“If you feel lost, disappointed, hesitant, or weak, return to yourself, to who you are, here and now and when you get there, you will discover yourself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, even in a muddy pond, beautiful and strong.”
Masaru Emoto, Secret Life of Water   


                                Ships wreck

Walking through the question marks
Where will I go in this dark?
With the light dimming behind
How will I go being blind?
Screaming in my head, holding the candle near
Where will I go from here?
The path is crooked with cliffs along the way
Fear says never to go but only to stay

When there’s no sight from lack of light there remains no assurance in the steps. My soul’s being torn between ravenous beasts manifested by my torment. Faith, will you save me now? Will you come on the white horse of sanity and redeem my soul? These wasps follow me, stinging me where ever I go. I can hear the buzz of their wings while I sleep. There’s no healing from the swelling injections filled with the puss of their rape. What parts of me have died or are dying? Why can’t I tell? I know that bricks are missing in my wall and deleterious eyes stare at me from the holes. With all of this hell raging in and around me, I call out, as we all do in the foxholes of life, “GOD HELP ME”! He will, but how, it escapes me, but when, it eludes me, and in this moment I hang to what I know from His dealings with me in the past. I know He’ll help me, I know He’ll come, I know I’ll survive and be stronger yet for the next wave of human devils and demon thoughts.


Crutch –

“And so, irritants, it is with this that I leave you. You are spared so that you can think of what it really is to live in a world that engenders a pain for which there is no comfort. Here is your product! You have the rest of your lives to think of this. And I suggest you think quickly, for a long life is never a guarantee.”
Jhonen Vasquez, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac: Director’s Cut 
No way out, that’s plain to see,
No breaks here, at least not for me
Created someone, by choices of peers
People pleasing, bad choices in years
Time is here, for the ugly plans
Another choice, to take a stand
In the mind, I thought I’d be
Options present, from a Divine We
Way is clear, two roads to home
My destiny, no guilt to own
During the course of a man’s life there are certain actions which to him are inevitable. His nurture of violence, rejection, torment, and pain makes a repetition of this lineage probable in many areas. When the professionals look at his past and problems, they commit him to a destiny with their prognostications. Cursed with the Homicidal Triad, he carries the weight that his life is over and many others will end by his hand. Perversions visited on him time and again long to be reborn in a vain attempt at control and vengeance. He’s for all intents and purposes, a dangerous time bomb that, not a matter of “if” but “when”, will explode. He carries himself in a way that attracts the vermin and vultures of the dark life who, smelling blood, come and circle him in an ancient dance of death. They smell blood and think it a sign of weakness not knowing the he cut himself to draw them in. He does this so the ones he takes with him will be deserving of the death he brings. This way is clear and this way he will follow by virtue of having no other choice. No choice until one is taught to him by a God unseen, but heard and felt. His father told him that faith is a crutch for the weak, he now learns faith will save not only him but those he set his cross-hairs on and if not for the crutch, then the kill. Look for the choices you misfitted rejected ones, there’s a way that leads out of the darkness.
First published in Opinionsofeye.com

Misfits – Solitude of I

“…misfits. We do not fit into this world without amputations.”
– Marge Piercy
 “All the colors of they are not the color of I

In mimicry I taint the skin of me

All the sounds of they are not the sound of I

In mimicry I change the voice of me

All the dances of they are not the moves of I

In mimicry I perform awkward ways

All the hopes of they are not the future of I

In mimicry I pretend a winning destiny” 

Waking in an unseemly state, I look around at my world of unbelonging. The crazy thing is that in my head is where my world is. It’s where the torments of mockers echo for years, where the pain of violence stings long past the healing of the body. I stay alone in my room, dark is how I like it there. My cave is where solitude commands my death of a thousand cuts. Each cut a remark, an injury, a symptom, a mental deficiency that demands my obedience to awkward and unusual ways. When I open my door and come out to play with society, my mimicry is perfected. Hidden beneath my smiling ways are necrotic tendencies that mortify normalcy. I reach out in the dark, on my bed, reaching out to an invisible God who seems to answer but in the most subtle and barely noticeable ways. What I want is a touch, a physical touch. It is not HE that answers physically but when another misfit finds me, then we both realize that we are not alone, but we belong to a group that will never stay together by virtue of our mental disabilities. Like magnets we are, spinning off the negatives of each other…no hold for my anchor, sending my vessel into dire straights.