Freedom

Tension builds. It fills your back, your neck, your face. Hands clench around the wheel until the leather creaks and cracks. You feel it building deep inside-all of those primal emotions you have tried to hide. You feel the heated waves leak through your careful mask. There is a brief pull to look down and you are hurtling through the black night at 110 miles per hour. I have no guardian angel but even if I did he couldn’t catch me. Stars hide and the moon cries. Those boiling tensions roll up as your inner demons peer from between your lashes. What would they see if they looked into your eyes right now? You know they would feel fear. In that moment they step back, murmur a prayer, cross their heart. .. but in this moment, in this moment your windows disappear and the wind screams inside. A choked roar tears from your throat. A throttled, boxed, hidden secret that you feel from your toes to the star kissed gossamer wings unfurling from your shoulders. You laugh and you scream And you laugh some more. This is freedom. Free to be angry, free to be sad, free to be purely insanely mad. Rage- passion- hurt -destroyed- forgotten- besotten- all of it matters so much and so… not. In this moment you are free to be. For Once, I wish and I wish to be.
Authors blurb: this is the night my life changed forever. The night I left my husband, my self esteem issues, my worthlessness,  my hate, my need, my unrequited love from childhood through adolescence and into adulthood.. It was all gone as I broke the invisible barrier holding me back: myself.  And on that empty highway  as i cried and screamed and cursed I learned I wanted to LIVE. 

Advertisements

Vulnerable 

Don’t look into my eyes

Because you just might see

A deeper side of me.

All you visualize

 

When you look at my face

Is a cheerful smile

Carefully fixed

Into place.

 

Don’t look into my eyes,

I am warning you.

You might find my heart

Enshrouded in ice.

 

Do you see the slashes

From a lovers thorough knife?

Do you see the pain,

How I hurt from the gashes?

 

Don’t look into my eyes

Because you just might see,

A gentle, more vulnerable

Side to me.
Authors blurb: i wrote this in high school. I was on my own for the first time and lonely and wanting to open up but scared to. 

Sometimes

Sometimes 

Sometimes we see things that aren’t meant to be seen.

Sometimes things aren’t always as they seem.

Sometimes we need someone to call our own,

Especially when we’re alone.

Sometimes people just can’t understand,

Why things get out of hand.

Sometimes life just isn’t fair,

Especially when people just don’t care.

And sometimes it’s hard to say,

Why things have to be this way.

Sometimes it’s all you can do to get by,

Especially when dreams continue to die.

Sometimes it’s nice to sit in the rain.

Even to just relieve the pain.

And when we’ve had a really bad day,

Sometimes we just need to get away.

We never know what’s wrong with out pain.

Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.
And sometimes when people get hurt, 

Even the strongest ones may need comfort.

 

 

 

Illegitimi non carborundum – Never let the bastards wear you down.

Salem

I stand within the Flames; they cannot touch me.

Their long white tongues only tickle my bare arms;

Trickle like water along the skin of my calves.

They swim before my eyes, beckoning enticingly.

The Song of Gabriel is in my mind.

My peasants dress is smooth a cool.

These ropes that bind me turn to soft gray ashes

Sifting softly down my long white fingers.

The tall wooden stake is strong—I gently lay my hand upon it

And it gives with a deafening crack,

Throwing to the heavens a dazzling display of fire sparks.

As the Flames lovingly enfold me

Their brilliance is that of the Lord.

I pity the fools who put me here as a witch,

 

For I go as a Martyr to God.

The most beautiful place I know 

The wind whips my hair into my eyes as it whips the grass in which I stand, barefoot. It is green and thick and it tickles my bare calves. It smells so fresh and clean I can taste it upon the back of my tongue, as heady a taste as any wine. I love it here. There is no one here but me and God, I smile as I talk to the wind, it whispers marvelous secrets back. I ask the chuckling brook where it thinks it is going, winding down, around and out of sight beyond the bend, too busy to stay and chatter with me today.            Maybe some other time. It must hurry, calling sweet goodbyes over its shoulder.

And it chuckles on.

            I bend down and sip from the strong clean banks. So very clear, I can see all of the tiny rocks that lie resting upon the bottom. It tastes sweet and cold like the mountain snow.

            I am happy here.

            The sun shines fierce upon my upturned face. I feel so coltish and giddy! I start to dance in the cool green grass, I jump and I whirl—I twist and turning, spin. I sing as I dance and loud voices echo mine.

            I drop to the ground, tired for the moment by my childish antics. But I don’t care that they are childish. I know the angels are dancing with me.

            I throw my head back and laugh, loud, and long.

