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

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

 

cold-blooded

there is a stillness in my bones
hands under my arms for warmth
i try not to move
to think…breathe
perhaps you will not notice me

curled up
in a small place
waiting, knowing you are there, basking lazily in the sunlight
just a few seconds of relief from thoughts
just a few seconds . . .

no matter
if i move or stay still
if i hold my breath or close my eyes
no matter

you’re there, wrapping your enormous body around mine
an entangled dance
squeezing other thoughts out
strangling emotions
whispering breathy words in my ears
talking conversationally about familiar failures
locking eyes with me in mock sympathy, “you poor, poor Thing”

words creep from your lips
sounds i cannot ignore
it milks my agony inside
and strikes with venomous bites, piercing skin

slithering between thoughts of joy
coiling around hints of a smile
devouring whole a skittering hope
charming others through my eyes

bathe and dress
work and cook
participate and talk
drive and walk

cry and rant alone
i keep my distance
at It’s insistence,
snake puppet

cold-blooded

rinse and repeat

stage is set with anger and hatred,
sneers and rage ready for a queue in the wings
she waits, knowing the play of cardinal sins is quickly approaching

she is shaking…the words said out loud to calm do not help
desperate attempts to stop the onslaught go unnoticed
vermilion horror dance begins again

she promises herself this is the last time
her body littered with purple and fading pink
would have flaming, sore fresh marks

“FAIL”
“FAT”
“USELESS”
“UGLY”
“GROSS”
“UNWANTED”
“BURDEN”

Tokyo red lipstick smears as
she tries to stop the flow, her hand to the wounds as they come
one after another…maybe it will clot soon

strikes of indifference and disgust continue
hidden from prying eyes of course, all a hemline away from discovery
she makes a point not to swim anymore, damage made is safe here.

a furious legacy redrawn over and over
she’s helpless to stop the vicious strokes to her torn flesh
battered body of crimes, using any handy tools of carnage

when the show is over, she watches red swirls
disappearing down the tub drain, shower water beating her body
carefully soaping stinging wound areas in order to “Keep it clean” as requested

cutter

rinse and repeat