I have so many memories but few are recorded in pictures. They lay in my skin and psyche, raw and swollen. My ego sliced to ribbons for years, burns and holes in my arms from bonfires and farm work. Pieces of my heart missing, given to the wrong woman time and time again. But my favorite is on my right wrist. It's not old enough to turn white just yet, still pink and puffy like crying eyes. A one-inch perfectly straight line bright against the tan backdrop and ink that surrounds. Given to me during a favor as no good deed goes unpunished. Left by the jagged metal of a mutilated Ford. I never understood how it ended so uniform. The one on my left wrist I covered in ink to turn it into a shooting star, but I refuse to cover this one. I gained it with friends and and didn't notice it until the drops of blood off the end of my thumb demanded my attention. It is an unfinished arrow on my dominant hand reminding me I choose to move forward or back. I can continue the direction that left this mark. I can continue to foster friendships with others in a place of solace like that garage smelling of used oil and cigarettes, tasted like whisky and laughter. Felt like home and belonging. Or I can go back to being the angry goblin in his cave refusing the company of anyone new. I've come to see this tiny line the pinks of a sunset cloudscape as my guide towards strength, because the strongest part is a healed scar. Thicker than it ever was, reminding you that you can live through the damage. I've had this ink in my new armor since I was 24, and though it continues to be tested, this old link still shines bright.
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It's strange that your breath is never a conscious thought until you can't seem to catch it. It can't run from you but things leave it just beyond reach. Sometimes it's beautiful like your soon-to-be-wife walking down the aisle at you, or the birth of your child. But more often it's only truly missed in times of struggle or fear. A man you didn't see puts a couple pounds of steel to your head threatening high velocity lead or your mom comes off her horse at the rodeo. You didn't think about the bollowing of your lungs until panic held them still and stole your control. Or how about that time you heard a familiar voice scream your name in their own panic and by the time you rushed there and rescued them you noticed your vision fading from the edges like a vignette in a noir movie until... and you wake up, painfully aware that suddenly air is coursing through you in great gasps. You don't know how long it's been but you know and notice at the forefront of your mind for the first time in so long that you have your breath firmly gripped. You still don't feel in control but you notice. It's there and this time you're thankful.
Lions, spiders, and hares oh my. Creatures come to me in my mind's eye. Animals and insects, arachnids and even plants. Flora and fauna alike come to point me in the direction I need to go. The lion, the sun, the leo is my pride and despite his majesty and power there's gentleness inside. He is fire burning with emotion to clear the brush of my mind. Clearing my path of the bridges of places I don;t need to go. The spider is my serenity, my tranquility, my patience, He teached me to build my domain for me and remain calm in my space until given a reason not to be. The hare is my energy and my ability to leave. He instructs me with his actions, showing me not every issue needs to be hit head-on. And this may shake some leaves because you may disagree but I count the rose among these things. Gorgeous and bright, demanding attention and with the perseverance to grow despite the conditions. I am fire. I am night. I roam the hills and hollers. I am the light in my dark. I am a culmination of so many beings, tangible and non, I'd love to make you understand us, but we've only scratched the surface and we don't have that long.
big hands and big feet
another clown joke falls flat your girl winks at me camouflage beauty
invisible in plain sight intricacy hides a heart breaks again
it never truly repairs it beats anyway I look out and see the sun shining without a smile to be felt, but I know I have to make an effort so I grab my umbrella for some shade and if I keep it low noone else will see my face. Hop in my car, head to the park, figure if I pick the right trail I'll never see a soul. Start off through the woods and it's great. Everything going according to plan. I mean, my mood isn't improving bt at least I'm not bringing anyone else down. Then I happen upon her, cheerful and bright. Then the clouds roll in. She says, "it's getting gray, mind if I join you under there?" I panic as I explain, "don't worry, you're safer out there. See, on days like today, under my umbrella is the only place that it rains."
I can't always be nice just because you're at the mic
I hear what you're saying but it leaves me upset like Can't control my face,eyes roll and jaw spasms Walk by me like "that was great" make me wanna drop you in a sarcasm Tell the rescue team "don't bother he didn't make it" Leave ya there a couple days to be sure you get the hint Go back to the same place right where I always sit Don't know how long I can put up with this shit Still kinda disappointed, started to think I was better than this It's hard to explain to someone who didn't go through the same thing
I wasn't abused or neglected, it was trauma but not that type of rough It happened when I shoulda been growin up, young man lookin for love I was searching for it but couldn't tell you what it means Couldn't tell you what it looked like or describe it from my dreams So I did what I heard, went and got my bell rung But I took it too serious and these pieces of my heart weren't worth the fun So now I treat it like a fight for my happiness, getting myself trained up I'm starting to feel like a boxer getting in the ring Head down, warming up until I hear the "ding ding" When I look up I could swear it's a mirror, no, just someone else looking for the same thing I'm tired of unneeded information giving my damaged mind fuel to dig the hole that drains me of my happiness. I'm bad at letting go and these thoughts have spines digging into my palms. the blood drips and still I hold. Tighter and tighter, cursing the pain but fearing its absence.
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