Content

Come with me, here! Just sit, now, don't object.  Allegories run better than metaphors, no objects!    

I've got a tale, this time, that's quite the trick!  Now this one, I see, has finally made it stick!

Perhaps then, in me, grace we will see?  Can I dispel this need to be clean in me?

The sulliest tale, of a jolly good fool, stopped at a light in their car.  Did I say fool?

Fooled me, for when this fool checked their rearview mirror, what they witnessed was too near to hear.

A vehicle in motion at constant velocity makes contact.  Atrocity unseen, even if one had contacts.

Jolts, pain, panic.  This fool is shook.  There was something here.  A toll was took.

This fool, for a minute, was caught in loop.  Check that mirror, now, go get the scoop.

Not today, thank god. It's over now. I can let go.  Thank god.  It was just chance that showed.

And thereafter, this fool did drive away. Time saved, proceed forward:  it is safe, you are saved today!

But here's the sitch', let's keep on going like this is just the first stitch amiss.

A stitch in time saves nine, right?  So where in this, was the miss?

For every day was when this would go this way.

Every day would Blindside arrive to take this fool by to The Wayside.

Such that the wayside sideways became the way the way slides.  Nay.

Which is to say, every day is here to stay.  In fact, every day is every day.

But wait, there's more, oh great!  An officer arrives, not a moment too late.

But oh, it seems, this crime is on me?  Suck it up.  Don't be such a pussy.

But wait, there's more, oh great!  The driver appeals, I am innocent!

But oh, it seems, things get twisted?  The finger is pointed only at me?

But wait, there's more, oh great!  My village will help me out of this place.

But oh, it seems, I am silenced? Suck it up, hide your pain, in fact, disappear.

But wait, there's more, oh great. The people out there will know I'm great.

But oh, it seems, I'm crazy now?  Do I attract only those who use me in dismay?

But wait, there's more.  Oh great.  Now I have to pick up this wreck of mine.

But oh, it seems, I am literal shame? From the wreck, to the pieces, to the pickings, to the name?

But wait, there's more.  Oh great... now I have to appeal to society just to have permission to drive myself anywhere.

Bot oh, it seems, I am guilty for driving?  Artificial, at best, and never truly knowing the better according to everyone.

But wait, there's more...oh GREAT!  Even if I seek to repent, I am still judged for what I was, never for who I am.

But oh, it seems, blame to me.  For fool me once, shame on you.  But fool me twice and the shame is definitely in me.

Shame on me for ever believing in the idea I deserve the shame people give me, just for wanting to be on the road.

For now I finally see that the shame is in them for otherwise wishing I wasn't there to begin with as a problem they ever had to deal with in life.

Surprise, folks, everyone encounters their own experience  of wit's end, time and again, over and over, at some point.

And you know what?  Cycle breaking is not for the weak of mind, heart, soul, what have you, spirit?  Do you?  Have you any?  I know I do! Or did, I think.

For it appears, you see, no one will have me.  Or, at least.  It felt no one would.  I am broken, who would have me with glee?  A child, dead behind the eyes.

Wow, when you put it that way, I suppose not even me,  I guess.  Guess I better set me free.  No one's stopping to bother to tell me otherwise anyway.

And so this spirit was released into the wild.  Never to be seen as having truly smiled if you ever saw the moment crack beyond a grimace of a wince.  

The mask is here.  Pass another beer and blunt for cheer!  Whatever I can do to feel anything, I suppose is better than feeling dead amongst mindless zombies.

Am I happy yet?  Am I doing it?  What did I get?  How about a one-way ticket to the deepest pits of my own experience, not like I had ever imagined?

To cover that big a car crash, one's gonna need a big mask.  In fact, one might as just dissociate so much at this point that we just let Ego drive. 

Hell, if everyone spent less time paying attention to my complexes, perhaps they'd notice how easily I see theirs all the same.  Boot.  Boot.  Boots.

Oh yeah, I was molested when I was five. Oops, now that's a limit tested, one would believe.

Now imagine this.  The car is this writer's physical body, the driver is the soul arriving in stream-of-consciousness writing you see before you, the police officer?  My abuser.  The person who ran into me?  Every experience of emotional abuse I went through as a child that invalidated my truth.

And that went on for years.  In fact, I have reason to argue perhaps at least once, every other week, for ten years, this child was forced into living a life of habituating and adapting to whatever clues they could arrive at that could surmise the experience of not going through whatever the hell it is I was going through as severe emotional abuse to the liking of erasure of identity as context. 

"Identity as context" means that who we are (our identity) is not fixed but is shaped by, and understood within, the specific situations, environments, and social settings (contexts) we find ourselves in. Identity is dynamic and can shift as we move through different contexts, such as from a student at school to a professional at work, and is influenced by the cultural values and norms of our surroundings. 

So imagine, now, that every context by which you could seek to draw from within your own being is being infinitely invalidated and put into the ever insulting category of 'wrong' on the basis of another individual's appeal to what are honestly impossible standards that even they cannot even meet, let alone conscript in the cause toward.

You would feel the impulse to reach for anything that would get you out of that experience if you could bother to save yourself from a minute.

Let alone a passage in thought about it that does not assume the risk of constricting your own ability to breathe into it.

Guess this story is not so pretty enough to feel blessed with.  At least it was not.  Not most days.  But fuck if all if it didn't teach me something wild.

God, why do you hate me God?  What have I done?  Probably wasn't the smartest of questions for someone to be so daring to probe while young.

This mess is something I must have chosen. But now this fool feels their life is frozen.

A time unbeing, not without being, mind you, but being without the experience of seeing.

Seeing oneself, for who they are, as they can, but at this time, we've come too far.

Far along, down this road.  Here alone where no one roams. 

Take me far away to Rome.  The coliseum is my home.

For fight I must, if I say, for it is your life at stake today.

If not today, then every day.  No matter the ring.  No matter the rung.  Everyone is here to hear their song as most sung.

Resonance is the key, for which arrives in me.  The opportunity to see God shine into me.  

Every song has its day, but only when in harmony now, not discord.

With mad respect, and wholly uplift.  I seek myself to take the drift.

Take me with this tide and wake.  I am up. I am up. No need to shake.

Alert is the vibe and these battles bear tribes.

Tribes in kind in like and fine, in such and wish and love and mine.

Do I dare say I found a line, perhaps inside the right domain this time.

But wait, hold up.  I can see what's there.  Recognition goes as far as the share.

For if the dive one takes is deep.  Be prepared to come up and weep.

What a treat, I must say, to be treated as a treat.

For a treat I am, a gift in fact.  So long as psyche is intact.

But hey, that's not the say.  I am not always in today.

In fact, I'm often stuck in yesterday.  Or that day, which way?

Slay the witch and call upon will.  This is not just a fucking drill.

This is life.  That's all. That's it.  I'm not joking bitch!

No reset. No replay.  No way to have a different way.

Just the way I'm told to be, not given a chance to learn what is me.

How can one begin to appreciate what they do not even know.   

We do not know what we do not know what we do not know.

And, well.  The fool of this row?  That person is just a show.

A show written, cast, and seen.  Popping up on your favorite screen.

Seeking to show there's nothing to glean.  But girl, we all know she's green.

Envy I have.  Envy of the real.  Envy of those who get to shine with zeal.

Those with the gift of something to heal.  Something to notice as something that can feel.

Capable of attunement, alignment, and grounding.  We have roots?  This pavement is pounding.

This road laid out for me, bending with no end.  No room for growth, just drive in your lane friend.

Hope I get there. I hope real quick.  Hope, feed me.  Constant IV drip.

Drip into me, for hope in the beyond.  For this moment, I'm lost in the frond.

So many ways to throw stones at a pond. Whereas only one path exits this castle's lawn.

Skip, skip, skip. We roll with the punches.  For, one day, I will laugh about life at lunches.

Eat with pride.  Your just dessert.  Just remember to reflect on this line first.

Choose joy, my dear, it does not hurt.  Especially me, before you be the worst.

Worst things that could come up to find itself alive in me.

From choosing to let loose this rage, volcano, erupting live.

Hot magma, seething coal from down low.  Unescapable melt.  Pyroclastic flow.

Pompeii rests.  Static in time's line.  That city, it's memory, my brain, defined.

A relic of the past.  Ancient and yet new.  Already discovered but truly seen by few.

Survival in mind, I bear my own brood.  A kind of one with a different mood.

One in which I seek to soothe.  Soothe and mend a heart that drools.

For which this drool, this blood of mine.  I commit seppuku for you to shine.

Every day, for which I act.  And choose to otherwise pass on the fact.

That I know something you don't know.  Uh oh, who would have known?

Perhaps I'll tell it to you in time.  Perhaps I have already said it in this rhyme.

Perhaps I'll give a fuck or two, but then I'll have to charge you too.

For in this world that dreams of greed, hope is bullshit so fuck your needs.

Needy bitch, fuck off my plate.  I did not ask for this but steak!

Prime meat, juicy and ripe.  Fresh and clean and known to wipe.

Wipe that mess up nice and clean.  Nothing to see here, is this poetry?  Please.

One could keep going, but I better start slowing.  Never know which way the grass will next be growing.

But surely, the rowers will keep on rowing.  While I row myself a new line in life and pass the oar to someone growing.

Grow you will by serving with purpose.  But only if that purpose has purpose with you in it and it in you.

For when purpose is just what you are intentionally.  Then you're just arriving conventionally.

Myer me.  Inspire me. Act.  Do that which we all need to do, in fact.

Dance for me monkey.  Dance.  I'm sure you'll love the play.  The one in which you get to sing now for us today.

For I have had my time and paid my dues and now I leave it all up to you. 

Oh heavenly heaven, I welcome thee.  For it was always my destiny.

To catch a grip of what I see is something wild that I can only declare as me.

Not only me, but something hailed for it with glee.  For in you, I found me.

I wanted to love me, but let it go.  And wow.  Did it come back with something to show.

What a harmony, this all is.  Crash, wreck, pieces, screaming, weaving, and showing.

Now that's a promise in me that I can see growing.

Won't that be a song for the sewing?

Better to leave that for the knowing.

Steady as she goes, now.  One need not check the mirror longer than a flicker.

At risk of noticing themselves arriving again in a place much sicker.

Be well.  Please. For me and for the me in you that I know in you is begging for the same appeal in thought.

The road can be dangerous, and now you know.  

Walking lets you see more than you ever did anyway.

Plus, I hear the planet at least appreciates you for it.

And that here, is enough for the me in we when I say, we're here for it.

Not sure what else there is worth tending to beyond that if I can say.

But I'll leave that car crash in thought for another day.

All I know is now is that, this time: I am more than prepared.