Revealed

“Some people think that the truth can be hidden with a little cover-up and decoration. But as time goes by, what is true is revealed, and what is fake fades away.” 
 – Ismail Haniyeh

gorean-kajirus

Everything I want to hear, or afraid to

Spoken with sweetness, I’m lied to
Clothed in harlot’s dresses, draw me close
Words sweet in duress, imposter I chose
Winking with sultry eyes, words conceal
My ruin never to come, imposter revealed

In Defense of Addiction

“I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.”
Edgar Allan Poe
“The Moth don’t care when he sees The Flame.
He might get burned, but he’s in the game.
And once he’s in, he can’t go back, he’ll
Beat his wings ’til he burns them black…
No, The Moth don’t care when he sees The Flame. . .
The Moth don’t care if The Flame is real,
‘Cause Flame and Moth got a sweetheart deal.
And nothing fuels a good flirtation,
Like Need and Anger and Desperation…
No, The Moth don’t care if The Flame is real. . . ”
Aimee Mann
An expression of wisdom from an ancient text declares anxiety in the mind of a man causes depression. From this I understand addiction‘s hold on me. My world is so complex with worries that it sickens my body. Worries about about self esteem and retirement, about wealth and sickness, about bills and responsibilities, about women and sex, about an endless list of subjects, a thousand times a minute, every waking moment in the day. However, when I’m in my addiction, I worry about nothing but it, for hours, for days, possibly for weeks and months. Imagine the rest I feel when my tormented mind, harried by anxieties and thoughts assailing me without mercy, becomes suddenly disconnected. The plug is pulled, no more crazy anxiety, only my addiction. 
This sounds like a crazed rendezvous with a forbidden lover, but like those trysts, its the lure of the taboo that brings the rush delivering me from the madness of mind plaguing my troubled soul. It’s asked of me, “How can you do those things?”, the accusation being made that I should know better. Those interrogators have no idea of the energy consuming me from the inside out. Were they to know, the question would be irrelevant. I want rest from my mind consuming itself. Be kind to those in addictions, you have no idea what they are capable of if they were not consumed with that thing they desire. What if you knew that because of an addiction, you were delivered from harm? Would you then criticize that which saved you? 
Rest assured I know that some addictions result in violence, and I in no way pretend to support that lifestyle, but if only to enlighten the non-user, the pure and undefiled soul that never craved the forbidden to the tragic end of ruining their life, and make them understand that in my case, be very thankful that my thoughts were arrested by an addictive lifestyle; for were they to come to fruition otherwise, it would be a very messy picture. Take a moment to step in another man’s shoes before you criticize an addicts lifestyle, they may not be doing the worse thing possible…there are abnormal and hugely deviant alternatives that are, shall we say, detrimental toyour health.

Reason and Rhyme

“You’re right, he’s a killer,” you said. “A rooster with some serious issues.”
Lucy Christopher, Stolen
 

lauramcintosh

I came sowing with tears into the life of your ruin


Knowing the pain will come to roost with me soon

Laughter is strange in this world of gloom

I lay down my peace to dance with your tune

Listen with care you simple of heart and small mind

Take this advice, listen to reason and rhyme

To ruin me were thoughts but you could only try

Never to win, this morning the rooster won’t die

Brokenness – No pain, No gain

“A broken soul is not the absence of beauty, but a cracked and torn soul reeks of the sweet incense it contains.” – C. JoyBell C.

Broken. A pervasive and hopeless sadness following a loss or traumatic experience. There is another side to brokenness, a side that is beautiful. When my mind snaps, when my heart breaks, when I’m left alone, when I’m betrayed, I am cast down on the stones of life and the shards of peace and hope scatter everywhere. In the aftermath, when all I’m left with are pieces, there lies a hidden gift of recovery. The process of healing and restoration initiates a change that, if I were left whole, could not occur. For brokenness to help me, for it to begin surprising and wondrous changes, I must take my mess to the Creator. He formed the grandeur of the universe from chaotic clutter and He will bring awesome galaxies of restoration to the darkness of my broken soul. When I yield to Him, a resurrection of hope reaches from the grave. I find real beauty in brokenness, it allows me to be an understanding and compassionate companion to the many that lay in ruins. Brokenness, it allows me a chance to be a healer, and as I heal others, I restore myself. 

Also published in Broowaha