Month: June 2015

Uprooting the weeds: a life lesson

Adamantly,  I wanted to expunge myself from what began the rationale, why certain people are better than others. I wanted to rid myself and flee out of the crowd, renewed and content I had gained perspective. The weeds grow wildly entangling themselves around the flowery beds of grass. The leaves began to develop thick, radish red veins. In the summer the height of the weeds  began soaring near our kneecaps. I wanted to cut it out. Take scissors to it and hack away that it did not belong here. The vicious things people had said about those who were ” “unclean” because it was they who did not want to empathize with them as being similar in heart. I wanted to push away that ridgidness.
Life, a revolving door spinning around and around, produced in me that it had not been fair to us all. We had not been fair to us…to them whose lives were just as meaningful as ours. Afflicted, I mused inwardly that I must flee from those who continue to subject pain onto others after they have been so graciously freed themselves. I am better than I was but I am not the best. One can internalize the words and actions of those that have started with them, however decide that their love and respect is purer. Our love was human. The desire to share one another’s struggles and learn the language we have crafted to carry ourselves. Our love, a thousand times washed over with understanding, that we love through pain, sickness and affliction. We love as if our whole being could not hold back what is in us. We share what we have gathered from the world despite our own ugliness for being indifferent toward our friends and whom we do not know.

The weeds,
We flee from,
And take with us our best,
To love in such a way,
We heal the world,
One day at a time.
For the world,
Is in you
and you are in it.
Right here,
Creating how it will continue
For the rest of us.


The truth will set… a metal trap on your foot

I try to breathe quietly
Keep my breath, faint
As a ghost clinging to such walls
That contain secrets.
I resound quite conspicuously
The things that ail me
Carry my ancestors open sores
Along with their dreams
Some tangible
Some not.
I lay them down at the feet of those
Who must choose to stoop
So we can both do this, together
Looking over things of the past
Eye to eye
With our mouths twisted
How uncomfortable it is to hunch
But one must hunch to pick others up
I concave my chest,  cat – like
Ready to hurl back
For I show those the things that ail me
They too could do the same
It is a choice
To wound openly
Take the sores and revisit them
Only so they will not close
I shout in the dark
Scratching with my claws retracted
I peel paint off walls
Tear up entire furniture
Only to wrestle with the outcome.
I hunch again
To show my trinkets and dignity
I say: “come here and look”
“Look upon this with your own eyes, trace it with your own fingers, our hurt.”
I place the sack over one shoulder,
And smile between my teeth,
That pain is a visitor
Who comes at all hours
Yet some claim to have not seen the frosty breath
Leaving us like smoke.

Life’s a chore

I swished my life around like Listerine mouthwash,
Gurgling and spitting it out.
I put it down,
And refused to pick it back up again.
Some nights,
I push it away,
Tucked behind the sofa,
Kicking the messiness of my childhood room underneath the bed.

Some nights,
It was like carefully grabbing one of those strawberry wrapper candies, that no one knows where they come from,
And sneaking away,
Two then three of them,
To save it for later.
I must savor it for a moment,
Because I’m not sure when it will come back.

I like to become,
But becoming is tiring.
It takes this and that,
Skill and a swift kick in the…
But what I really like to become,
Is consistent with myself,
Pluck the self-doubt out like an eyelash,
Without a wince.
Look all the people I’m afraid of in the face,
Who’ve got no idea why they make me feel this way,
But for once I want to settle it,
Once and for all,
Stomp my foot,
Stick my tongue out,
And say I like me,
Because I am becoming me.

A candy dish on the counter,
I swish my hand in its shallow bowl,
Grabbing the best,
And spitting out the nuts in chocolates,
Folding them in my napkin.
Because settling is not the same as adapting.

