what

what do you see?

a flattened squirrel, its tail waving as cars pass
a scar, still seeping, drawn from the right to left side of a face
hazy, yellow valley smog, tainting living creatures and building structures
dead, marred, polluted

what do you feel?

a roiling stomach of acidic, spicy food daring to reveal itself to everyone
a finger nail broken past the quick, raw, aching, persistent
dog running loose from street to street, nose looking for a sign of home
acrid, broken, panicked

what do you smell?

a person ignored on a busy downtown street, urine and filth a trailing veil
a cloud of green, stagnant pond scum by a forgotten, dilapidated dock
skunk mating season in full swing, the perfume wafts through the air
shamed, infected, stench

what can you touch?

a heaping landfill of the discarded: half eaten food, unwanted things, infested with vermin
an bare hand stuck to ice in subzero wind and snow, unmoving blue and white
Rotting barn, leaning all the way to the right, windows touching ground, gray boards rotting
unneeded, frozen, abandoned

What do you hear?

a rock exploding through a living room window, a jagged-toothed view in an instant
a cloud of flies dancing about a kelp-wrapped crab, one claw gone
crashing car and train, the screech and moan of metal crushing, flesh splitting…dragging
ruined, rotted, maimed

What you saw, what you felt
what you smelled, what you touched
what you heard, what you now know
is me

pond scum

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

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

and again

on my mind
for days
it won’t let go

i am alone today
i can get this done
i can stop it from being in my head
needling me
scorning me
hounding me
plaguing me
mocking me
chanting
broken record of chants
it will NOT stop

i give in
i know i might as well
this is the only way
i get the blades from their new hiding place
i know the routine
i know the ritual
but bigger letters this time
covering more skin

FAT
UNWANTED
IGNORED
A BOTHER
NO ONE

now i have unmatched matching legs
and ten words
in fresh red marks
and old purple scabs and scars
labeling me
judging me
describing me
telling me who i am
mocking my attempts to be better
showing anyone who looks
what i am

daring someone to take notice.

calm
trance
no more voice

blade thrown away, hidden
smeared red skin
clots running down the shower drain
no traces
only a fiery hot leg
with exactly 100 cuts
how ironic, 100

and again

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

what IT is

“you know I am right
I will win,” IT speaks softly in my head
like a secret from a child…or love whispers

“I am your personal acid bath
peeling away layer after layer of skin
making your bones white as snow as I bubble happily

“I am piranhas biting your flesh
schooling you in your failures
as you dissolve, skeleton resting on the soft Amazon river bottom.

“I am the black crows, waiting for a car to pass
swooping down to your flattened carcass of a life
pulling pieces of you to devour slowly

“I am the tornado
picking up your lifeless body
broken, arms and legs jutting at weird angles, tossing you into a corn field

“I am the quiet skittering black widow
patiently navigating your tennis shoe strings
just a little love bite, dear, it won’t last long.

“I am darkness in an underground cave
wedging your body tighter into a crevice
no water, no light, not hope of rescue

“I am your truth and destruction
your failure cheerleader
I will win, loser.”

IT slithers away while I watch
knowing another visit, another psychological beating
will happen again…and soon