The Circle

 Some only know to exist under a difficult life because it allows them to make excuses for not being able to make the right decisions to pursue their dreams because the path to making their dream a reality won't be understood by the people around them they're currently getting validation from. They're so tied to the permission of their circle they become afraid to walk alone and put value to the ridicule of their peers. The dream now becomes so scary They hide under the blanket of a difficult life which fuels attention and "feel good" pity. The fear is fake, the attention is superficial. Their circle chains them to mediocrity because they are afraid to see someone from their equivalent circumstance actually make a dream come true, simply because it reveals their own fears and excuses stopping them from pursuing their own goals so they stop anyone who wants to grow. They don't want to see it done so they hold you down. Its not viciously done in most cases. It's done with polite phrases and soothing words, and offers to divert attention. It's a subconscious act, hence why the break away seems so daunting. Your faced with an imposed perception of leaving the warmth, acceptance anf support, for a journey of hardship, failure, loss and most importantly, isolation. You've been successfully tricked your goal isn't worth it and most importantly that their validation and acceptance of you is far more valuable than bringing your dream to life and completing yourself as a self actualized human being.  

But the journey isn't lonely, as you'll be so focused on the win that your vision will keep you warm and sooth you when your days of high effort leave you winded. Your zeal and ambition will be all the company you need. You will validate yourself every day you lay one brick, then another and another towards the dream. Each brick is a piece of that dream becoming real, and one day enough bricks will be laid and your dream will exist for real. Mediocrity is a layer of dust over your eyes. The circle's ritual is to keep pouring this dust in each other's eyes, and say "there now, dream not, for we understand it is hard. Trust in our companionship in this hard world. Stay with us so we can sooth each other about our hardship. Don't go out there alone and leave us, for we love you and care about you. Let's not incur the pain of failure, let's not be alone and cold."

This warmth, attention, acceptance, and validation is attractive but it's only purpose it to sooth them. If you lay in bed at night wanting a dream, wanting better for yourself then you are not cut from the same cloth, you do not have the same blueprint. You're the eagle who's been raised as a chicken. I dare you to take one step, lay one brick and see what starts to light up in you. Feel what starts to grow from deep within. It's a calling to the destination of who you are meant to be and once you start, it will not stop. This is why some remain in agony for years if not their entire lives because they fight this inner voice telling them they can be better. This turmoil is used against them by their circle to prove why it's better to stay with them. There is no turmoil, it's simply the clashing of an oriented behavior against the path you need to take. It's a big black wall but it's as thin as burnt ash. Poke one finger through, challenge their doubt, lay that one brick and you'll see the reveal. 

When they see that you see this, they will start to lash you like you've broken a covenant. They will say things to make you feel bad and threaten to take away the warmth, acceptance, and validation. But that is all they can do. Wash the dust out your eyes, see that the path to your dream is only asking for hard work, dedication and commitment. The journey is not one of isolation and rejection, it's only what they try to make you feel. Lay that next brick and hear the volume of the calling increases. Each brick it gets louder. The days of high effort, feel more satisfying than depleting. The closer you get the warmer you feel. True validation will start to flow from inside you as you see your dream start to take shape. True validation from your own hands, your own work will replace the false and empty words you've been believing all these years. Listen to the ache in your lower spine telling you this is not where you need to be. Listen to it... quiet your mind and listen. Feel how the lines of their blueprint doesn't match yours, feel how your wings and claws spread wider, bigger and sharper than all of theirs. Your difference is not an abomination, your difference is your proof you exist somewhere else and you need to find where you truly belong. Let the calling direct what you do with your hands, let it reshape your thoughts, let it move your feet to a new direction and rhythm. Let it control you, not them. Dreams are meant to be built.

A Love Story? (open piece)

Preface 

I warn you, if you've never cried for a villain, close this page book now and put it back on the shelf. There is no riding off into the sunset.  Your sighs will quickly turn to anger. The monster is a ghost changing faces and possessing even the damsel in distress. The heart broken will lose their right to pity, and sorrow is only an ingredient in the pie of confusion you'll be licking your fingers to.  

I was taught poison as love and given a broken lens to see the world. I thought its cracks were art. She possessed me with the only way I could ever love others.  As I loved, I infected.  I drained their hearts like a vampire, but the poison wasn't about being fed. It was like a drug, the more I had, the more I wanted.  My cursed insatiability was hidden under the pursuit of true love.  As I searched, I killed, as I killed, I wanted more, and the more I felt I would never find her, again, driving my search even more, doubling, even tripling my efforts. I made Bram Stoker's stomach turn and I made the devil raise his eye  brow.

But how did I get here? Bloodied hands, my lips red and tender from kissing death into my victims and ripping their hearts our as they dreamt of me. How did false love turn me into the reincarnation of Vlad the Impaler. Yet,  now, how do I sit here, not realizing my cape of darkness had the weight of a mountain all this time? Each day as I awaken to the trail of blood and darkness in my wake, the cape gets heavier and heavier, revealing it's true nature.  I wore this cape and every time I cut someone, the cape cut me and fused into my skin.  Eventually, cuts, thousands, and the cape replaced my skin.  I became pain and pain became me.  How do I rip it off.  Can you peel your skin off?  Can you dig your fingers in and use all your strength to peel it back?  Can you ignore your pain receptors while you rip your own flesh.  In my case the pain is memories, the pain is their broken hearts screaming in my head, maddening me to eternity.  It seems pain of death is my revival.  But do I deserve it? How do I get it?  What really is the penance of someone who became friends with darkness and a bloodhound lap dog of evil. Maybe we can understand this story, and maybe it will be a story of love.  Maybe there will be a sunset to ride off into.  Maybe the good guy can still win...maybe.

