Eyes of the World

Today the eyes of the world are upon her. The cold stair of a billion people following her every move. Watching suspiciously and with conviction in their eyes. She is 8 feet tall today and the sign over my head is an unavoidable beacon drawing everyone closer.

The circus freak goes on stage and in the darkness that surrounds her only silence. The deafening silence rips at her ears as the white ring of light probing her from all directions strips her bare. Naked and alone all she feels is fear. Her self-consciousness swells under the skin like a thousand boils of her disease. No escaping the intense gaze from the corner of her eye… either direction the same.

The darkest layers of her clothing can no longer hide the seething pain of vulnerability. Her fingers shake and clutch at her arms crossed over naked breasts. The transparency of her flesh and bones offer not protection from all the unbroken stairs. Each piercing her flesh with divine accuracy. The criss-crossed gazes dissect her every breath. Paralyzed in a pool of fear only the beat of her heart bursting from her chest offers any hint of life within.

Flight of this motionless statue made impossible by the roots of doubt pulling her limbs deeper into the earth beneath her. She can do nothing but fear. Her chest longs to cry out. Heaving only shallow breaths of a dying flower at the center of the universe. If only she could break free. If only the arms of comfort had not abandoned her soul.

Painted Whisper

Glowing candles flicker.
Anonymous shadows dancing with darkness.
Scented hopes dash in and out of awareness.

A touch.

Shivers run through the warmth of a caress.
Hearts quicken to words unspoken.
Faint warming breath awakens the silence.

The painted whisper adorns the canvas of her neck.

I love you.

Stolen Heart

Clutching fists fill the void in my chest.
There was love there.
There was happiness and memories of beauty.
The knife has long since removed my heart.

Burning tears, trails of red mark my tormented cheeks.
There was warmth there.
There was a sense of purpose and belonging.
The bloodied hands no longer pull at my flesh.

Broken dreams, voided history suffocates my soul.
There was a bond once.
There were two shared lives living as one.
The memories of your last words pry continuous at this open wound.

Death of my stolen heart lives forever in memory.

Who Am I?

When the walls of self acceptance are crushed within our own hands,
When the shame of who are boils from our veins,
When the world we thought we knew no longer applies,
Who is left?

When one lives outside the box,
When one rediscovers that hidden life,
When the world around is no longer the same,
Who will emerge?

When reason and doubt no longer rule each day,
When a journey taken contradicts everything known,
When the horizon and the future finally converge,
Who can continue?

When there are no more answers,
When there is only self,
When the future is all that stands before you?
Who will survive?

When all that is seen, felt or experienced is reborn,
When life begins,
When all that is left are questions,
Who am I?

The Brightest Light

Looking to the future through all the memories of my past.
I see a light brighter than the brightest star.

And it burns inside of me.

Jaded Path

Walking this path a purpose without direction.
I see to a future in each direction I turn.
Step upon step into multiple futures.
My bearings are focused on nothing and forward.
Each foot precariously yet systematically placed upon each ledge.
The path narrows here and widens there.
Insecure footings marked by hasty retreat.
Must move forward.
Wincing at the pain of each fall.
Must move forward.

A sturdy precipice and I gather my thoughts.
Directions overlay maps of internal destination.
Worn shoes barely comfort each stride upon broken choices.
A quick retreat again and down the next path.
This maze is my life.
An overgrown hedge hacked into trails of fear.
Must move forward.
Burning muscles pushed beyond their limit.
Must move forward.

This jaded path laid out before me must not control me.
I cannot allow the noise of destiny to cloud my judgment.
Nor the rumble of acceptable norms to defeat my purpose.
There is no destiny.
Only destination and achievement.
These paths are mine alone to follow.
Must move forward.
Life becomes lived with the passing of each step.
Must move forward.

There is no past to support my return.
To back-step each history brings no new days.
That path is done.
Somewhere up ahead lies that precious goal.
Destinations unknown but with purpose I proceed.
A goal with no set direction but forward.
Must move forward.
Burning all my energy until I can move no more.
Must move forward.

