Back To Back

“You may not remember the time you let me go first.
Or the time you dropped back to tell me it wasn’t that far to go.
Or the time you waited at the crossroads for me to catch up.
You may not remember any of those, but I do and this is what I have to say to you:

Today, no matter what it takes,
we ride home together.”
Brian Andreas, Traveling Light: Stories & Drawings for a Quiet Mind

 

weheartit
Back to back that’s how we started,
fighting the whole world, we never parted.
Then came new life, shafts in the quiver.
We fired them off, our crops never withered.
Along came the wolf, death he swore.
He limped and lied to get through the door.
He consumed you with his intellectual abandon,
my back now unguarded, my heart saddened.
I tried for months to retake the hallowed ground,
but you were too far gone, never to be found.
Lost and spinning, exposing my nakedness,
I struggled grimacing, my life hard pressed
Then I saw her, evil disguised as purity.
Face of an angel, a heart that wasn’t free.
I came to her with my intentions pure,
she cast one glance, it was over for sure
All the passion I wished you to use,
now you found it, she was your muse
I drove on, looking at you secretly,
asking me to stay, your nakedness I see
To late, like fire spreading on water,
she flowed freely, around all your barter
Driving on into my own peril,
she would slay me with just one arrow
Entranced by her wiles, I followed her to hell,
but my back not guarded, I swiftly fell.
Barely I survived, held under the water of pain,
my lungs bursting to breath love again
Fire scorched and burned through all my nerves,
it never went out, smoldering in the curves
Struggling to gain ground, to get back to back again,
Back to back one day, I long for my friend.

Also published in Broowaha
08072010
 

Fears Rattle

“Fear was no longer thrilling—just scary and everywhere. ”
A Rattle With Death In Yosemite, Kyle Dickman

Fear Snake
Venus Aversa

Fear. My constant companion through my youth, one whom I delighted in tormenting and teasing. Then, I encountered Fears progeny, through which it reigns over the emotions of men, Death. After being dealt a near death dealing, if not certainly life changing, experience of a Traumatic Brain Injury. The same Fear, now held a different power, a power given it by myself. My experience with life can now be explained by this quote “Fear was no longer thrilling—just scary and everywhere.” – A Rattle With Death In Yosemite, Kyle Dickman. My fight to regain self, intelligence, belief, and sense of safety became a daily if not hourly battle. Everything was magnified by my mind to be a “flight or fight”, “life or death” experience. This meant, hyper-vigilance, on guard for the next attack. Not patient with any perceived threat, I magnified the innocent comments of people, the common occurrences of life to the point where I railed against them and actively fought with anger and violence, whether verbal or physical, I would push back against all comers. I still fight, though a little calmer now, mainly through constant help from my God and my wonderful woman, and I find that I can relax, even if its just a little, and let what will happen, happen. I cannot control life, I must accept death (not just death but a possibility of dependence on others for support, a huge blow to my ego) and uncertainty. I must LIVE and find JOY from the now, where I do breathe and walk on my own. I have survived, and there will come a time I will die, or be incapacitated. But let it be, let it be.

 

(This post is new and unedited. Due the brevity of life, I put it up immediately to teach whoever may want to know about me, and perhaps about them.)

Soul Burn

“Affliction comes to us, not to make us sad but sober;
not to make us sorry but wise.” –  H. G. Wells

 

romantisme-noir

 

Eternal sadness abounds, never giving an inch against the burning sun

Tears on the edge, never cease to torment this one

Emotions raw, callouses never to form on the soul

Why?

 

What do I lack that fights against the shade of desperation?

 

Endless suffering clouds, always preempting the dawn

which rises in without concern of this one

Even a feather, lighting on my mind brings pain

Why?

 

The First Rung

“The first step, my son, which one makes in the world, is the one on which depends the rest of our days.” – Voltaire

Reaching up from this muddy pit

My hands find the first rung
I’m not letting go of it, my feet still stuck
Screaming at the top of my lungs
From this first rung on the ladder
I will not be thrown
Everything in me yelling, you can’t do it
Everyone around me laughing at my attempts
No comfort, no friends when your down this low
The first rung is all you have
Yet I climb, slapping for the next rung, I will ascend
Out of this frothing mire
I will not let go, beaten down time by time
I find myself alone, beginning again
I shake myself from my own doubt
Now I find myself afraid to succeed
What will be required of me?
No more easy carefree existence
The struggle becomes necessary to stay on the ladder.
At the bottom, swimming aimlessly in the lost masses
Who cares what you do?
As you climb out, everyone looks at you, they are encouraged by your rebellion
To climb out of their own mess, to take the challenge of living again.
This first rung, the hardest, taking the most courage to live beyond
The lies spoken to you from those in your youth, and by your lovers
Who are no longer there.
Discomfort at having to leave your habits, your friends.
Not everyone will follow you up,
Most times, no one will.
You will have to meet those who are climbing on your way up.
You see they left the mire long ago,
Every now and then glancing back to see the despair
Which they escaped so narrowly.
So I cling, to this first rung, by tenacity, hard to define
This first rung is life, this first rung is mine.
Also published in:  Broowaha
Also published in:  Life As A Human

03082011

Am I?

“What a terrible feeling to love someone and not be able to help them.”
Jennifer Niven, All the Bright Places

 

Vortex tumblr_ombbz58Pk31twrbr9o1_r2_500

 

An inexorable sadness crawls over my soul

My familiars struggling for breath, swallowing

Great gulps of life’s saltwater hopelessness

And I am powerless.