            Exhausted I lay back in the grass and watch the clouds cover the hot spring sun. then the rain begins to fall. I love the rain, so warm and beautiful. Each drop a prism. A tiny universe suspended in air before it hits and shatters into an hundred other miniscule universes. The rain washed my face with tender, loving hands, and then run down to soak the ground. A drink to grass, trees, and the wildflowers I love so much. The wind becomes stronger, the trees rustle their leaves angrily—they do not like to be pushed around. The rain falls harder and harder—a continuous sheet falling from the sky.

            I leap up and cry out indignantly to the heavens. Thunder rumbles back. I laugh at the joke and I begin to dance again. Lighting crashes and flickers all around me. The sky likes to dance and sing too. Jealously the wind rips and rushes to and fro with hurricane ferocity as it yells at the clouds, telling them to go away. I laugh at the wind and so does the sky, I sing, and placated, the wind joins in.

            As I sing rain falls in my mouth. So sweet and clean—like the stream. It fells me with energy and it seems I could dance forever.

            Slowly, regretfully, the clouds pull the thunder away to grumble at the distant hills. The rain stays and dances a little while longer. But soon, it too, must leave.

            Goodbye, It calls. Goodbye, I call.

            I am left standing in the cool green grass as it tickles my calves. With the sun shining fierce upon my upturned face and the gentle wind whipping my hair. I breathe the fresh damp air and once more call goodbye as I roll out of bed and hit my alarm clock. Leaving the most beautiful place I know.

Hate

I hate Hate.

And betrayal of any kind.

Feeling alone in the world.

Feeling left behind.

I hate having lost

When I haven’t yet begun.

I hate knowing I have to let go,

To love him with all of my heart.

And knowing all the time it is going,

That it will not be returning.

I hate being right,

When the outcome is wrong.

I hate you who think you are better.

I hate when they treat me less.

I hate the loneliness I feel.

As I wait for him to call.

And knowing that he won’t.

I hate anxiety and frustration.

Feeling as if I can’t breathe…

Knowing that in the end,

It’s a losing battle I lead.

Cydney’s Story

In the beginning when the air was new, the mountains fresh and the sky a brilliant hue we of this age have never seen, Mother earth gave birth to a beautiful son.

He had dark hair the color of fresh loam and skin like new mint leaves and white wings akin to clouds. He was a son of the Earth and Sky in every way and his mother loved him the most of all her sons and daughters as did everyone who met him. He grew to be strong and handsome.

Soon, Brother Wind became jealous of the baby brother, and desired to lay a curse on him. He sent crows and ravens to pluck the feathers from his wings, and in the process they scarred his face horribly. Satisfied that his work was finished, for who would now want this ugly, scarred, brother of the earth now? Brother Wind ran back to his cave in the mountains and hid.

When Mother Earth found her bleeding and beaten young son she wept and the sky wept, the ocean swelled and keened and the sun hid his face. They all came together and in a rage they cursed the Brother Wind, causing him to be forever on the run, for if they ever caught him he would die a thousand deaths.

Brother Wind went into hiding, beginning a run that would last until the end of time. Then they all cried as if the beloved son were dead.

Father Time, keeper of the nether realms heard their keening and admonished them, “The boy is not dead, for this should you not rejoice?” But they only sobbed all the harder and pointed to the scars and the skeleton wings of the boy laying curled under their gaze, broken and hurt. Father Time shook his head sadly. “Son you have learned the lesson it takes many lifetimes to learn, often life is not easy or fair, and it always leaves scars behind. Now for the second lesson, there is life after the death of naivety.”

Father time then made a hard decision; he gave the sad son a golden watch. “This shall help you in the task that your life shall now be devoted to. Having had such a hard lesson, and bearing the scars, I think you can be compassionate and kind enough to help others.” The son did not think this at all but kept this counsel to himself, knowing how wise Father Time was and having no other options for himself but disgraced death.

“Son you shall escort the dead and dying on their last journey to Peace.” The Son found this to be an unfair task as he could never imagine himself to be at peace with the world again.
Rather than reject his task he bowed his head and agreed. 
Mother Earth made a cloak and gave it to her son to cover the horrible scars, a cloak all the colors of the earth. Rich browns and greens with subtle yellows and blues. Brother Sun provided a weapon to protect himself with and so that nothing could bar his way. Sister Sea bestowedwhat little peace and healing she could on his on his soul​ and body. 

 Before leaving him Father Time made a solemn promise to the Son, that one day he would find a companion who understood his soul and didn’t see his scars, only his beauty. A wonderful soul mate who would understand his pain and help to assuage it. And when he did, the clock would cease to tick, he would lay down his scythe and take her up from death, and together they would dance through time and beyond to love and happiness.

