Whiskey Saturdays, And No Regrets..

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Cusps of a wrist slit, and all of a sudden you meet a person who changes your mindset. Maybe you meet someone like that daily, weekly, or sometimes, it’s a once in a lifetime meet.

A somber song about whiskey blares out of another car at the pump station, and you think of the last whiskey binge you had giggling to yourself at the tripping of your feet, the way your clothes still smelled of campfire the next morning, and how you can’t quite remember how you showered before bed, but you did.

In these moments, it’s as though the hourglass flips over again to give us another go at it. Laughable and angering at times, because some of those cusps of a wrist slit moments are the only moments in your life where you were 100% decisive about something.

But no matter, because here you sit at the pump station, stealing the music notes of another, as if illegally downloading it to memory. Now, briefly cringing at the thought of understanding exactly what they are saying, and smiling at the prospect of it.

You laugh to yourself as it really hits you. No one has time for your nonsense like you have had for theirs. You recall endless phone calls, endless support on your end, seemingly withered away due to the annoyance of your constant mockery of a life and your bottomless chaos. Yet, you still see beauty in this tarnish.

You now design your brain another future night of whiskey, and you know just who it will be with. That brings a great comfort and even an excitement of what new whiskey adventures await you to piece together once they have came to pass.

You put the car in drive, roll the windows down, and secretly cheers to the silence. For the confinements of your mind, if nothing else, have gifted you the comfort of yourself.

Beautiful and raw, broken and wanting, sexy and explicitly ripped wide open, and smiling through it, even if only for these brief moments.

Love, even if it’s with your drunken body. Runs circles around the fire and all at once, jump over it. Savor a whiskey-fueled kiss with passion and smoke. Peel away your layers and dance naked and free. And cheers to you, on every whiskey Saturday.

Let Freedom Bang!

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There comes a time in your life where you reach a peak of knowing what you stand for. Once you get there, it’s so important to never falter, and to always remain strong. No matter what people think of you. It’s important because although it may take days, months, and even years, change comes about when you lead by example.

A lot of people you thought would ride with you forever fall by the sideline. And I know people say, “don’t lose friends and family over difference of opinion.” That’s shit advice in certain situations. If what that person stands for is something that hurts you, or even a certain people that you love and care for, and stand for, then that friendship and even family relation can’t and won’t work. I say that in the most compassionate way. It doesn’t mean that I believe that my opinion or belief is the only one in the world. It does mean that in certain sections of certain beliefs or battles, my opinion and what I stand for will take top priority. And those who carry beliefs that cause harm or oppression to others have to get off of the path, and give up their seat at the table. Our season in each other’s lives may be ending in that moment. You must be strong enough in your beliefs and standards, that when it’s necessary to finally cut that cord, you do so without hesitation.

Freedom is a word that many take for granted. It’s swallowed up and spit out like yesterday’s trash. Most seem to forget that to many still out there in this nation, and many others, freedom is life or death. It’s oppression and a constant knife to the wrist. It’s putting your hurting child to bed in tears, locking a window, and double checking the doors, knowing that tomorrow, you’ll have to explain to them why they look different and are treated different than other children simply because of the color of their skin. It’s giving a preparation talk with them before simply leaving the house for the store. Your job of raising these innocent children is a challenge that a lot wouldn’t understand, and sadly, a lot also don’t care to. This oppression, carried over to innocent children throughout generations, is one of the reasons that I stand strong in my stance and belief in equality and also eradicating systematic racism, bigotry, homophobia, and just pure ignorance in this world.

Freedom to many others is simply loving who they want to love out loud and unchained. I am a woman who loves women and men. I value them equally.

I only wish to explore the parts of this world that are untapped in every crevice. To be truly free to be myself unapologetically. I make a choice to do it rather you like it or not. But how beautiful would it be if you just chose to love me anyway? To really smile my way and be ok that I stand for what I stand for.

I am gay.

I am straight.

I am black.

I am white.

I am lost.

I am found.

I am sad.

I am happy.

I am chained.

And finally, I am free.

The Mist

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The spirals of mystery in the midst of a fog.

Makes goosebumps crawl down my skin like a soft-handed man.

Clawing his way through my obstacles until sweat and fog are the same.

Unravel me in this timeless moment,

before the mist leaves us wanting.

I’ll meet you at the swamp, and there, we will find our mud.

