Blue used to feel black, like a head whack! But, with a smack! back, because of you, blue feels bright almost a teal tropical skyline at dawn, shady clouds hanging out, shaking off the grey dew warmed to twinkle in the sun anew. When my melancholy mind is on the attack and all feels forever daunting and totally MAD, watching you transforms the blue and tickles my soul to make even my eyes smile, reminding me, things aren’t so bad, just find a way to laugh;)
midlife crisis
Grounded
GROUNDED! I am. Hope is like magic to me. In a hopeful magic-mirror, I see a side of me that’s happy, electrified with new prospects of fun, giddy to grind with lust on my mind.
BUT Magic isn’t real. It’s a con.
When my brain gets too excited, it girgles naughty thoughts, and it tricks me into creating a story I want to hear, a fairy tale.
About my days, I go slow, eyes looking up, thinking in pictures of…
what if I found a connection
with a passionate friend, who tickles my fancy, OH yes, a muse for my fantasies…
Every look, every touch elevates your love…that’s how I wish you’d feel about me, addicted like I’m your very favorite thing.
Melancholy madness, knowing my truth. No magic can make me hope something will change. I’m doomed to accept my lustless fate, so I guess I’ll just go back to sleep.
YET
(I tell you true, this is happening right now!!!)
A yellow finch just now called my attention from my red pen bleeding onto my notebook paper.
Wheels turning I had to ponder, What is this bird saying?
He just keeps singing louder and louder, then I spot him high on a flexible limb, a cloud white floating as his backdrop:
“STOP! LOOK UP!”
He sang so lovely, not at all like the other birds, a voice and rhythm all his own.
Then, a sparrow chimes, “Just live…and be…love life…reality!”
As if stung by the sun, my eyes close, the pain in my neck feels like a knife in the muscle just turned, so a frown pulling my chin down, I wheel back into the cold darkness of the garage and close the door with a wrist-flip, twisting the deadbolt locked.
Enveloped by darkness, I see the remnants of that circle of light and I blink a quick-
CLICK!
Like a photograph, within my mind, I snap-shot this moment in real time where the moon eclipses the sun making me feel warm, less alone.
(I hope you never doubt your worth! I long to show you how much I need you in my life, or I swear I wouldn’t have been able to hang in this long:)
Smoke Spirits
Let’s go back to before my accident…It’s 1990, a blowout bonfire at the end of school next to Midwest cornfield, I stood staring into the flames dancing hot waves, and I felt warmed deep in my soul, not from the heat of the fire, but as if an invisible smoke spirit floated from the bottom embers to smoke sucked up my nose.
I wondered then, as I do now again, if what I felt was true or just me way back when in a weird mood?
Tonight, with a puff of smoke (thanks to the dragon downthe way;)…
POOF! PRESTO!
Off to snap the net for the Mythology of smoke spirits:
I now understand my reaction:
Smoke Spirits
Two smoke spirits ablaze
Dancing irredecent
Shaping shadows
Two smoke spirits escaping
Ethereal displacement
Rising UP
Two smoke spirits away
A Transcendence
Feet to Ground
A new go-round.
Face It
Cracked glass clouded by steam,
the reflection skewed reality,
my face distorted, monstrous!
That’s why I cover mirrors.
Sometimes, someone sees me,
wheels making me too obvious,
and I ponder what they think…
“You’re so strong!” One exclaimed.
Muscles atrophied to skin ‘n’ bone
long ago, weakness whittled
from could to should to won’t
with my soul my gut’s blackhole
sucking up good, bad ‘n’ all…
It’s not the wrinkles or dark spots
aging looks back and takes stock:
Who were you? Who’ve you become?
Does your soul just need a hug?
LEARN TO GIVE YOURSELF LOVE ❤️
Chronic
I am chronic
PAIN painted as pleasure
(inhaling moon rocks,
to clear the chronic smoke).
I dance defiance
INSIRATION my salvation
(eating my paralysis)
in search of chronic peace.
SMACK
WHACK-SMACK! Reality’s back.
I twist my hair into a stiff bun, pick up my broom, sweeping lines of longing under the rug..
I’ve lived alone on the border of Arizona and Mexico, Phoenix, Flagstaff, Denver and Littleton, Colorado, and many towns in Indiana. I did alone well. I used to go to bars and concerts alone, restaurants and museums. I used to roll my wheelchair up mountains to take pictures, sail and rock climb to get high.
High is my current state of being, struggling to get by, OCD with animals constantly shedding, pain aching, pricking, and stabbing day in day out.