Quebec

(tba)

Tin Soldier

 I found out today that I'm not a narcissist.  They called me that and I thought it was something unique and rare.  Something to be stared, examined, and discarded. Neither was I a monster, not mystical being driven by some cosmic force unleashing destructive purpose as Karma's Rottweiler, sitting at her feet waiting for her next command, to attack. But instead, I found out I was simply broken, re-wired for pain. Wired like the rest of us.  Wired by our first experience with love.  Saddening and pitiful.

I marched right up to her with my shiny, young eager self. My gears turning in a musical hum, ready to love, smiling ear to ear.  She looked at my ignorant heart ready to love infinitely like a child, and she poured her glob of darkness all over it, and rusted it shut. She fused my mouth shut so I couldn't tell anyone what was wrong with me. All I became was attracted to hollowness and gears that couldn't work to save me.  Stuck. I couldn't move my feet to walk away.  I couldn't open my mouth to say help me.  

I was nothing special anymore, just another hurt person hurting people. A self encased prison, bewitched to never give the love I want to give, or ask for what I need.  Forced to chase empty victories and reset, only to chase the exact same emptiness again and again.  I challenged Sisyphus, and even earned his awe.

How do I get this rust off? Will I ever be shiny and new? Will I ever see the love I want and go after it? For now I remain cursed and rusted.  But at least I'm aware now.  A slow awakening it seems.  No plan yet but I will see what happens.  Maybe my friendship with Sisyphus won't last and he will forget me. Maybe I get to touch my dream one day.  Maybe one day, I'll forgive myself.

Night

 When pain comes for you, it makes your heart beg for healing. You want to go back to the routine of being together so you can forget it ever happened. Your feet want you go over there so bad that your cheeks can feel the very wind grazing your face as you drove over there with windows down.  

He felt his own torture. Any shifting or movement in his apartment, he would look to his door replaying scenes of her coming over after work and letting herself in. They would smile at each other. That smile that said forever. 

But pain is there supper now, they're breakfast, their lunch and bedtime story. To sooth himself he would unlock his door at bedtime  and dream she would come over in the middle of the night.

Her bed  never felt the same,  she didn't want to be in it. Her body wanted wind and swiftness, and to feel the door handle turning to go in and be by his side.

The torture would be too much one night. She flung herself in her car and sped like a messenger trying to stop a war with letter just written. This night he also left the door open. Her eyes widened as she turned it and it bent to her will. The darkness of the 1am night. The silence as he dreamed of her coming in, not knowing she was actually there standing in his living room. He dreamt, she sat for a while. She walked slowly to his room hearing his sleep sounds get louder as she got closer. His door was slightly ajar and she pushed it, exposing her lover, her home.  

At first he thought it was a dream, feeling his bed welcome a body crawling in it and arms quickly folding him in. His eyes opened and he went through startling fear to realizing it was her in one second. They look at each other, pain still cloaking their hearts, but knowing they can't fix it tonight. They embrace and sleep. No words now, none would work. None would be enough, even when she leaves in the morning, just a stare between them knowing one word; forever.

He never closed his door again. Sometimes she came over, sometimes not. He waited and sometimes she did not. A silent quiet love now, a shadow of its former self existing in a way only they would ever understand. 

Twin Flames

 The skin of who we are stopped the spirit of who we didn't know we were inside.  We saw only flesh, ignorant of our waiting souls. We feasted but never greeted.  We met in this life wearing human stories, cloaks of a temporary design.  Some kind of toll to pay to cross this physical plain.  Our souls waited with bated breath to peel them off... and see our hidden twin flames. 

The skins were stitched too deep. We failed. Our soul's heads hang low while our earthly heads hung high, high with earthly pride, defending something only meant for a blip in time, while eternity gets cast away.  I hope at night we dream together. I hope in moments of silence when a gust of air brushes our cheek, it makes us wonder what we missed. I hope we suffer a lingering vague curiosity, the only sign remaining that we're doing it wrong.

So let us dream together for the sake of our souls. May we hold hands and dance in a cosmic space only meant for us.  For this world is not for us, this time is not for us, this life is not for us. I pray for flesh to be peeled and our souls see it was us all along.  I pray every time I bleed, it's my soul fighting its way out to scream at me to go get you. I pray I never forget you even though it will be in pain and not peace. 

Maybe one day, when we can't stand life anymore we'll find each other, speak not in flesh, but speak with our eyes, and die together.  We'll lay together with an elixir flowing through our bodies, waiting with bated breath to be freed from this prison.  We'll unite in death since we failed in life.  Maybe... one day. Maybe one day, I'll hit send and at the same time get a text, seeing we both messaged each other at the same time.

"where are you, I cant do this anymore", mine read.

"it's too much pain, where are you", hers said.

"tomorrow by the docks".

"ok" is all I replied, knowing what I need to do.  Excited and sad, I spent the evening writing letters. 

We never agreed on a time but I knew she was there waiting. I pulled in and parked next to her.  She came out and embraced each other then got back in her car.  No more words anymore, English failed us. Bottles with blue liquids waited for us and we drank them. We lean our seats back holding hands.  We watch the ocean dance then turn and gaze at each other... until we fade off. 

We're free now.

Better Lover

 

She was drowning, so I drank the sea.

 

She needed support, so I turned my feet into stone.

 

She didn't want to be a choice, so I carved her face into my heart.

 

She was never taught to be brave, so I stole Superman's cape.

 

Her world was a dark place, so I lassoed the Sun and commanded it.

 

But when I gave her a voice, she called it controlling.

 

When I stood up for her future, she called it crazy.

 

When I came to protect her, she called me evil.

I am one, she had an army.

 .

.

. 

Alcohol was the better lover.