Wading through every foot of the slump, creatures brushing our legs,

but we care not. Because the other side brings a sweet release.

The fog is yearning. It wraps me up til every inch of my skin not covered in swamp is wet

with envy.

I can bare the harsh vapor of this world no longer.

Press your lips to mine and give me sweet air.

From your lungs to mine.

Let me take it from you and I shall one day, return it in good faith.

We will share it like the last fruitful words from the trees.

And trees I know, because they told me so.

They speak to me in all of the their brown glory, shaking their leaves all around me.

The fog, it comes for them too. So now, we share in their sorrow as we sink into this swampy

abyss.

For the trees, rooted in their resting place, know that when this mist comes upon, their last

stand is literally just that.

But no matter.

You are here with me, and I with you, my soft-handed glory.

Sink into this love we are making and trust each stroke of my hair.

Roll around wet with your body pressed against mine, and when it is done,

this swamp will clear,

and we shall stand on top of clear waters…

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The War Torn Mind

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I wanna dwell in war torn streets, where my environment fits my chaos. That’s the way I see the world. Scavenging for basic necessities. Giving up on the mainstream fruits of life so the pressures of that life leave me. A dented can I feel like, kicked around as someone’s fun game, and even in that, I feel as though everything will seem like home.

I saw two dogs today, stray I suppose, playing their hearts out in the middle of nowhere. I remember saying to my daughter, “Look, even in someone’s saddest of times, and lowest of seasons, they can find a reason to be happy, even if only briefly.” I’m not sure if I believed it as I was even saying it, but I wanted to. And more than that, I wanted her to.

She told me that she didn’t know what it was, but at the beginning of fall, and the cold season, and the beginning of spring, she always felt nostalgia. As she drove us home, she asked me if I felt the same. I nodded my head as I stared at the sunset and a single tear secretly dripped down the side of my face that she could not see. I thought to myself, and then told her, “you know, I haven’t gotten to enjoy many sunsets in a long time, because it’s always me driving these roads, but it’s your turn now.” I leaned forward as much as I could, to bask in everything it had to offer. And I thought, I don’t have to pay anything for this. It’s free, and right now, it’s mine.

The pressures of making right for her seem too much at times, and yet, here I am; still dragging these heavy feet along. But I always think about it, a life without this trailer. Maybe some coffee over a fire, with the grounds still floating in it. Just the dusty streets and the forest. No sounds of cars and traffic, or people talking. Just a search for a little bit of food and water to forage, and a place to lie my head down in hopes that the next day will be just as quiet and bring blessings of portioned substance. A life that truly matches the chaos that fills my being.

Still, she pulls the car into our driveway, and we have to get out. I carry the little bit I afforded at the store, and try to smile and at least appreciate that she got the 2 yogurts she wanted, and I am sitting here now, writing, and also dreaming.

I don’t let myself dream beyond much more than these things. And it’s not that I don’t feel I deserve more. I don’t feel beyond that at all, not for myself at least. I’d be lying if I said I don’t for her though. I do. For me, I don’t allow myself to miss or envy things I’ve never experienced. What a sham that would be. I sit here now, paint severely chipped on my nails, stringy hair, and shoes on my feet that have walked many years with me. Yet, I’m content with these things for me, for now. I don’t want for more, but I never get far past the present day I sit in, and what challenges await me there. Day. By. Day. Never beyond that. If I could plan tomorrow, the seed would be empty of it, and unsafe for my focus.

My daughter teared up talking to me today. She told me her boyfriend was off shopping, spending $500 gifted to him by family. She was heartbroken that she herself, could not be afforded days like that, and never really has. Trust me, she has been gifted many things on Christmas and birthdays, for years to count. However, I knew what she meant. I couldn’t even buy her a thrift store shirt right now if I wanted to. My contentment for myself, is not the same as my contentment for her. I, in the face of her 15 years, have failed her greatly. I haven’t given up, but I say it out loud because I accept it. My hope is that someday, she could find a way to be proud of me for something. I hope I accomplish that in my lifetime. It’s on the top of a very short list of things I want.

I feel that one should dream the dreams of the kind of spirit your mind connects with. It may not be fancy things, or a lavish lifestyle. Maybe it’s just simply dreaming that one day, you’ll just simply be…okay. And that will be a freedom that will be more than this world could ever offer in things.