I don’t yell or shout, I never fight (despite the nitpicking comments thrown at me, blaming me for everything that goes wrong).
Silently (except in my head), I just keep cleaning up, dying to feel young, supple again, not an old wrinkly wench.
Dreams save my life, as a distraction from all my strife.
Steam Whiffs
A nips out chill induces a clenched spasm forearms to breasts, slightly wet, as my fingers pay homage in tiny taps upon my mug, and I inhale the steam whiffs, succumbing impulsively, going back to the time my smile finally felt GENUINE.
as I hit ground
Blinds block out what I can’t presently handle (my world small, PTSD producing morning shadows of past things DONE, dancing distructively on my walls).
SOOOO, daily I shout other people’s lyrics to not freak out, distract myself from a lack of stimulation my brain and body CRAVE, nay…NEED!
Pushing wheels round 20 years, one band, one voice (above-beyond all else) pulled me out of every funk, and this band recently came near my town!
No longer ready for an end…I opened a window, flung myself out, and I FLEW to see them play and sat in awe, observing the voices from their mouths make wild waves, travel from my head to core and tickle my toes.
A band of brothers swinging hips while playing, fluttering fingers singing notes of wise words shining night bright enough to ignite a fire in my soul, my dead heart PUMPED UP, feeling seen…full!!!
A new day after begins…
Sunshine gone, rain downpours; Reality came with tears, gratitude streams, THANKFUL I fingered a star in my small world.
And still reeling now, I can’t stop trying, I can’t stop writing, despite knowing full and well, I’m flying to fall…
Solace remains with a wish upon a heart POUND, with my groove switched back on FOUND:
I’ll laugh as I hit ground.
That ‘P’ Word
It’s that ‘P‘ word that eludes me lately.
I search each day for that ‘P‘ in my memory, dressed as the lovely lit up ghost of a childhood friend, who began teasing me when I was ten, always up to have some fun, and Oh, how hot I got when that ‘P‘ came around!
It’s that ‘P‘ that proved to be my rock when nothing else helped, and I’ve hidden that ‘P‘ deep within me, a fire always burning up my shadows, stroking gently my ego, no matterhowlow I go.
Then, one day I tried to coerce that ‘P‘ to come, Please…I plead, Come home. Weeks of searching, but NOTHING CAME! That ‘P‘ was gone…I knew…
I really was alone.
I wondered: Did my big-bad, sad soul swallow that BEAUTIFUL ‘P’ whole to suck on its marrow until it’s gone…as if it was never known???
Fuck NO!
I don’t reside in a metaphor anymore!
That ‘P‘ was never anything but what I want it to be. And, no matter what I do it’s ALWAYS inside me. It’s my PASSION I’m hiding deep, my passion exuding me, it’s passion I want dancing a burning fire up my ass, not the memory of things done gone in the past.
Now, how to TAP THAT PASSION and make it laaast???
Re-creation
I try to recreate the moment when time stopped. The action just after fizzles on the tip of my tongue, an embarrassment I’ve failed to overcome. Therefore, I’m compelled to close my eyes in bed to fully concentrate, maybe try again…
Impulsively, I yell out his name, the door closing fast in my face, but I laugh with grace, beginning to grab my things.
With the door’s bang-echo bouncing on my brain, to my surprise, he comes back in. Towering above me, he bends down, holding my hand and allowing me to pass words that now, thinking back, I don’t even know, and then, time froze…
I didn’t…I couldn’t speak.
His kind eyes, exuding empathy, stare at me, smiling the words, I see you, I feel you see me.
Heart begins love-cramping, my hand grips my chest, wanting to ask a million questions, unable to think fast.
With inappropriate babble stuck in my throat and feeling hot down below, my brain battles my hands for control with temptation wanting…
His hug…to feel loved…to feel passion…to feel something magical happen.
I jerk my head down from the warmth in his gaze, bowing it low, I giggle like a child, rolling backwards away, “I’m sorry…Thank you. I’m sorry, thank you!”
Then, turning my chair with a quick spin, I literally rolled into a wall, nearly hitting a garbage can!!!
Oh my golly gee, so very typical for me.
I can’t change my personality, I guess my quirkiness makes me…ME.
If I could do it again, I would inquire:
What are your biggest inspirations? What gives you motivation?
Watching and listening would soothe my soul, but knowing me I’d just want more. Oh, the stories I bet he’d tell!
I KNOW WHAT I should’ve asked him at least once when meeting him!!!
“Will you be my friend?”
I’m positive he’d say an emphatic “YES!”
Funny, I just keep saying to myself (to shut up desire):
Reality! Not a dream, Reality!
