Friday, September 19, 2014

Feel It?

Bacon is cooking
Sizzling hot grease is popping
Bare belly cringes

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Not Worthy By Half

It would be so simple
If I were just victim.
I mean I am. I am victim.
I am abused. I am broken.
My PTSD damages me
Right to this day.

But sadly. But unfortunately.
I have also damaged other people.
I have been the bad guy too.
It makes me feel that I don't get to
Get well.
It makes me feel that I don't deserve to
Get well.
It makes me think, "Who do I think I am?"
And not get well.

Just like I am broken, there are people
In this world. Broken. Because of me.
How can I complain about my abuse,
About being whipped with a strap
Until I had welts and bled,
About being abused sexually by those I loved,
When I didn't get better quickly enough and
I broke people too.

I didn't get better quickly enough and
I broke people too.

I am so mad at myself.
I hate myself so much.
I am so horrible.
I don't know how
To let myself get better.
I don't think I deserve to.

Saturday, September 13, 2014


I don't want you to know
What I want you to know
You don't want to hear
What I want you to know
If you heard what I want you to know
You would say ewww, you know?
Then you wouldn't hear what I need you to know.
You'd be gone and then you'd never know
That I need you. I am in pain. I hurt.
I hurt myself. I don't even mind. I like to.
I cut myself and it makes me feel better.
If I don't do it and my arm is almost healed
I panic. I get so afraid and I rush to cut myself
So that I will be ok. I will be ok. I will be ok.
I hear myself all of the time in my head say that
I want to kill myself and it doesn't freak me out.
Not even a little bit. Well. Kind of terrifies me.
Not the thought, but the not freaking me out part.
I don't know if it means that I will.
I don't know if it means that I will.
What a fucking thing to not know.
That's a weird place to be in.
So I sit and cry and write this
Message in a bottle
A bottle thrown into the sea
My message going out into the world.
I'm too afraid to address it.
To afraid it will be returned unopened.

Friday, September 5, 2014

Enlightenment of Beer

Pablo asks

Cómo se mide la espuma
Que resbala de la cerveza?

It might translate like:

How do we measure the foam
That slides off a beer?

To a poet, though, se mide
Means scan — to analyse the line

I see good old Pablo sitting in a pub,
Scanning the foam that's
Sliding off the beer, counting the
Beats, measuring the meter
Looking for wisdom in its lines

How can I not ask why he asks
What he asks

Why scan the ephemeral?
What does it mean to try
To catch one moment
In its short lived life?

How can we be in that instant
To exist perfectly open empty aware
And know and scan, and catch, and be
And perfectly understand.

If we figure it out, then
Maybe, along with jolly Pablo,
We'll sip the brew and
Achieve enlightenment.

Pablo refers to the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda
The quote is from stanza X of his last work, 

El Libro de las Preguntas

(The Book of Questions)