Here One Day, Gone the Next

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When all the noise around me quiets,

and everyone has gone away,

I kissed you once, I remember,

so I think back on that day.

You brushed the hair away from my brow,

I had used to hide my eyes.

I bowed my head and turned my neck,

hoping you would not see the tears I had cried.

When you pulled away, I hit the floor,

knowing it would never be the same.

And I couldn’t even fathom,

the feeling of loneliness, that would soon be mine to gain.

Oh look, how these stars now taunt me,

the cracks in the moon crease up my skin.

I’m melting from the inside out,

thinking I’ll never see you again.

The sun boils my blood,

and festers my mood,

so I keep myself so busy,

that I won’t have time to notice how much has changed,

and or how our love seems to always make me dizzy.

Will we be the lovers standing in the kitchen,

holding on for dear life?

Or strangers in the dead of night,

loving coldly, cutting through life like walking around like dull knives?

Hold me, where are you?

I’m reaching out, running through this maze.

Don’t leave me here,

you hear me screaming,

love me still,

even in our daze…..

Leather Face

I think tonight, just once, I won’t look at myself. Each glimpse, like a dagger in my heart.

I looked in the future, just a dim light. Those I love, falling around me like the years I’ve viewed, seemingly, fleeting.

Each wrinkle on my skin, like pieces of leather, and yet, I have hated the sun all my 36 years. I’ve mostly lived not knowing the kinds of losses others know. For you have to have things and people first to truly lose them.

But now, oh now, the two people I’ve loved truly, melt before my feet while I scrub their kitchen counters hoping, by some chance of rare fate, they will come back to me. But alas, the local news screams in the background, and they, in their weakness, drool on themselves while dozed off on the couch.

My grandma tried to put her pajamas on over her pants tonight, and stumbles on which day and month it is. And for the 13th time today, told me how precious I am to her, and cried. If only she knew, her brown eyes turned blue, had saved my life more times than a few, then maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. But they never come back, do they?

She called me the other night, over and over. Standing at her medication as if frozen on repeat. Did I take my medicine? So it’s…Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday….. and today is..Wednesday? Over and over, I had to explain to her. And I did so, with patience. The next day, she remembered just briefly calling me and cried again. Gave several excuses as to why she just didn’t have a good day that day….

I am constantly reaching. Most times without knowing exactly what I’m reaching for. As if even if someone handed me a star right out of the sky, it wouldn’t ever be enough. A void never able to be filled. A dis-satisfied piece of blob of mere existence.

I’m not angry, and have forgiven most of the causes of my sadness, but they have taught me hard lessons. Ones that will long stick with me, following me, constantly reminding me the paths not to go down, the choices not to make, the people not to trust, what to hold onto, and what to let go of.

Sometimes, I want to jump in anyways, but there’s always hesitations, reservations. The truth is, I find that there are many nights I find it hard to look at myself for many different reasons. I think it should tell me something, but have not yet pinpointed its message just yet. But I’m sure in time, it will reveal itself. And I will record it on my shadow to lug around with me to display spiritually.

I will watch as the grands disappear before my eyes, and in that, I will learn to accept what we can’t keep. And how to truly say goodbye, for the first time, to someone I don’t want to say goodbye to.

Oh Mama..

 

asphalt dark dawn endless
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Oh Mama.

I promise my heart is true. Even with that and the stars, this world is cold, and my lips are turning blue.

I tried Mama, I did. To do what must be done. From evening moonlight, to the smooth wee of the morning, and even as I watched the marvelous, bright sun.

But the Earth, she don’t agree with me, and tries to test me so. She begs for me, and tangles me, urging me to go.

I fight and pant, and dry my eyes, before anyone can see.. this beaten soul and wretched mind, and now, there are many real me’s.

Oh Mama, tell me I did it right, and the sky really is that shade of blue. And the birds flying low, and swooping down, are not out to get me and you.

Tell me why each smile is different, but every frown is exactly the same. And remind me always who I should be, should I begin to forget my name.

Oh Mama, these days grow shorter, and the time for forgiveness is cutting down to very few. The time is almost up for us, for them, for me, and for you.

Each moment of joy is more important, than it was the day before. And everything seems to intrigue me, and hardly nothing is a bore.

Oh Mama.. Can you hear it too? The bells chiming in the wind? And the hoot of the owl, when the night grows calm, and angels that they send?