Wide teeth comb hair

I use to hate the coils in my hair,
Until they granted me safety,
A comfort crowned on my head.
For a while I frivolously yanked at them,
Yelled at them,
Cursed them from my aunt’s yard,
To my father’s birth home and back.
Now I allow my fingers to embrace them,
Curling through the tips,
Thick with pride.

Out of body

They’re quarreling for no reason. Look at them young and naive, rubbing at their knuckles as if hard times have overstayed their welcome. They have no sense.

Oh, I think that I do though. No, I know that I do. I know that next year can feel the same as the one before. The good times can dance around us until those times make us dizzy and upset that there’s now a mess all over the floor. We push our belly laughs back into the storm cellar and push mighty hard for the closet door to stay closed. Yet, I suppose if you’re gonna act right and do as I say, I’ll retreat back to pushing the dollar store witch broom across the floor. The bristles pick up dust balls that are trapped between each straw like bristle. The next pile of trash I make on the floor won’t catch on the bristles as well as it did the first time. Life is like that.
I ought to stop throwing my fishing pole-line into the murky lake, pulling out shoes and shit. I never really did learn how to fish but I know what it entails.
A rod
A line
A sturdy chair
An old boat from one of the older fellas who can teach detailed things with their eyes closed
And a whole lot of waiting

You see them kids. When we was young, I’d parents switch us if we talked back.

We grab-bagged what felt good and stuffed it down our shirts. Sometimes we had it in one of our hands that was behind our back. We use to do this when we were real little trying to steal snacks we weren’t supposed to have before lunch or dinner. Tiptoeing we prided ourselves how stealthy we were but they knew. Sometimes the bag was left open or the milk jug had moved slightly to the left, oh they knew.

You’re not that old yet.

Oh, I do remember how I am young but will not continue to stay young. Oh, how the summer humidity starts to get to one and instead of fidgeting, we let out exasperated sighs. Oh, I am quarreling with what I have learned and what I have or haven’t done. Oh, I am out of body.

The exception to the golden rule

We were cross-legged, resting our elbows on our thighs and listening to those we were under. We resided under the tongues of our teachers, mothers,  fathers, aunts, babysitters (related to us or not) and often fidgeted how they spoke of life.
“YOU MUST TREAT PEOPLE HOW YOU WANT TO BE TREATED.” This is a complete sentence and a complete thought. None of us have sought these words as foul play. In our hearts, we swore that is we who will be kind and be mindful of our words, carefully examining their weight. It is we who dance between the sunlight and then escape into the shade.
“You Must Treat People How You Want To Be Treated.”
We pledged this unwaveringly. We carried it with us as we walked on traintracks, under ladders and soft grass trekking to our sense of paradise.  On our tongues our words flicked quickly. We flung such words that were harsh, berated faces and torn down clothes from those we did know and did not know.
What is an opinion? An opinion is whether one prefers ketchup or mustard. An opinion is this diner has great food but the space is cramped. This diner has horrible food but it’s floor plan is spacious. We too tucked in our cheeks such things such as; religion,  poetry, opinions and honesty (to the best of our knowledge). Some days we swallow all of these roughly and dry. Some days we drink water with it for its contents to course down our throats.
“You must treat people the way you want to be treated, except those people. They are less than you are. You must cast your eyes down and turn up your nose. You must say that you know all that is in this world, of it and withdraw your sword to struck down those you do not understand out of ignorance. ”

You must treat people the way you want to be treated.
With blood on our hands, we wore gloves saying we are unaware of the wounds we inflict on others. With our heads drooping between our shoulder blades, we assured our children to grow but only as far as we can see.
With guilt and trial,  we learn again what it means to be kind and treat others how we want to be treated. We want to be free to learn. We aim to improve parts ourselves where we are no longer hidden or acting in pretense. We strive despite struggle. We enclose to all who will listen that all people deserve opportunity for good. We hold in our hand the things we have learned and cast down things that inflict harm on others.
It is an active choice to be unkind and cruel. It is an active choice to be kind and considerate of how we treat other people.