An unexplainable fountain pours the source

In touch with the obscure, a manifest creeping

mindlessly moving and untouchable seediness

And I am powerless.

An excruciating desire grows in my soil

To lift a hapless soul from withering

In a vortex of spiraling downdrafts

Am I powerless?

I Love Beautiful Dark Things – Not all things dark are evil

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” Mary Oliver
afanador
I love beautiful dark things,
that bring shadow to your life,
making things come alive,
with depth and mystery.
These beautiful dark things
are what’s between bright and nothing,
a hope of a world beyond extremes.
 
I love beautiful dark things,
without which you’re two dimensional.
Lost on the page of life.
I bring direction with my beautiful dark things,
They show you where the light is,
the subtlety of life,
bringing texture from flat canvas.
 
I love beautiful dark things,
Not all that’s dark is contrary to light.
I’m wherever light is found,
I’m the coolness in the heat,
I’m the protection on the run.
Beautiful dark things are
mysteries of things to come,
A shroud to cover your soul.
 
I love beautiful dark things…
 Also published in Broowaha
09022011

Just A Look

“Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand. WILLIAM CONGREVE, Love for Love

The plainest man who pays attention to women, will sometimes succeed as well as the handsomest man who does not.” – CHARLES CALEB COLTON, Lacon

 

mvninn
The attentions of a woman make me feel alive and vibrant with power. Like a crashing wave, her look and positive glance wash over my life leave me with a feeling of satisfaction. What curse am I under? The power in her movement captivates me and stops my whole world to see her for a moment on the miraculous hinge of change, all it takes is her reaction. If she likes me, pays me some attention, then peace and excitement in abundance. If she turns away, her rejection ignites a fire, inciting a riot of feelings in my body. Though heaven call and hell reach, nothing matters but her at that moment. There’s no end to the amazing things that I’ll put my body and mind through to see her smile. Not just a special her, but the one that has stopped my heart from proceeding with its mundane tasks. Dropped to my knees, not by an amazing model, rare and fleeting, but by that woman who holds herself with such confidence and sexuality that I find a smell of desire wafting across the room to bring me to my knees. I’ve stumbled down the steep paths of self-esteem, yet to know she’s there, watching with interest, gives me the most incredible lift. This hawk takes to an empowering thermal desire and rises to heights unreachable when you, sweet woman, give me your smile.

01242013

Hindsight

“Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It’s like killing yourself, and then you’re reborn. I guess I’ve lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.”
Charles Bukowski
skins
The morning after, it’s plain to see,
the drunken mistakes, you did to me
Your eyes are teary, with stains of sorrow
I’m hardened to that, it’ll happen tomorrow
As the sun sets fear, sings lullabies
Soon you’ll be home, bringing hell and goodbyes
Again the saddest story is now told
I’m becoming a drunk too, as I grow old
You stained my mind, with intoxicated words
Breaking my soul, with your scourge
this morning tells a story, of my final plea
I lay this bottle down, because you have become me.

Wagon Train

“The whiskey was a good start. I got the idea from Dylan Thomas. He’s this poet who drank twenty-one straight whiskeys at the White Horse Tavern in New York and then died on the spot from alcohol poisoning. I’ve always wanted to hear the bartender’s side of the story. What was it like watching this guy drink himself out of here? How did it feel handing him number twenty-one and watching his face crumple up before the fall of the stool? And did he already have number twenty-two poured, waiting for this big fat tip, and then have to drink it himself after whoever came took the body away?”  ― Michael Thomas Ford, Suicide Notes

 

Wagon Trail

 

Weeks on end drowning in these spirits brewed
Bumping and stumbling, and a few more days are screwed

I’ve given up the outlawed and on board is the legal kind
And society says it’s ok to throw it away and imbibe

The wagon calls again and the wheels turn so slow
That’s real damn good ’cause I jump on as it goes

The drink she calls every morning before the sun tames the night
and she’ll sing and dance all day till sleep wins the fight

God for one day where something won’t wrestle for my soul
It isn’t just the past that I finally need to really let go

The chains of my thirst bring them and I hide my ears
to silence the sadness that grows from minutes to endless years

Can You Fix It?

“As much as I live I shall not imitate them or hate myself for being different to them”Orhan Pamuk, Snow 

 “The world is not ready for some people when they show up, but that shouldn’t stop anyone.” – Ashly Lorenzana
fix me
^
The conversation started normally, casual chit chat, but then they noticed my appearance. I look fine but when I turn you can see my deformity, and this prompted them to ask why don’t I fix it? I gave my standard response that all of us with defects give but in my mind an angry conversation ensued. Why do you think I need to “fix” me? Is it because you think I’m embarrassed because you’re embarrassed for me? I’m not embarrassed, I accept it as who I am. Is it because it makes you uncomfortable? Society sucks, and people gather in their little comfortable niches where they pet each other and console themselves about how they are better than those on the outside of their circle. We’re all different and it becomes a strength that binds us rather than separates us when we accept ourselves and thereby are able to accept others. As much as this rant is focused on physical differences I’ll point out that there are mental and emotional differences between as well. It may not be easy for someone else to go through the day with a smile, or to look in a mirror and feel good, or for that matter to even get out of bed in the morning. They may not be able to enjoy a shot of liquor with their friends, or be able to put down whatever drug your experimenting with. Relationships may not come easy to them and love is nearly an impossible feat. Accept yourselves, grow the best you can, and don’t outcast people because they are different. Try to understand, then you’ll ask me how you can be like me rather than why I don’t fix it.
*
First published in Opinions Of Eye