If what I am doing is not enough, Mama, can you tell me what to do? To make it so when I lie down at night, my heart is full of hope, and not this shade of blue….

Oh Mama, you are mine and now, these days, I am a Mama as well… And I wonder one day, will she read these words, and catch the sadness spell.

Oh Mama, if you are here, and I am not, could you tell her one thing for me?

Tell her she was my everything, my heart, and every moment. And tell her everything I did, was for goodness, fullness, and so she would never go through my torment. Tell her the mind is a dangerous place to live, and tell her to step away from it once in a while. To breathe the fresh air that’s left in this foggy world, and to embrace every second of being a child.

Oh Mama.. we didn’t have the best go around, but as a mother now, I forgive in new ways. And I found a way to love myself, in that, miracles, and love is a new word I learned to say……

Hold On To Me

 

woman looking at sunset
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When I look back, I should have saw it coming. The drift of the fallen bark, floating down the creek bed that I now sit and stare into. I felt the empty drift in as something in my head screams, “it’s right there”. I’ve no more ever expected anyone to stick around than I have myself to do the same. But he was a wind that I wanted to keep blowing across my face and in my hair. A sound echoing that I just can’t seem to place anywhere else. I wrapped my heart around his smile, and for once, even if just once, I felt safe for a moment.

But isn’t that how it goes when self-sabotaging? You let each moment slip right through your fingers. Why would I ever ask someone to stay in such an uncompleted life? I guess I was thinking he completed it. We should never sit around and dwell on the things we think we deserve. Good or bad. We should just accept things as they are. But if given the chance, I would kiss his lips once more. Without them, my lips a shade of blue, suffocating.

If he could have just waited just a bit longer? But why ask that of someone..

These changes are fast-coming. I can feel them. I will revel in them now…alone. When we say we miss someone, it’s not really enough is it? To lose them speaks volumes of its own. I will try and go at it alone, which is a path I know and recognize all too well.

Have you ever felt so alone and empty that it’s almost like you’re starving, and your stomach is sinking into your back. That growl in your stomach becomes louder than your thoughts, and you have no way to feed it?

I have failed him, and seemingly failed myself. But he failed me too? For if he had not, I would instead be sitting here reassured and loved in person and not dripping pathetic tears down my neck and blowing snot that could clear a room during this sad pandemic.

His face like a constant reminder of an almost, and a memory of kiss, or a drunken night by the fire laughing, talking about the stars, slowly will drift from my memory while I try to hold onto every second of it.

Truth is, I would have spent my life in this chaos and fought through every second of it if it meant the ending was us….

But goodbye is a word I know all too well…

Cry of the Blackbird Pt. 2

pawpaw and us

March 2020, my grandfather, still in rehab, watched and listened as the world began to crumble. A plague of sorts, not his first of course, had began to ravish the United States. All the while, my sister and I panicked. We begged my mom and uncle to remove him from the nursing home. It no longer mattered to us that his time in rehab since his hospital stay had not yet reached the 21 day insurance order.

I had already began to see the nightmare that was happening in other states to long-term living facilities, and rehab facilities. They were the first places to begin to be locked down. The patients, like prisoners. No visitors. Families that were lucky enough to have loved ones near a window talking through glass. Confused and mentally disabled patients not understanding why their loved ones or visitors wouldn’t just come inside and sit for a while. Then, like a catastrophe, as one elderly patient got sick, therein followed 10-20 more getting sick. All locked inside with each other. Most facilities such as this, seemingly left to their own devices. CNAs and nurses within the facilities pretty much locked inside with them, their only care.

The days started to go by. Being high risk, I was the first to tell my family, and especially my grandfather and grandmother that I could no longer visit to protect myself and my daughter. It was devastating to me. For years, it had just been myself, and my sister when she was in town, taking care of my grandparents. And there had already been turmoil come between us and everyone else once my Uncle had gotten Power of Attorney.

Everything seemed to be like something out of the twilight zone. A dark cloud of sadness in slow motion. My grandfather’s health seemed to improve. The doctor’s decided to release him. It had already been 2 weeks since I had seen him at all.

On his last week in the rehab facility, very intimidating health officials showed up with orders. They locked down the facility and no longer allowed anyone inside, with the exception of close family. My grandmother faithfully had one of us drop her off each day. She had to have her temperature checked before she could enter the front door. And even after that, the officials would decide if they wanted her to enter.