The ceasing of the clock would be heralded by 3 doves, warned Father Time, and the son must always be on the lookout, with an open heart and mind. As his last parting words to the battered soul of the Broken Son, Father Time said, “Three things to remember, Time heals all things. This too shall pass. And it is ok to be broken.” And bearing this advice the Broken Son did his duties and brought peace to infinite numbers, helping to soothe and ease their transition. And one day, in his darkest moments of self doubt, the son was visited by three doves, just as he heard the watch cease to tick…

Authors blurb: this was written and illustrated for a dear friend who had been through some terrible things in her life. I took her story, her tattoos and her (then fiancé) husbands grim reaper tattoos, I twisted them together to make a fantasy story. I gave it to them as a wedding gift. 

words

If words were only ink and papyrus

Or delights of air and music

If words were simply exhalations of sound

Then lonely would be only noise in the background

Instead lonely is stretching aching fingers across the sheets

Caressing empty space in bed

Not knowing who you want there

Only wishing it was someone’s curve instead

Sadness is turning to share a laugh

And finding only your shadow

If only words were empty and light

Blown over dales and valleys and out of sight

Then anger could not fight

Fury would mean nothing more

Than simply coasting quietly out the door

If I found they had no weight

They carried no heartache

And simply wasted wisps of wanton breath

I would have no words

To describe how my heart leaps for joy

And pounds like auld cracking toys

Words were they so hollow and useless 

would be no good for delight

For sharing secrets in the night,

Pillow talk and little whispers

Instead I have found words carry perpetual motion

Ever growing with each new motion

Tripping tipsy off my tongue

For anger, laughter, under moon and sun

I find things preposterous and exhilarating

I feel homesick and hostile and sometimes hateful too

Words can make me sing or fly

Make me want to crawl away and hide

They set me free and chain me down

These tiny little mouthfuls of sound

Your words can gift me a smile

Urge me to go the extra mile 

Next time you sharpen your words on me

Remember that while words are free

To take them back is a hefty fee

Withdrawal

Electricity jolts from your body to your brain

Any more of this won’t leave you sane

Food can no longer stay down

Is it you or the room spinning round

Does it matter? no it can’t

The sound of your breath is a screaming rant

The tile floor is cool against your flaming skin

Such tiny relief of the monumental pain you are in

Your body aches and shivers and burns

Everything hurts no matter how you turn

Worse is the pain your heart feels like an attack

Reaching out, begging for someone to reach back

Your body violently protests while you kneel

You sob as you beg for a kind word to heal

A little of the hurt inside and out

For someone to remind you what this is all about

Right now you just want to die

Because you just can’t remember why

It’s so important to get past this

Something as gentle as a familial kiss

On the brow pulsing with pain and sweat

A simple pat on the back

Or a text that says: you got this

But I am alone

As I atone

For my attempt to stop the pain

Now I know I have no one

Really is there much to gain

By making it through this tortured detox

By living through this hell

By trying to make myself better and well

I’ve come to the understanding my life is a living, lonely, hell
Authors blurb: withdrawal and detox are a bitch. I went cold turkey off of Cymbalta, my anti-depressant, when my doctor refused to listen to the fact that it was giving me a very strong suicidal drive. Side note- find another doctor. It’s a damn stupid thing to just stop. Damned stupid. 

Another note: don’t ever, ever, start Cymbalta. That stuff is dangerous and impossible to get off. It causes EXTREME withdrawals, paresthesia, paranoia, nausea, aches, really the list doesn’t stop and your doctor won’t tell you about how awful it is. Anyway- I will climb off my soapbox now. I was alone going through this. I had no idea what I was getting into, the nightmares, hallucinations, the paresthesia… It’s terrifying. I really just wanted to die. This lasted about two weeks at such a severe level. The paresthesia is still hanging around. Some people claim it never goes away. I needed a kind word, a cool wash rag, some supportive texts, anything. What I got was a long rant from my brother about how stupid I was and it was my own fault and get over it. He stopped by a few times to make sure I was alive. Never more than a minute or two. I don’t deny it was stupid but it would have been nice to have something kind to help me through. The night before I stopped it I was sitting in my bathroom with a knife trying to talk myself out of opening my arm up. 

 I sobbed for hours because I have never felt so alone. I slept on the bathroom floor most nights while going through the withdrawal. Breathing hurt. Existing hurt. I will say that I’ve made it through and I’m working my way down the other side of the hill. I stopped having the suicidal drive within the first week of stopping Cymbalta. Now I have monumental anger issues I have to relearn to deal with. 

If you know someone who is going through withdrawal or detox, alcohol, illegal drugs, prescription drugs, please please support them in small ways. This is a terrifying ordeal and more pain than you can imagine.  And help them find a doctor worth his fudging paycheck.