Hey guys! The fog is clearing!

 

I’ve taken a long break from this blog the last couple of weeks I know. Alot has happened in my personal life. I moved out of my apartment, which was a big source of stress for me, and I’m about to head out of town on a much needed vacation (which is good). I’ll post pics when I get back and hopefully the de-stressing process will allow me to get my mind straightened out. And hopefully ill get back on the horse and start writing and posting again regularly. 

Check back for pics, and for posts. I hope all of you are doing well.

CruxandFlux

Broken.

 

 

You used to brush the dirt off of my knees when I fell, and gave me advice about boys, telling me to concentrate on school and not to get pregnant.

I would laugh when you would dodge and weave along with the boxers on our small black and white, so filled with energy you were.

Now you call to fill my ears with familial delusions, to complain about aches and pains, or you sit silent, stoic.

I idealized you, and placed you on a pedestal that no hu-man could realistically possess.

No one compared. Until.

What a mistake to make. The fallout has been catastrophic, our bond almost severed by severe missed-deeds.

I thought I knew you, but we now live like strangers, sharing blood tainted by twisted truths and venomous lies.

What is real I do not know. Reality has left our world.

My memories fool me, they are now fizzled abstract pictures in my mind.

I want to believe that they are real.

I struggle to dredge up the “perfect” past, hoping to recreate those times, but only end up making confusion out of the present, and I stumble drunk on to the path of a fake future. 

You. My rock, my foundation, the one I could rely on for stability, has been smashed by life, dragged back to earth, revealed for what you really are.

A failure? 

No.

Just a broken man.

Lost in Space

 

 

The phone rings.

She is missing, and no one knows where she is.

Anxiety builds, tension mounts, thoughts soar through the brain like a wounded dove.

Where could she be? This behavior is totally unlike her.

Hours pass by, as if they are only minutes, and still the questions that haunt remain unanswered.

As if no one cares.

The phone rings again. 

There is hesitation to pick it up, because the caller is unknown.

On ring number four the phone is answered, breath caught in a tightened throat.

The voice is recognizable, a sigh of relief is released, and vows are made to make things right.

Even though the steps that need to be taken are really beyond anyone’s control

What do you do when you are stuck in the middle?

When your allegiance is called into question.

What do you do when the world seems to cave in around you?

Yet you are expected to act as if undamaged?

What do you do when your identity is stolen?

And no one seems to realize that your soul has been broken?

What do you do when the person missing is you?

On writing…

 

The last couple of months for me, as mentioned previously, have been kinda insane. Work has been a madhouse, many of my personal relationships have been rocky, my own emotions swirling, and my pen dry. I was not writing, I was not getting my thoughts down on paper as I would have liked to, and as a result I became lost in my head, too introspective, and way too self absorbed.

This is very dangerous territory for me to trod, as I tend to become totally obsessed with the minutae that rules my life, and I start to think that those things are more important than they really are. I must admit that this was happening a little bit for me.

I look back on my blog and read some of my entries and realize that most of them, if not all involve very personal subjects, but my spin on them include self-pity, depression, and unhappiness.

Most of you sounded off in the comments on “Damaged Goods,” that it was well written and thoughtful, and I truly appreciate those words, and I took alot of time to truly elucidate my feelings before I posted the poem. Others talked about the fact that I was being self-indulgent and lazy, and that the poem lacked true emotion,  and to be honest, this is true as well.

When I started this blog, I promised myself that I would put pen to paper in a way that challenged me to think, and challenged my reader to think. I don’t think I have been doing this as much as I could, as of late. I don’t think that I have been allowing myself the opportunity to think outside the box and to write “for me” as much as I should, and instead, I have been writing for others. This is where problems arise. Writing becomes a chore because I have no inspiration, and I don’t want to do it.

So.

In the next month or so, when i have more time to think, to look at people on the train, to gauge their reactions, to have funny conversations over dinner, to stare into the eyes of the people i care about, i will be taking mental notes. I will be noticing the things that matter to me and I will try to include this in the poetry and prose and fiction that I write. I will try to be less dramatic, because i truly do not believe this is my true voice. I will try to be less dark, as I have a tendency to reside in this depressive negative area and it really isnt helpful for the psyche. I will try to be my best.

Like i was trying to say in my first two posts (go back and check them out), I write because it truly is the only way i have to express myself in a way that I can feel proud about. So I will continue to do so, and will not let the standard that I once kept for myself be lowered due to laziness and lack of focus.

Thank you all for your comments.

BTW…. Johnny, Im still laughing at what u said. U rock dude

Poem

 

“On Healing”

There are pieces of old paper
Stuffed in a dresser drawer.
Their lines scrawled with random notes.
Shielded from daylight
Out of sight, and out of mind, they remain
Balled tight, locked in a bed of aged oak.