Finally, one day, my mom and uncle arranged and ok’d it for my grandfather to leave. It was as though the grace of God worked his favor on us, because as soon as we got my grandfather home, the next day they began to lock down the facility completely, just as all of those facilities we had heard nightmare stories about in other states.

We were blessed to have watched such a turn around in my grandfather’s health. He had went from shaking like the tremors of an earthquake, and severe memory loss, along with hallucinations, to back his normal self by the time we got him home. Although, even that is not 100% because he’s 91 years old with Parkinson’s Disease.

In the months since, we have seen a tornado of change. Sacrifices by the plenty. Weeks at a time not being able to be in the same room with the grands. Depending on who had possibly been exposed to the virus.

I think at first, back in April, most of us wanted to believe that this virus had been blown out of proportion, even myself, the hypochondriac that I am. However, it didn’t take long for me to fully convince myself that this was the worst. In comparison with the Spanish Flu, dated in the 1950s, this was our depression.

Around May, my grandmother’s mind seemed to deteriorate with intensity. And her complaints about roaring in her ears also intensified. Her balance was not great, and had not been great since about August of 2019, because of Vertigo and Meniere’s disease, which is chronic. This year alone, I can’t count the amount of times I have thought to myself, is this hell, or the twilight zone??

Because of an extreme fear of birds, mainly fearing that they will defecate on me, lol, I’ve also thought it strange that the thought had to cross my mind that a possible slew of birds were taking over my grandparent’s brains. Crazy yes, but after having them my whole life, and now quickly seeing that disappear right before my eyes, I can’t help but not dismiss any excuse I can come up with to explain to me why they have to go one day.

At the end of May, I decided to visit them through their front door, like visiting a prisoner, wrongly convicted. I had them come to the door and sing Amazing Grace with me in harmony, and had my daughter video it. It is something I regret not doing more when they were in better health, but also something I will always truly cherish. Music is something so expressive in my family, like a letter you’re writing that you never quite finish. And no matter how old I get, I can close my eyes and remember being little and waking up on Saturday mornings, the whole house filled with the smell of bacon and eggs, and hearing my grandparents in the kitchen singing and harmonizing with each other. It is one of the memories out of my dark, harum-scarum childhood, that I will always cherish the most.

I consider myself to be quite a strong person, to a point, but also quite vulnerable at times. Looking past my fears of the birds for a moment, I can’t help but admit, I want to hear them. Even if just for a moment, I wanna know what they are hearing and feeling. And I want to take it from them. I want to see my grandfather working in his shop in the back yard again, or sneaking a dip in the laundry room. I want to see my grandmother laughing so hard at me that she cries, cackling. I want to see her understand when we are making a joke, and for my grandfather to even be able to hear me at all when I am talking to him. My mind stays in chaos trying to discover ways I can bring them back around, even though deep down, I am also trying to find a way to let go and accept that what they are now, is what I am blessed with for however long until their ailments worsen, or til they’re gone for good.

Most people think of cardinals as the spiritual presence of a loved one, but as for myself, I follow the black birds, hiding so I see them, but that they may not see me. I will always see them as the loved ones who are screeching around us, decade after decade, generation after generation, watching us succeed, watching us fail, watching us grow old as they did, and waiting for us to one day, join them…

The Way Back

hand touching glass
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She waits…

Lips scorched from burning coffee..

Eyes like poisoned hypnotism.

She spits sadness from her lonesome tongue.

And her hair wraps like a trap you can’t escape.

Her tears like iron weights,

rolling down her face like a rock slide.

Her heart swelling to the size of this tarnished

planet she waits on.

But she waits…

 

More filled with hope, than ever before.

Marry your heart to hers.

For she would wait a thousand lifetimes again,

just to touch the tip of your fingers.

 

She loves you for her first,

and she will only love you

as her last,

First real kiss…

Last real kiss…

Wet her lips with the moisture of an

anticipated rainstorm in the desert.

Find her in this forbidden forest….

For, she waits…

There.

Here.

Everywhere.

 

She sits in meditation.

In a frozen state, where you left her.

Still looking out a locked window…

Dancing around in her mind to the most beautiful of songs.

 

Empty hand held out for no one to touch,

except you.

For in you, she will always find herself,

And in herself,

she will always find you.

 

Oh my love,

I lost my way all the way to you,

And in you,

I found my way, all the way

back to me.