that is all it fucking is
a rip
a tear
and a reconstruction
i could feel you again
at the end of my fingertips
and i didn’t want to let go
the sensual being
i found there
a wanting
that matched my own
this built for several days
but then some family
but then some wine
an opening of your wounds
and i felt that you disappeared
again
and i’m left confused
childlike and wanting
what
was
only
just
there
i lose myself
as i teeter
unbalanced on a thin strand
of emotion
over a deep ocean
of old wounding
i am now
uncertain
i am now
in fear
that what i thought was there
is gone
or never was
or never will return
and all those
missed connections from the past
all that trying to be seen
trying not to be seen
feels more real
than the you that i
know in my heart
and i could throw some shade
and i could blame you for not showing up
as i want you to
as i have believed
i need you to
or i can look at this
moment and see its impermanence
and see my own
desire to cling to
what i believe
i want to be there
instead of what is there
i can judge it
i can feel left out
and abandoned
but has that ever served me?
ever,
ever,
or ever,
actually never
so i will reach out
to you again
and accept the you in this moment
that i reach
and bring you back into my heart
to let go of the fear
and let go of the dysfunctional beliefs
that block my ability
to form true connection
this will allow
me to heal
to move outside the
wounds i have clung to
to move beyond
the story i have allowed
to define me
and effect the dance
that we do
fuck that
there is a way
i have said
i am tired
but really just fed up
with an overtaxed
sympathetic nervous system
holding all the negative energy
of our collective trauma
conversations have finally started to change
and this is allowing me to
grab this moment
and put words together
in ways i have never been able to until now
i have felt like i have been writing
the same lines
the same pain
for so fucking long
trying to find a voice
that has been shut down
and shut out of the most important of conversations
a healing is happening
voices are coming out
the reality that my pain
is your pain
is our pain
is finally emerging
the truth of a culture
so far in denial
of its disregard
and indifference to other
is becoming more obvious
me too, you too
for so many now
it has become
us too
i have been flinching
tripping on fear
my whole life
afraid of even
knowing my own
history of abuse
hiding in pseudo
romantic relationships
with my fellow
shut downs
wondering why
they don’t show up
and not knowing how to
myself
as children we learned
that we were
somehow broken
somehow wrong
and where others
left their childish things
i’ve brought mine along
for this ride through hell
wearing it as my crown of thorns
more self harm
more dead eyes
not sure
where i
go
from
here
I am angry because these motherfuckers set me up. I am half a century into this and in a stunted relationship that is disconnected emotionally, spiritually and sexually and I don’t know that I have what it takes to navigate theses rocky shallows with my heart hanging out, still beating and spraying blood all over the carpet. I feel like I am a raw nerve in the back of a mouth unconsciously and absently being tongue fucked. Sharp deep stabs of pain, uncoiling like a tightly wound spring through the thin strand of stubborn flesh keeping it in an unnatural position, keeping it from letting go. Crying doesn’t stop the pain, the salty tears only sting and shutting down or responding in anger (which is really just a response to fear) isn’t and certainly hasn’t been helping. I am continually reminded of my failure to produce the art, which I have convinced myself, all my life and more so over time, is what I have to give back and that belief perpetuates the pain and the hollowness that is deep inside of me, that which leaks into all my relationships with women, the original wound perpetuated by the mother. I can still hear my brother tell me that our mother sexually abused him. At the time I only allowed myself to think, “that’s the schizophrenia talking”, but something inside me rang that as true. So I put it aside, simply because, what the fuck does one do with that? And I just thought I was hurt because she didn’t know how to love, didn’t know how to show up for me the way I wanted her to, didn’t show up the way I needed her to, so here I am looking for love in all the wrong ways and wanting desperately to be wanted. To feel wanted and the only time I recall feeling wanted was by that son of a bitch that played me, baited me, used me and fucked me, all when I was still too young to have known what that felt like. So I wanted him, because he wanted me and made me feel special and made me want to show up. Then he stole my idea of god and he took my childhood innocence (if it was still intact by that point) but he took also away so many opportunities for me to be myself because he hurt myself so deeply, so indifferently, so fucking permanently, that I am still trying to process it. The me that is me when you see me, is but an inverted reflection of who I would have been if not for the horror and dysfunction of this imperfect co-creation of our divine and impermanent selves.
