Stinger – Fighting doubt

“The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser men so full of doubts.” – Bertrand Russell
Tickle in my brain, flying around in there
Nettle from the wings, wings without air.
Brother to it’s flight, a needle of doubt
The sting will be sure, no way out.
I flinch from the pain, it pierces my defense
Pushing without mercy, sparing no expense
I feel the poison rush, numbing as it goes
Fiercely it corrupts, putting hope in death throes
I shake myself aware, knowing I won’t let go
To pull this ugly thing out, to stop the ebbing flow
Strength from the deep, I brace once more for pain

Doubt resurrects, it’ll keep coming back again.

Also published in Wingposse, September 2012 


02212011

The Dust – Apathy exposes your cracks

“Even when I try to stir myself up, I just get irritated because I can’t make anything come out. And in the middle of the night I lie here thinking about all this. If I don’t get back on track somehow, I’m dead, that’s the sense I get. 
There isn’t a single strong emotion inside me.” ― Banana Yoshimoto
 

 

 

You see beauty everywhere, your supposed to be happy. Your not.
You see people laughing, your supposed to be a part. Your not.
You see tears falling, your supposed to feel. Your not.
You see beauty everywhere, your supposed to be happy. Your not.
You see people laughing, your supposed to be a part. Your not.
You see prayers offered, your suppose to do that. Your not.
You see tears falling, your supposed to feel. Your not.
You see life passing, your supposed to do something. Your not.
And worst of all, you just don’t care. I mean you really, really, don’t care. About anything.
It’s death you feel in every little crack of your soul.
Like dust collecting, this death accumulates in the small areas of your life.
But wait you walking dead! Be encouraged!
There’s life again, a spring cleaning as it were, rising from the dust of death in your life.
You must quiet yourself and stop running to the next thing that will numb you.
You must quiet yourself and wait to hear the voice of your maker calling after you.
You must quiet yourself and pray to the one who has the love that will make you whole.
I’ve felt the death that living life can bring, and I’ve felt the arms of my Father,

Those arms have made me strong enough to live and be safe from the dust.

 

Also published in Broowaha Magazine
01082011

Skin – Yours feels good on me

Be forewarned: This is a creative application of an analogy
“The finest clothing made is a person’s own skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this.”  – Mark Twain
 
“It’s a sad man my friend who’s livin’ in his own skin and can’t stand the company.”                             – Bruce Springsteen

 

ad libitum

Pulling out my favorite skin, one of the many I’ve gathered over the course of years, I pushed one foot through, then pulling it over my head, stood up and turned around. There, now I’m complete. I looked in the mirror, this skin is tight, it doesn’t quite fit. “After all my hunting to find the perfect fit, damn.” These things change you know, in the night while your sleeping, they shrink and grow taking on their own wild destiny. It’s hard to pull out the men, the women, from their skins. I yank and tug, making little cuts to release the flesh, loving when it just falls off, but that usually meant someone else had the same idea, using it to hide, or rather, to enhance their look. My collection is extensive and ever changing. I pulled some off of religious fanatics, some from thugs, some from pretty boy hair bands. I yanked a couple off some bikers and even a lawyer couldn’t escape my scheming thievery. All skin is beautiful by virtue of hiding mine. I sit looking in the mirror at my latest acquisition. I sure look good in it, wish I could move though, it always rips when I go outside. No worries though, I’ll keep yanking and saving them and perhaps sew them together. I’ll find one that fits and works eventually. I wish they wouldn’t leave marks on me, it blows my cover when you see pieces that obviously don’t fit on me. I’ll make excuses and hold it on while I scurry to pull another skin over the unfinished parts of me.

Also Published in: Wingposse Magazine, April 2013

12202012 

Born Again – Recovery from Traumatic Brain Injury

 “Recovery is hard. End of story…
I spend hours a week doing homework that isn’t for school, but for rehabilitative purposes. I am regularly pushed to my limits cognitively, emotionally, and physically…
I am always tired, I have never been more aware of my difficulties in the past two years than I am now. I work a lot with figuring out strategies to manage the results of my brain injury in a way where it makes life more manageable…
I want the frustration to stop…

Despite all of the I wants, or the I wishes, I have never been so motivated in my life to succeed. I may have difficulties, but i refuse to let it define me. I will keep trying, and keep pushing. I will never be the person I was before, I may never be a conventional normal person. But I will succeed in life. Disability or not…” – Alwaygrowing
neurosciencestuff
Born again, no, not in the religious sense. There’s a new birth forced on us from several of tumultuous life changing events. Take for example, a Traumatic Brain Injury, which hadn’t received much press until many of our veterans came back from war. Their are many hard things to process and I’ll relay them to you in a greatly condensed version. As a survivor of TBI, I’ve experienced a change in habits, personality, quirks, desires, and many things I took for granted. I’ve noticed a marked decrease in patience and strong increase in violent outbursts. It took a good long while before I was able to walk without dizziness and still feel my actions are clumsy compared to the me I knew before. Writing, speaking, events that I had great control over before (I was a public speaker and very eloquent with words and phrases) seemed out of my grasp. I struggled to actually say what I wanted to, entirely different words or ideas would come out instead. People would repeat what I just said and I responded with amazement at having said something I’d never say, and that with no recollection. Writing through the vehicle of typing was another terrific challenge, my coordination and muscle memory was out of whack and I had to learn all over.
No one explained that these things could happen and most people just walked away wagging their heads, not understanding that this wasn’t me, I was born again. Like my natural birth, I had no choice in the matter, it was given to me by fate and circumstance. I reeled for years trying to find my way back to the me I knew, and still endure hardship and misunderstanding as I struggle to learn again. This is a curse and a blessing. A curse because there are bad things that resulted from the injury (violence, clumsy, forgetful, impatience) but a blessing because now, unlike growing up, I can understand that I’m forming my new self and look at my actions with the guidance of hindsight and understanding given from self education and spiritual pursuit. Born Again, hallelujah yes, but not to a spiritual reunion with God, but to a soulful reunion with who I want to be.
If you need more information on TBI here are some links: