The Hermit Chronicles: Unbelonging

 

“After all, in private we’re all misfits.” – Lily Tomlin

tempt–ations

A Misfit of society. The Unbelonging. Set apart from commonality and associations, not by a better standing but by a challenge inside that’s only fulfilled alone. No one can accompany me where I go, no heart can understand my sorrow or joy. Alone, as I find it, is good. Being unable to attach to a group, club, assembly, or clique brought some concern, which I soon resolved. For a good part of my life I joined others, in love, in need, in desperation to avoid the pain of being alone, trying to fit in. I’m content to realize now that if alone is what I am, then alone I’ll be and not fight it. It’s not bad at all, once I accepted that my aloneness will allow me the full realization of who I am. As I learn to be alone, to be my best friend, I resist compromising myself with the false security of a strange opinion or use my life in service to a foreign will.  When I feel the need to engage the throng, I’ll do so with renewed vigor, untouched by opinions and pressures that many feel obliged to conform to. Breathe, freedom is mine as I look with contented peace out on the sunrise of my potential. Striving for success isn’t my lot, I’m a success. My aloneness brings the challenges. Even now, with my tattered coat and stained cup, with my hounds and fallen trees as companions, even now, I smile.


Burnt Bridges

“The only bad thing about burning your bridges behind you is that the world is round”

“That bridge you burn, in laughing pride walking on
Is the path that destiny forces to spawn
That one that is rejected will lead you the pawn
The day that died will be reborn atdawn.” – DMW




He laughed under the command of alcohol. With mockery his grand speech proclaimed the worthlessness of my life that he used to facilitate his riches. Needing his provision for my daily supply, I grew rebellious inside. The Boss continued his diatribe in the firelight. On my struggle he built his joy. My work, that though he taught it to me, stood alone in stark contrast to his proclamations. Joyfully he lit a match to burn the bridges and isolate me in shame. As the last timber fell in ashen dismay, the universe set in motion a turn of events that always humbles the proud. Within in months, he fell under the spell of my promotion and others saw to my advancement. The year ground on and then, in the new birth of spring, when burned things turn green again, his mistake of taking the common man for granted gave him a startling revelation. His work is now for me, and I, with humility, take his reigns and learn this, that all bridges will one day be crossed again, so be careful of the paths we leave behind. 

Bottoming Out – Lonliness exsanguinates life

This poem was written by a talented fellow poet, Mark Davison and first seen in Elbow Lane Poems. Enjoy.
campusbasement
I am alone
This scenario is not freedom
 
I see tiny glimpses of hope way over there
But now, here, at this moment, I see shards of me… cracked shards

I am angry and full of tears that well halfway up my throat
The tilt of my head and a desperate breath detain them

I am sad
Sad that I am not happy and that my heart is redundant of it’s secondary duty

Intermittently it flickers into life
Abruptly ending; but just doing enough to?

To what?
Existence can be an exhausting burden

While I happily slept
My soul got took, my mind too

Which means I’ve lost my soul and lost my heart and lost my mind
Pointless looking currently

I am alone
The new ‘single’ me scares people!

Flamboyantly shy, aggressively meek
And ferociously gentle in bed

I ride the conflicting reports and assessments of me like a surfer
Wave after wave me goodbye

I am lost
Confusion is my compass and desperation is my map

Folded pieces of paper in my room partner empty wine bottles
I’ve got nothing else

Comfort I suppose but that’s cold
In fact that insults my own stupid intelligence  

The child that smacks it‘s parent and sends it to bed I laugh

My smile is now a faltering grimace
Plastering my anguished screams and voiceless cries

I am alone
And the weight of that compresses me into a thin nothingness

I am alone
And I’m bottoming out 
 

Mark Davison 7/3/2012

Saltwater of Lust

“I was always holding onto people, and they were always leaving.” 
 – Lili St. Crow, Jealousy
Syrkell
The following is a fictional account, don’t get all worked up over it…

Yeah, I paid you for your services, what you thought was sex. Yeah, you used all my drugs, trashed my house, and spent my money. You lay down next to me, and to your surprise, I ask, “Can you just hold me”. You left within a minute, surprised at the intimacy I required. I can get sex without paying for it, but can I get you to just hold me? No amount of money or drugs can get you to just lay here for hours, caressing me, holding me, giving me affection, helping me to feel like I’m someone special. You leave me here, alone, me and my high. I can never get high enough, drunk enough, to lose this feeling of rejection and abandonment. I need to have a woman’s touch, that thing which you hold from me, your affections. Now I must go on, with wildness fucking every woman I can get my hands on, trying in vain to quench this thirst with the salt water of lust. What a fucked up game this is, a fucked up hand I’ve been dealt, to need something that I can never get on my own, to need you. I suppose I can blame it on anything I wish, but in the end, can you just hold me?

The Queen, End Game

The Queen, End Game has been rescinded in lieu of another ending forthcoming. I will leave the ending below for those who “need closure”, but will continue to let the story evolve for those who can stand the ride. Peace.

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We shuffled together down the alley, working our way toward a halo of light, a haven of safety, at least in my mind. Leading me this way may have saved our lives, my Queen was wise. I glanced down at her, my life, my love. She stopped me, shock in her eyes, I followed her gaze down her body, the chilled wind blowing her coat to the side enough for me to see her soft curves, and, a dark stain. Panicking I began searching her, praying I hadn’t failed in my task, her hands, a shiny dark and bright red. Despite her objections, I looked at her for the source. Pushing me back, she just pointed, words far from her now. I looked down and saw that the warrior was skilled at last. As I noticed the smooth cut in my shirt, just above the belt, I felt the pain, creeping in waves, sickening, alternating dull and sharp twinges. Quickly, I gathered my shirt up, pressing it in the wound, and then, dropped. Grabbing my stomach and blinking back the pain, I began to breath in short bursts, breathing deep hurt like hell. I didn’t see him at first, but then seeing his concerned face revealed by the light of our refuge, I realized that my Queen had arranged to meet someone. I started going in and out of reality. I see my Queen, so beautiful, even under all the commotion she maintained control, then I closed my eyes, opening them in slowly shorter intervals, the lights blurring, becoming parts of a lucid dream. I hear her voice, I am here my queen, are you safe? Her safety was still, even though in spurts, part of my reality. Voices are muffled, lights blurring, feelings numb and distant, I close my eyes one last time. This is why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might give my life for her, and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.