Actor

I am nobody.
I am not real.
I am an actor in the reruns you chose to fill the role of your past.
You don't know my real name, my real pain, my real love.
I go unheard as you read the script of your play.
You see the scene in your mind; beginning, conflict. . . complications, unrest. . .
The play never works out quite right.
There is no final act, no resolution.
The actors don't know their lines, their marks, their cues.
My words, my words are tattered by the screaming voices of your past.
My love is fragmented through a tornado.
Our life is only a repeat.
Same channel, same story, same time.
Repeat the shame, worthlessness, guilt, sorrow, abandonment, pain, loss, FEAR.
Emotions we both grudging drag from day to day, place to place.
We hate the baggage.
I beg to be heard by ears filled with old chants of yesterdays.
You can't be loved.
I want to give to you a new life filled with joy, love, reality, passion.
Our passion fuels the flames of shouting and tears.
We press hurtful cries from lips rather than kisses.
The script's lines hang in the air twisting, gnarled.
Cut!
Start from the top.
You stand in love's doorway and look backwards, behind you, inside you.
You long for love as much as I want to give it to you.
I haven't the ability to stop the play, to quit the role, unless I go.
I will not quit.
You deserve my love.
I shout, beg, cry my love, my compassion, my empathy, my sorrow, my desire for you.
You can't feel me.
I am not heard.
I am nobody.
I am not real to you.

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Amnesia

Amnesia would be welcome,
To come over me,
To recreate me,
To bliss me.

If I could ride away from
Time and schedules,
Expectations and demands,
Requests and guilt,
Money and trappings,
Clothing and coverups,
Yesterday and the stories,
There would be truth.

Perfection is truth.

I want to swallow morning sun,
Bask in river waters,
Roll upon two-wheeled asphalt trails,
Touch a buffalo on his nose and
Pray at his the hooves of his awesomeness,
Watch a tornado thunder by and
Lie under Jupiter with an open heart.

My soul soars every moment,
If I choose a limitlessness life,
Each second without a second hand,
No appointment to keep,
No person awaiting my arrival.
I am able to walk into truth.
I see her eyes beckoning me enter.

Amnesia would be freedom.

To wander empty prairies,
Roam among the buffalo,
Clothed in daisies,
Warmth from the high sun,
Darkening my shoulder skin.

No etiquette nor rules,
No burdens nor chores,
But to live now;
To breathe.

Let me forget how I came,
How I have become, whom I have become.
Can I not just become again?

Amnesia, pour across my dry path,
Renewing my spirit.

Grateful for the days of life I've walked,
In this name I've grown into
This name I've become.

Oh, but to embrace the freedom of amnesia,
To drop the clock,
And guilt
And expectations.

Oh, to be new again.

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I Love

I Love. . .

The colors of a sunset in Albuquerque, NM.

Walking in Manhattan on a Saturday afternoon in August.

Red Velvet cupcakes with a dollop of frosting on top.

A sip of smooth bourbon as it warms my chest going down.

Crisp Ginger Snaps.

Lavendar lotion at bedtime.

The desert after a rain storm.

A very large sirloin steak, medium rare.

The view from the Laurel Street Bridge of the city lights of Downtown San Diego as the sun sets.

The feel of my throttle pulled back relentlessly.

Shopping in thrift stores.

Poetry.

The feel of real fur on my shoulders, especially mink.

Soft socks and my Hello Kitty Blanket.

Campbells Turkey Vegetable Soup.

Chai Tea with cardamom and honey.

Plays by Tennessee Williams and Screenplays by Billy Wilder

My husband's smile, his crooked teeth and the tips of his fingers.

Riding my motorcycle with wild abandon, laughing madly, for just a moment or two.

That my grandniece climbs on my motorcycle to ride it like it's her own, even though she isn't quite 2- years-old yet.

Jimi Hendrix lyrics and Elizabeth Barret Brownings' poems.

Jupiter by Holst.

The name Prudence.

The smell of my grandson's skin.

The sound of fiddles and banjos on the sidewalk in Knoxville, TN.

Holding my daughter when she comes to me for comfort.

Wearing turquoise, diamonds, sapphires, pearls, white gold and silver.

The laughter in my niece's home of she, her husband and her children.

Tacos, sushi, and fried chicken.

The song, My Funny Valentine.

Alaskan Malamutes and Bull Terriers.

A California beach on a rainy day.

Receiving an unexpected phone call from a friend, just to offer comfort and love.

Strong blue cheese with white truffle honey served with kalamata olives and roasted almonds.

Saying shocking things to people, but hoping I never offend them in the process.

Learning that I have inadvertently helped someone with my story.

The scent of Banana Bread cooking.

A long, warm oil, deep tissue massage.

The scent of star jasmine in the late afternoon.

Waking up early with energy on a day I'll be riding my motorcycle.

The purple that sets into the Rocky Mountains as the sun goes down.

The sound of a real silver spoon against a fine bone china tea cup.

Myself, my past, my future and my life, just as it is, right now.

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Stains of Pain

Cough, cough, cough up the black licorice fire of charcoal vomit from the medicinal spasm in my torturous thoughts.

Think, think, think of the wind soaked blue grey flight nearly leaped from the sunset 8th floor balcony.

Taste, taste, taste the cold blue steel of the 32 mm revolver on my tongue against the brain intended bullet.

Suicide skips this spot today, only to visit again, with hopes to steal the soul of a pain-soaked, willing victim, ready to plunge head first into concrete coffins of city sidewalks, leaving stains of sorrow.

Stains that beg forgiveness from those who cannot comprehend a life of being hunted by pain.

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Knowing The Real

Until you've crested the mountain top

With your mechanical speed between your thighs

Until you've seen the sprawling horizon

With tears flowing from joyful eyes

Until you face the pounding wind

At 80 miles as you ride

Until you face all fellow humans

With nothing left to hide

Until you've veered between the semis

On highways of rubber and steel

You've not known the fear of living

And you've not known what is real

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Fuel of Pain

Choking on fuel

That burns anger,

Pain, resentment,

Spitting of words,

Choking the sobs,

Pointing fingers.

Starving for air.

No room to breathe.

Engine gasping,

Chugging, lurching,

Begging to be,

Understood once.

Motorcycle

Engine stalled,

A breath comes in,

Truth exhales fire,

Burning the room,

And all inside.

All is in ruins,

Fuel everywhere,

Poisoning all,

Soaking through earth,

Paralyzing,

And sets me free.

Air and fuel mix,

The spark ignites,

Engine fires up,

Wheels start turning,

The road ahead,

Open, calling,

Beckoning me.

Escape and Ride

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Fly Black Birds Fly

Pain is Black Birds

They lie under my skin

Come to remind me

Of darkness within

Release the Black Birds

Allow them to fly

Let go of the pain

Goodbye, goodbye

Fly Black Birds Fly

Away from my body

Black Birds take flight

Into the skies

They make the midnight

Release the black thoughts

Pour out the black tears

Black Birds don't belong

In bodies with fears

Fly Black Birds Fly

Black Birds mean no harm

Not meant to be held

Blacken our hearts

Poison our cells

The pain that I feel

Is their struggle to fly

Release the Black Birds

To make the midnight

Fly Black Birds Fly

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