roller coaster

buckled in for this ride
up down up down, cotton candy roiling in my gut and throat
no hands in the air to enjoy the wind
eyes squeezed tight on the wrenching drops to depths below
screaming as i plunge towards the murky blue cement pond
relieved in during straight parts and climbing to repeated summits

twists which elevate me from the duct-taped seat, i grip the bar with white knuckles
round loops, looking down at cigarette butts and trampled maps littering the ground
knowing i will always end down there with the trash
the ride slows, then stops with a hiss and a jerk on level tracks
i climb out with wobbly legs, unsteady steps
reluctantly boarding, no choice but to ride this roller coaster

wondering if i will ever cease this carnival ride
this rusted, shaky attraction ruling my days and nights
or if living with this disease will be forever
hopelessly doomed to rinse and repeat again and

again

and

again

roller coaster

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farmer

furrows plow across the surface
deep gashes opening up
tender, unprotected space.
the dull tool moving slowly over and over
until the furrow hits liquid irrigation
the marking stops
blood and skin piled up tight under fingernails
this row will not be for planting crops
the cutter finds this better than blades
always readily available
convenient, a fingertip away

as time passes
the wounds slowly close
among the weeds of infection
leaving trails of pink and purple
looking like an accidental scrape or burn patch
instead of revealing its true intention
of shame and hate

a shortened seasonal cycle creating
unassuming ridges and newly shaped ponds
daring another to understand this pain
knowing another fallow field
will soon be chosen again

farmer

antimatters

what does it matter
if i do what they want me to do
if i plan, shop and feed them food
if i get a perfunctory thank you sometimes
if the right words are said to make me respond
if i get online and play or if i don’t
if i skip a blog and stop writing anything down
if i make sure stuff gets done at the house
if i do everything that is expected
what does it matter

what does it matter
if i change my hair
if i change my weight, thinner, fatter, fatter still
if i stop creating
if i stop singing
if i stop trying to think of one thing in my life i am proud of for that fucking therapy list
if i realize i can’t write one thing down that is not soured, spoiled, rotten or ultimately fail
if i stop doing anything else
what does it matter

what does it matter
if i clean off all my personal stuff at work
if i dump all kinds of crap from the house
if i purge the pain of a now unused past life
if i pitch ill fitting clothes
if i trash stuff i don’t create with anymore
if i remove all traces i existed
if i just leave it all for them to deal with
what does it matter

what does it matter
if i cry for the life i lead
if i cry for the life i can’t lead
if i am stuck missing what i can’t have
if this ache in my body wears me down to my core
if despair never leaves even when i laugh
if i can make people think all is good by sucking it up and putting on a face
if all i think about is how i hate what i’ve done to myself, to my life
if no matter what i try, nothing really changes
if no hope is around me other than for fleeing moments left as reminders to torture me
if i cant stop crying at random times
what does it matter

what does it matter
if someone else takes my job over
if people stop guilting me into relationships
if i stop playing online games and reading books
if i stop doing anything else
if i just sit and look at a wall for hours
if i stop talking to people around me
if all there is left of me is nothing interesting
if people go on and leave me behind
what does it matter

what does it matter
if i drive my car into a garage
if i put down the garage door
if i leave the car on and roll down the windows
if i gun the engine and fill the car with exhaust
if i just sit there and wait for it all to finish
if i breathe in and out and sleep
if i pass from this sorry, frustration and fail
what does it matter

what does it matter
if i am gone
if life goes on
if others take my place
if others fill my shoes
if i fade into fleeting memories
if finally there is nothing left to remember
if it comes to the fact that it matters not in the long and short of it
it doesn’t matter.

will you burn what is left?
will you my scattered ashes in the strong prairie winds?
will you let my tempest of last emotion roar in your ears?
will you watch the gray flakes as they settle in the soil to nourish the tall grasses?
will you help me become something that matters?

antimatters

despair

Despair is a narcotic. It lulls the mind into indifference.  –Charlie Chaplin

Indifference.
The ache in my bones
The tears waiting in to spill down my cheeks
My unfocused eyes as I plod through a day
Fine. Go ahead, you got stuff to do.
Just leave me the fuck alone.

Don’t touch me.
Don’t worry, you don’t have to talk to me
or text me
or email me
or facebook me
or IM me

No worries.
I don’t care.

