Are you OK?

Are you ok?

I don't know.
I'm trapped in an ever sinking sort of bubble in the middle of the depths of an ocean.
So first let me figure out how to pop it.
Then I will tell you how I am.
If I am ok.
If I still know how to breathe.
Still know how to talk.

Because right now I don't know.
And haven't for a while.

Mother

I wrote this one when I was super hurt and really angry. I wrote it kind of as a story book that has a start and a finish. Bad start good finish with the characters. Because it does say jesus freak and hypocrite thats going to hell, i am not putting myself above her. We are all sinners. But in this particular poem and as my emotions being as they were when i wrote it, I took the beginning and end into weighty extremes of contrast to give the poem tangible emotion so the reader could feel how i was feeling then.

this is it:


My mom's a control freak;
Wow, ain't that neat?
But I'm a Jesus freak,
So have a seat.

I gotta tell ya somethin',
So listen well.
It's all about a hypocrite
that's going to Hell.

She says, ¨Do as I say, not as I do.¨
Jesus freak--she claims to be one too!

When it comes to the day when she goes up to the sky,
God will send her far back down with a shrieking cry:

¨I DO NOT KNOW YOU! SO GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!¨
¨Why?¨ She asks, ¨All I did was do everything out of spite.¨

Down, down, down she went.
Sadly on that day her soul was spent.

Thankfully that day is yet to come.
For my mom, let's pray some.

O Lord, will you heal my mom's heart from all the wounds she's had?
Will you make her heart one that is joyful, cheerful, and glad?

O God by your hands alone
Make her heart stitched together and sewn.

Healed, God. Healed.
Make her old life repealed.

Create in her a pure heart that has you as number one
And the Holy Spirit and the Son.

I pray all this in Jesus' graceful name,
Hoping that, with a pure heart my mom will soon do the same.

Amen.

A Summer in Shackles

I awoke at dawn to calamity.
Known and unknown voices tell me to rise.
I stumble into the living room dizzily;
I can't believe my sleep encrusted eyes.

Binding his hands are iron clad restraints.
On his face shame; mixed with something I can't name.
I've lied to myself too long--you are no saint.
From now on my life will never be the same.

I draw what I've seen on a paper pad
and then hand it back to the police officer.
The drugs. The pills. The stealing. THE LIES. Why dad?
How could you? How could you do this to your daughter?

¨I'm sorry.¨ You say. I don't know for which part.
Sad thing is; I've known of what you do from the start.

"Living in the Moment"

Today is the oldest you've ever been.
And the youngest you will ever be.

That takes "living in the moment" to a whole new level.

Because of certain restrictions in my life I cannot live my life fully to the extant I want to.

I'm still shackled by the metaphorical umbilical cord.
But I'm yanking on them.
The chains.
For years really.
And soon they shall break apart.
And I shall be free.
Yet with the iron cuff forever around my wrist.

The Sad Story of a Used Eraser

I am a used eraser.

A person who has had me from the very beginning of my time has
Used, abused, and then tossed aside my very existence.

They once loved me.
Needed me for their daily life.
Now that they have used me: I am done and over with.
Now, they only need me to abuse so they can be happy.
Feel better, some sort of twisted joy they get from abusing a wee little eraser.
Hurting it everyday, without any apologies. Not that they would matter.
The user, only speaks to me when they need something or is angry.

Piece by piece I float away on the wind.
Until all that is left is some piece of rubber that can fit in nowhere.
Yet, the user and abuser has one last laugh by tearing that small ring of rubber up.
Piece by piece.
Still yet, piece by smaller piece. Kicking it while it's down.
Having the last laugh by scattering them all in different places.
So that even if the eraser were to be whole again,
It would never find every piece that the user and abuser scattered.

Behind Closed Doors

Behind closed doors

no one sees the bad deeds.

When the curtains close and

I am backstage.

When the party ends and

it's time to go home.

Even though I'm not alone,

I'm alone.

I get told I'm crazy and worthless.

Lazy and--now I'm hopeless.

The mind games played by the insane

make me so confused.

So confused...

What is the truth?

I don't know.

At least not right now.

Most days I feel a cold numbness within me.

Self preservation I suppose.

To keep all of my feelings from becoming exposed.

I cannot stay in this state

and I refuse to do so.

I shall now restate my previous question:

What is the truth? to 

Who is the truth?

For Jesus is the truth.

I know he will help me through this.

I have the hope that he will.

Because I don't like this. This feel.

Here I Sit

Here I sit
And I must admit
That I am conflicted.

I am conflicted in that
I don't know.
People tell someone one thing
Then later do something
So extreme that one could only
Think the nice things were dreams.

I like to think that I can trust people.
Life would pass by easily.
And I do. That's the problem you see.

Be it a person telling you, you can't do something.
Or that you'll never afford any bling.
Be it you get slapped around.
Or have been choked. Punched. Pushed to the ground.

Repression of memories.

Did you know you repressed memories?
No, of course not, for they were hidden.
Hidden in the dark depths of your mind.
You don't need to wander there. You'll go blind.

There's a fog in your brain.
It needs to clear. If not will you become insane?

Yes, some bad things have happened to you.
But you can't just put a band-aid on that kind of boo boo.
Eventually the band-aid will fall off.
You are now stuck with emotions you've never known.

Too many.

Overwhelming.

Reclusion. Seclusion. Isolation.

Don't go into the dark recesses of your mind.
You'll get trapped there.
It will be so dark you won't be able to find a way out.

You need to be safe.

You need love.

You need encouragement.

You need...

The Story of Macbeth

There once was a man who wanted to be king,
So he did some very terrible things.

He and a friend ran into some sisters.
The kind that can make you have magical blisters.

The sisters said that one would be king,
And one would not.
One's son's would reign,
And one's would not.

HIs ambition grew and knocked his morals out of sight.
He wants to be king. This is now his plight.

But the man who would be king got in a rush,
and lots of lives got flushed.

His wife pushed him to kill.
Their love was a drug;
Some sort of pill.

So he did as she commanded,
But while under her spell,
he came to love this crime of bloodshed.

Paranoia. Guilt. Fear.
All mixed together in his atmosphere.

He's falling in a deep abyss of despair.
Murdered his loyal friend.
Screaming, ¨Who are you? Where?¨
Now into oblivion; he descends.

His wife murdered from afar.
Then when she felt trapped,
She killed herself.
Released from the bell jar.

A noble cousin has found out the truth,
Though it took no sleuth,
To figure out what Macbeth had done.
And now his head is none.