optics politics harvey weinstein me fucking too something is changing something is moving in a world that has only paid lip service to any kind of equality (that doesn't effect the white, bottomline) and ignored the other at every turn i am sad i am hopeful i am brokenhearted in all our sons command with broken hearts we see thee false true north strong and fleeced we stand on guard for what? for more false hope more promise of change a pretty prime minister another pipeline another dead native woman until the racists (are) run from power until the sexual abusers and harassers are no longer condoned and given the keys to executive privilege until my mixed race daughter is embraced as a part of this culture without her blondness and blue eyes affording her a pass i have watched this world cease to be inclusive (if it ever was) i have cried i have numbed i have tried to be a better man than the one this world raised me to be and at every turn my sensitivity has not been rewarded my perspective not validated but i am stubborn (in a good way at times) despite suffering despite the internal pain i have yet to concede and jump from that bridge without hope for tomorrow i've got nothing today
i am tired of feeling like a failure, tired of treading water, panting into the abyss, thinking if i wasn’t so tired, i would be and do all that i dream of, but what do i dream of, what would i be if i got out of my way, allowed others to flow into and around me and accepted their gifts and let them in to touch my heart, a heart so heavy with so much hurt, so much pain, so much fear of further breaking, it’s like i’m sitting back, not moving, afraid the duct tape will lift, the bits of string unknot or that the crazy glue will finally chemically breakdown and loosen its grip allowing all the pieces of my broken heart to fall, unprotected, unhinged, unloved, lost to tumble into the chasm and i will see that, i do not exist and all this pain and strain of holding it all together has really been for nought, nothing but a fucking waste of time and effort and life, holding this position, holding on to the fear of further hurt, holding on because it feels that at every turn there has been some motherfucker wielding a 2 by 4 and smacking it into my forehead every time i turn a corner, out on my ass again or is that just a belief, an irrational undercurrent, thrust upon me by a childhood of heart break, an inappropriate sexual introduction, emotional disconnection, numb and struck dumb by the vagaries of this life at an early age and the ongoing struggle to heal these wounds, a stubborn man still acting as if his abuser is behind the bedroom door.
My heart beats
a barely audible sound
like sonar,
out into the world
but it doesn’t perceive
much response
it doesn’t feel much at all
it doesn’t feel
true connection
very often
only silence
only disconnection
I know in so many ways
I have inured myself
to the viciousness of life
by numbing
by saying fuck you, anyways
and while I feel broken
and discontented
I also know it could
be different
could be worse
I could be dead
been dragging my ass here
most Tuesdays
for what feels like forever
been dragging my ass
through pain and sorrow
for most of my life
been dragging my ass
been dragging my ass
while I feel the brokenness
of a little boy whose
illusions were shattered
almost immediately upon arrival
the angry youth he became
did not spell the end of me
and I thought I turned it around
in my twenties
but the drugs eventually
faded
it often doesn’t feel
worth the pain of moving forward
perpetuating hurt
and feeling so unhappy
so deeply inside me
some days wishing
I had never started searching
I feel I have been rolling
this fucking boulder
up hill and up hill
for almost 30 years
but only inches
from the starting place
still there is a real drive
to change, to keep moving
a bullheaded belief
that I can transcend
the joylessness I have
come to know so well
somewhere,
perhaps buried in my sternum
there is an optimist
that believes
that which appears to be
a Sisyphean task
will produce some fruition
that believes things can transform
and become more integrated
that keeps me going
keeps me carrying on
something in me still shines
that is the love of my life
Everything is Nothing but Everything 