, and my days are filled with love and adventure. Had I known it would come to this I wouldn't have worried so about someone to love and being loved. I had a friend in Luka and it turns out that she was all I needed in a time of heartbreak. I wish I could have appreciated all I had.

My entire life was ahead of me, yet I had no patience for the process of time. Today I look across the table and see my best friend, my husband Steve, and smile. I don't want today to end, although I know it will, because now, I understand the process of time. Today will be tomorrow and tomorrow makes no promises. I have now, and grateful or not, now doesn't last for long. The only thing guaranteed is change. Sometimes that is good and sometimes that is not. It seems that few things stay the same in life. I'm grateful one of them is pecans.

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Tortured with Poison

"Such a sad life I've had!"
The cry so many times to pass my lips.
So unfairly treated, painfully neglected,
Abused, child alone, unprepared for the world.

A world so cruel, with men who used me,
"All men are hateful! They stab my heart!"
Abused, cheated, injured.
To never trust again, carried my sorrow.

My sorrow painfully burdened my shoulders,
Burned my heart, hardened my purpose.
"Why should I love, when no one loves me?"
Why should happiness evade me so?

Happiness was mine to have, all along.
Had I looked I'd have seen how wrong,
It was to hate with poison strong,
To carry this burden, for Oh! so long.

Let it go, set sorrow to sail,
Goodbye to hurt with one huge wail,
Left behind, don't tell the tale,
Mending my heart, though so frail.

Fractured from my own abuse,
Holding hate I thought I'd use,
Protected me but made recluse,
It was only love that I did lose.

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Behind the Walls of Stone

Steve, my words are broken, convoluted, muddy, thick and bereft of reality. I struggle to take meaning to words, but they twist and break with emotion. My speech betrays my heart, my soul, my truth.

The poison spews and contaminates all we have, not from malice, but from failure. My shortcomings, emotion, ignorance, weakness, pain, and fear ruin all that's spoken and pelt you with stones of failure; my failure.

My weakness comes between heart, soul and my tongue, polluting my intent with hostility.

The failure, my own.

My pain screams within me, unheard, angry only at my own shortcoming in being inarticulate and true. The child inside weeps and relents, giving up all hope of being understood.

I shall go back now to building the walls I trusted to tear down. There is no hope any longer. I did my best to be honest and intimate. I have failed. Tonight I will begin putting back in place the blocks I had so bravely torn away. Tonight I realize I'm not fit for intimacy.

The walls that once protected me became a prison. Now I realize I'm doomed to spend eternity behind them knowing I'm not worthy or fit to be free from them. My inability to communicate only causes harm to others. To you. The man I love. To love is not to harm, but to care. All I share is pain. Because I love you I will lock myself away to protect you. I'm not capable of sharing, poisoned as I am.

Convicted, ruined, worthless, society is safer with me where I belong. Behind the walls of stone. Steve, it's because I love you and truly want to protect you that I must lock myself away, for I realize now I will never be able to be intimate with you without constantly harming you. My ignorance, lack of skills, lack of experience, and my inability will never overcome my desire to show you my love and share my heart. I'm too broken. I'm unworthy. I'm poison for you, for everyone.

My only ability is to harm. Like a convicted murderer, I am not fit. Prison is where I belong.

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Dream Awakened

As your silhouette crossed the threshold,
The sun afire enveloped your elegant frame,
A striking figure, you moved closer,
Dream awakened as you spoke my name.

My heart bled pricked, my soul cracked,
Releasing the terrors held within,
Creating void for grace to enter,
And let my dream awakened begin.

Grace penetrated with great intent,
Where love and terror had collided,
Along my path of dream awakened,
My head quiet, my heart guided.

The stones once built to hide the empty,
Such stones lie shattered in your path,
Of footsteps you had trod within me,
To find my dream awakened at last.

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