No one else
Has taken a glimpse of these papers,
Just the girl, and an old pen.
Bonded together, by past secrets and lies,
She tries every day
To forget them.

No one knows, all the trouble
She’s seen, and why
She must write these things down.
They accumulate, these words
Bits of sorrow and regret,
Teasing from where they lay on an old gown.

Day after day
She stuffs and she hides, specks of a life
That put her to shame.
And with every scribble and scrap
That she thrusts in that drawer
She clings dearly onto her good name.

Because lost in the shuffle
Of life and of “love,” she managed
To lose herself in the mix.
Now she yearns for serenity
That seems forever deferred,
And her identity which she can’t fix.

So she returns to the drawer
In the lonely dead of night,
Her palms filled with tear stained words,
Thick ink flows like blood
Over hands trembling with fright
As she records every moment of hurt.

Hoping that when,
The sun rises in the bright morn,
Her broken heart will not ache as much,
And she can go on with life,
With less hurt, with less scars,
From the betrayal of an unwanted touch.

Written after reading this.

Hearts and thoughts they fade…

Gotta love Eddie Vedder..

Damaged Goods

The smile in your eye is gone
transformed into a flat, blank stare.

And the butterflies that once fluttered
deep in my soul, spreading glee
when i heard your voice
or felt your touch

Now thrash wildly against my insides,
stirring up a sickening dread

which threatens to spew
every time you fail to return my gaze.

Perhaps what you see in me
is not worth as much as
what you saw in her.

Maybe she was normal,
made you smile,
Did not depress you and
looked great on your arm.

And I am the apple that fell
too close to the trunk, worm-holed
bruised and rotten to the core,
Never in the mood to do anything,
Scared.

Is she better looking? Skinny?
Doesn’t cry on a dime, “sane?”

You played your trump card,
chose, and ended up with me.
A burden that you must lug breathless,

resentful, and gasping, uphill
like a modern day lovesick Sisyphus.

Do you feel ashamed, betrayed,
or forsaken by my instability?
By my erratic insanity?

If so, for one second
Imagine,
what it must be like
to be me and
Think, about
how hard it must be
to walk in my worn shoes.

Hey guys…

Where oh where have I been??

The month of June for me has been characterized by extreme chaos at work, a little bit of free time for myself, and a lack of focus and direction. I have not been writing. I am having difficulty getting my play completed by the deadline. Writer’s block is killing me.

I’m trying to work through it, but at times it is really frustrating. A lot of this, I know comes directly from me being in a constant state of personal and emotional flux, and honestly this instability is starting to have a detrimental affect on my ability to write everyday. So I am trying to get myself together. July will be a different month guaranteed, and hopefully I’ll be back to my old self again.

cruxandflux

“An Ode to Redemption”

My life has been created anew
through your love,
its grace has been restored,
and removed from the filthy morass
in which it was once firmly moored.

Dredged up from
beneath the darkest depths,
as if spurned on by supernatural force,
I sailed in a thick sea of fools,
determined to stay the course.

Battle scarred and weary,
and laden with guilt,
I escaped the fathoms of life’s abyss,
And I lay in your arms
and recount my toils,
salty tears replaced by your deep kiss.

In your arms I
remember days in the past
when reasons to go on were scarce,
But now I can see
this life through infant’s eyes
and boldly face my fears.

Through this test
my questions have grown
and unknowns continue to thrive.
But I still can see
as plain as morn,
Why I am glad I am still alive.

I hear your laugh
and breathe fresh air,
the reasons to live lay revealed,
And with every unfolding day
I can steadfastly say,
I am now most ready to heal.

“Night Time”

Scented purple candles
Flicker, and
Meet up with my nose.
Lavender lullabies float
And collide with rebellious cigarette smoke.
Enveloping darkness
Meets, with an intrusive laptop glare,
And jazzy drum snares
Resonate, mellowing in the
stale nighttime air

Alone in my room
Past relations are evaluated,
I try not to judge the good or the bad.
Alone in my room
Should’s, would’s, and could’s
are interrogated,
I try to appreciate the good things I have.

Alone in my room
I lay inebriated,
trying to hide from shadows
that lurk in the dark.
All alone
The mysteries of life
reveal themselves,
and dominate my deepest thoughts.

Alone in my room
I kick myself for things
that I’ve done, or words
that I should have been left unsaid, .
And alone in my room
I try not to answer the
voices that taunt me from inside my head.

My pulsing heartbeat
remembers a forgotten lover
And slowly quickens its pace.
Crushing tension melts like ice
Evaporating visibly from the
Confines of its bodily space.

Loneliness tugs hard, and
regret toys with my soul.
My pillowed head rests softly
And I lay spent, semi-clothed.
I toss and turn, frustrated yet
resigned to regain some control,
Then I try to rest in my big bed
Awake, afraid to dream, and
All alone.