Poetry

Closed Portals

For most life is full of scenes and visions and moments and experiences that

are able to be escaped from in the comfort of the night

you close your eyes

you drift away into sleep

and all of those painful images just go away for at least a little while

then there are those like me

who rather use tape to keep open his eyes

unknown of what the feeling of real rest is

I am going on over 10 years of unknown nights

sleep is not peaceful and drifted into

it is abrupt and sudden

it is something I am thrown into

and then ripped out of just as fast

can never relax too much

then these locks and dead bolts will not last

the truly sad casualty of all of this

is my mother cannot speak to me anymore due to the risk

of something else coming and living within

of me going somewhere and never being able to return again

for some have seen a family member laid to rest

some even seen friends slain too close to the chest

if my mind drifts too far I can still taste it

that feeling of dead flesh, rotting away, wasting

within my mouth and retching from the stench

it is a different lingering feeling to walk in a room and feel uneasy

yet there is no one there physically

to feel as if closing your eyes makes you too vulnerable

doors locked, back against the wall, poised to strike

and in the end

it is only you, the dark, and the light.

Just more of a way that I have been isolated to be alone

too dangerous to fly free

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Poetry

Tracks

Running along them calmly you may hear the roar of the freight behind you

then again that could be the endgame

to allow everything to all end

and make it all seem like a mistake.

Then again these could be the sight of pure victory

of a long road towards freedom

of a long road towards rebuilding

the railroad away from slavery

but when you look at your wrists are you still bound?

when you look at your feet are there still shackles?

Can you break the chains that have anchored you down your entire life?

Can you break free of the weight of it, the pain and the strife

Unfortunately for me, I carry around the weighted duffel

this innately large possession of my own that holds all my troubles

so many mistakes made, so many moments with only one place to turn

while done for my own protection, losing that gift has made me undone

let me make this clear, this is all about self right now

this revolving issue has nothing to do with anyone on the outside of my brain

in the end there is not enough support for this frame

weighted down, heavy, tired, and when it gets close to the struggle

all alone with no home

a nomad who does not even belong where he lays his head

a man who speaks yet is never heard

someone would call a leader yet no one is ever lead

all in all this is a joke of an existence

I dare you to give proof to deny

that horn is getting closer, louder

time to catch my ride

goodbye

Poetry

Dear Perspective

I find it interesting that the post template says “share your story” but how many of you would read it openly.  Watching television earlier showed me some very interesting concepts and many of them coincided with my own personal thoughts and philosophies.  There were others that I felt I should learn yet I don’t implement them at all because I’m just as exhausted as he is. I am, for a lack of better words, exhausted in my body, mind, and soul.  There is something draining to know that your experiences and feelings are always a problem.  That ticking time bomb of emotion that is met with a defensive wall of prior consequence that has nothing to do with the present but is a creation that has been given strength over the years from the past.  At this point a structure that shows no mercy unless an envoy is sought out; however, due to my genetic nature, a speaker for me is not available. 

This is called dear perspective due to me asking for assistance in mine being viewed as important right now versus just more ammunition towards all the things that are perceived to be wrong with me.  With only one individual being the priority in a relationship, that same person always the one being wronged never the one out of line, where is there room for me to dwell.

Life

89 Posts

This will number 89, very close to 100, but not quite there.  I have not been writing lately, call it a block, call it what you will, truth of the matter is, I do not believe I have your ears.  There are those of you who will say, “get it out, whatever you feel, yell it from the rooftops, let me know it is real”; then there are those who will say, “why do you waste your time, intelligence is not your gift, writing is not your calling, let it go, should have never began”.  There is truth in both statement, what I say will always be real, it will be exactly how I feel; however, I believe as well I should have never began.

This started from pain, pain of loss, losing my mother, then it became a comfort, something used to attract others, and heal even more.  Yet I need just as much of the healing myself.  I am broken, torn apart, down and low to the ground, I need uplifting, encouragement, support, and strength.  It takes all that I have to keep pushing forward, I need assistance to make these leaps and bounds again.

I will look to others for inspiration and light.