I know its a lot of trouble.
To ‘deal’ with me.
No worries, mon
It’s all good

You don’t have to
I am not asking you
To take time out of your day
To take time out of your life
To take time for asking me what’s up
To take time to check to see …

If I am still breathing.
No worries, really
I could give a flying fuck
Really its pretty much been status quo anyways.

Don’t want to trouble you.
No worries…..really.
It’s all good
It’s all fucking good.

despair

for what it’s worth

a rag doll, dropped and forgotten, under a rusted fender on an oil stained driveway
one muddy tire track decorated her back from right to left

“There you are,” the little monster said and grabbed the doll’s leg
“Hiding in plain sight I see,” as IT dragged the her behind it’s strides

the doll, face down, rubbed roughly against the concrete sidewalk
her dress above her head, her white underwear stained by a muddy puddle splash

“Gross, look at your underwear!” IT chided.
“You are never clean,” shaking ITs head in mock sadness

no one saw when a button eye, threads finally giving way,as it rolled to the grass
the doll’s one eye watched as her other slowly faded from sight

“Can’t you see what you have done to yourself?”
“Don’t you know how ugly you are? Gross!”

IT crossed a road, tangling the doll’s head with cigarette butts, bits of litter and sticky chewed gum
“I wish you would take better care of your hair,” flicking a glance of distaste in the her direction

IT cut across a lawn where the big dog lived and dragged her though a fresh pile
When IT climbed the chain link fence, the doll’s an arm caught at the top

“Hurry up, we are late!” yelled IT, tugging her leg roughly.
The doll’s arm ripped at the seam and dropped to the big dog’s lawn, a new chew toy for later

“Now look what you’ve done, well, it’s your own fault for flailing your arms that way.”
IT kept moving, grinding grass and mud into her tattered clothes as her stuffing guts trailed behind.

The monster stopped and looked at the beaten rag doll
With one motion, shot a great arc, deposited it in the dumpster

“Two points!” IT cheered and walked on, “See, loser, you really don’t care about yourself, freak”
The rag doll looked up at a cloud passing, as it waited on top of plastic bags of rotten food

wondering what stink would bury her soon
to cover her shame

for what it's worth

reconsidered

awash in thoughts that stick like honey to my skin
oozing into my eyes and mouth,
the taste bitter and certain

treading in the open lake,
no salt to buoy me,
arms waiving back and forth farewell in the dark night water

i look at the moon, full and hopeful with tired eyes
aching body, panting breath
pounding, saturated mind

below is an endless deep chasm lake
carved in ancient times and filled to the brim
glacier run-off ready to swallow dead lake creatures, lures and anchors

waiting for me to cramp and sink to its ink depths of oblivion.

“why swim? you’ll never make it to shore,” IT says
“your arms are lead, you’ve been treading too long
“even floating is an effort. it’s over, just stop and come with me.”

i turn on my side to try moving away,
feeling its silken fins brush my legs and arms with fatigue.
scissor kicking, I cut at IT,  to glide back, tracing my path to shore

each stroke accompanied by images of
mutual laughter around a dinner table
holding hands, arms swinging while walking in the woods
laying in a field, looking up at the sky, warm breeze on my cheeks and nose

IT whispers about tears
about betrayal and indifference
about arguments, unreached goals and failures

thankful the water in my ears muffles

the snide, jeering remarks and finger pointing.
My hand finally touches bottom and I stand up.

walking slowly through the molasses depths
from hip to thigh to calf to ankle
the rest of the way to the shore

reconsidered

 

unwanted

the blowing dirt sticking to hot, sweaty skin
and brown and black burrs clinging to socks

a finger and nail sliced while peeling an onion
and a tiny gray mouse scurrying among pantry boxes

a hangnail catching on paper and pockets, now bleeding
and tangled, knotted hair, a ball of defiance, which must be cut out

the shock of a stinging jellyfish on an idyllic white sand beach
a bee sting, leaving innards on a lance, piercing skin

the rancid taste of sour milk in Lucky Charms
and a red-hot, swollen spider bite

the squish of dog shit between toes in the summer grass
and a belly-up fish floating in a tank of algae haze

Small bits of food cemented to otherwise clean silverware
and frozen skin patches under a ski mask

Heavy layers of ice, amputating already weeping tree limbs
and a gorging mosquito slapped to a blood mark

sunburn blisters on tight fiery skin
and rotting chicken bone garbage perfume

This is who I am

unwanted