No words…a quietly violent death

when_there_is_no_words_to_say_any_more_by_delawer_omar-d6069cr

I want my voice back! I want…no, NEED…to write of these things. The breathless pain, the torturous injustice, the made-for-tv-movie drama filled bullshit, the nightmare I can’t wake from.
I need to tell my story and share my truth. I need to whine incessantly, bitch and moan annoyingly,…I am so desperate to write it…spew it all over the pages like filthy projectile vomit…throw it out there like a slab of disgusting rancid wretched meat into the cesspool of anonymous oblivion.
Why can I not? Why can’t I get it OUT?
It’s as though I was sucker punched in the gut taking all wind from my body and before I could breathe again to get that out on paper, I was sucker punched again in the head this time so I couldn’t breathe OR think to tell about it…and as I tried to catch my breath and regain my senses this time, the blows just started pummeling me non-stop, chronic sucker punches from all directions…turning my already delicate world upside town like my earth became a blender and I the sole lonely contents…viciously being grinded, smacked, punched, kicked, ripped, shredded into a puddle where there once was at least the shell of a human being with a soul, a heart, and internal organs floating aimlessly inside. Now a puddle of nothing… what would I even be a puddle of now? Tears, blood, scar tissue, liquefied brain mass, and picked scabs? ….all inside this skin of a shell holding the random, chaotic leftovers of the human blender. Deceptively with no signs of the inner sheer pandemonium from the outside.
But where is my voice? The dust has settled a bit. The desperate reaches of my mind make daily attempts to reassemble in some sort of working order… They’ve not succeeded yet, but with some coaxing and reminding, I can take breaths here…and there….when my brain remembers to remind my body to breathe…. Breathe…. Take a breath. There you go. Deeper….release…repeat. but my voice is still feeble and my brain mass still too confused to write.
And dear Lord in heaven, I so desperately need to write of this! I’m suffocating and paralyzed with jumbled emotions, tragedies, and a chronic sense of sheer and dark doom. It’s choking me moment by moment…all right there…but so disorganized and outraged, bleeding and messy…that it shuts up my voice. My god damned voice. The only fucking thing I’ve ever ALWAYS had. My voice which when couldn’t speak, would write…and write…and write…til the wee hours of dawn or midnight candles burned into non-existence. When my mother choked me with fear and hatred, read my journals, and punished me for them, I wrote at school and saved them in my trusty old orange locker, tossing them in the garbage on the last day of school. Or, I wrote poetry, cleverly disguising truth with whimsically mysterious words that only I knew the meaning, rhyme, and reason… Pretending it was just a magical DisneyWorld of words
But I fucking spoke. I spoke with pen and paper, my passion for words and an inner fearless light that no one could shut me up from there. Not that place. Not my place; my only place in the universe where somehow the quiet horrors or indescribable pain came to life and existed. They existed like the thoughts running through your mind exist and skip and frolic fearlessly. And no one could deny them there or punish them or twist them into something they never were.
I had a fucking voice.
Now, I am wordless, voiceless, a scattered being tossing about on the wind like my daddy’s loving ashes…and yet I’m not emotionless.
I do not exist…and yet in the cruelest irony of them all, somehow I do still exist within that very blender of pummeled non-existence.
Without a voice, I don’t know how…or why… I’m forced to exist at all.

…rain…

…Rain…

 

I dreamt of you this morning…

Rain and you pouring all around…

Your taste still storming

delicious, on my tongue

Your scent floating in the air

like a haunted song

Your mouth lingering on my lips

…a passionate prayer

Your hand on my hips

pulling me softly closer

My skin still wrapped in the heat

of your essence, as it washed

your tender presence

over my heart  so sweet.

So hard to understand

love’s rhythm and rhyme…

why it beats and sustains…

and why I miss you even more

when the sky spills the rain

 

The girl in the grass

 

The girl in the grass has grace

She dances naked with thoughts 

of peaceful passion.

She aches to run barefoot through your dreams

bestowing delicate footprints and scattering daisies about

In randomly beautiful patterns.

 

She embraces your heart in warm light with her thoughts

You do not have to understand her or believe in her; she is there.

She waits in the tall green grass of what is always there.

Wanting you to remember your heart

Offering you the grace of forgiveness

Longing for you to know joy.

 

Skipping across the map of your soul

She drops tiny white petals of love as she goes

leaving behind the green stems of your forgotten memories

Wrap yourself in the innocence of her devotion

And find your way home.

The girl in the grass has grace.