A Seed of Hope

Endless miles of hot asphalt race only inches beneath her. This journey has become all too familiar as she blankly scans the road ahead. The trips back to her parents home each weekend only followed by the same blank canvas before classes start each Monday.

“How long must I do this?” She whispers to the empty seat beside her.

Cracks and hastily planted repairs in the road counting down the miles. She opens the window to awaken her senses. This drive, this repetition that numbs her mind as she struggles to stay awake at the wheel. Thoughts are her only companion along these mindless stretches as even the radio’s blaring madness too fades into background noise.

She stops along a long isolated corridor. The pine forests frame the roads like deeply carved aqueducts where only metal and concrete flow. It is spring and mediocre patches of wildflowers fight the weeds and weekly industrial mowers for a stand of their own.

A lone whit daisy has impaled itself into the broken edges of the roadside. It’s only companions, indescript plastic wrappers and crumbled infrastructure from a tenuous, fragile barrier. Just enough protection for it to take root.

“How long must I do this?” She whispers again.

Her voice falls along the roadside as she pours the last bit of melted ice and moisture from a giant convince store fountain drink around this hopeful yet doomed spark of life. Her gaze surveys the local patches of daisies bunched together living freely and open just outside the shadows of their lanky pine guardians.

Her eyes return to her lone companion at the edge of oblivion wondering how such a beautiful thing could survive and blossom outside of its siblings’ safe haven of meadow-like grasses, weeds and illegible “do not mow” signs. She thinks to herself as if ready to ask the daisy out loud.

“What are you doing here?”

The silence in her mind is only broken by the silence of no answer. Her gaze blurs as she raises her head to the blue on blue sky. Her focus turns to nothing of consequence as she ponders the bravery and utter determination of this lone flower. Her only thought as she turns slowly to return to her drive are of her own life.

“I wish I was a flower.”

She starts the car and quickly disappears into the distance.

Different

A lone red flower towers over a sea of yellow ground cover.
The distant howl of a wolf breaks the symphony of neighborhood dogs.
The sharp green eyes of an oasis peer out of the desert.
Wildly twisting, green vines engulf a lone towering pine.

The battered stop sign at a crossroads miles from civilization.

A single shell, in tact and bleached by the sea and the sun washes in the sand.
The rainbow spinnaker billowing in the breeze of white on white sails.
The rudely, arrogant cry of summer storm siren.
Long, silent stretches of feather clouds in a otherwise cloudless sky.

The introverted child sits watching in a corner of a boisterous playground.

A strikingly beautiful woman lies in the street, blood pooling beneath her motionless body.
The moment of recognition in the eyes of a faded memory.
The softly weeping mother giving birth on a city bus.
Intact columns of charred stone rise from the ashes of yesterday.

Here I am, Unique and not. I stand among you open and proud. For I am all these things and none at all. Strikingly different in who I am, yet everyday mundane and largely unseen in a world filled with all that is different.

Second Spring

Scattered about and disorganized
Thoughts clinging to each other as they pass
A topped off glass swells over
The liquid emotions spilling out around the overburdened vessel
These are my life’s savings

Order and chaos an unmade bed
Falling in and out of lucid skies a comforting breeze comes
Warmth wraps around skin
The infants blanket gently catching every drop of spilled thought
These are my life’s memories

Gently stacked and freshly picked
Budding goals and ripened dreams refresh the open cupboard
Change is coming
The second spring brings new hope to a passing life
This is my life’s dream

Soon I will climb into this skin for the very last time knowing life does not end it begins again and again.

In To This

In to this we find beauty
We smell life surrounding
Faded pictures and softened stones
Our souls drift between worlds of our making
Restful dreams that bare new thoughts
Heightened senses awakened by the dance
Restless hearts crash in the distance
The cries of past lives molding on our plate
This present
This future

In to this we plunge unguided
Walls within walls
A maze of unlocked doors
Memories grasping to be heard
Emotions drawing blood as they escape
A calm settles in over the night
The waves of possibilities shaping our lives
Well hung pictures adorn the facades
Battered innocence peeks out form behind heavy curtains
Eyes meet hearts to burn away the fog

In to this we forge our lives