"The mark of an immature man is that he would die knobly for a cause. The mark of a mature man is that he would live humbly for one" - Catcher in the Rye -WARNING WRITER SPELLING CHALLENGED! But Sometimes you have to say "what the fuck!"

Thursday, July 08, 2004

I've been up and down and over and out and I know one thing, Each time I find myself layin' flat on my face, I pick myself up and get back in the race

Here is my mantra…. Or song that I listen to when things go bad, I get down, and want to give up.

That's life (that's life), that's what all the people say
You're ridin' high in April, shot down in May
But I know I'm gonna change that tune
When I'm back on top, back on top in June
I said that's life (that's life), and as funny as it may seem
Some people get their kicks stompin' on a dream
But I don't let it, let it get me down
'cause this fine old world, it keeps spinnin' around
I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king
I've been up and down and over and out and I know one thing
Each time I find myself flat on my face
I pick myself up and get back in the race
That's life (that's life), I tell you I can't deny it
I thought of quitting, baby, but my heart just ain't gonna buy it
And if I didn't think it was worth one single try
I'd jump right on a big bird and then I'd fly
I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king
I've been up and down and over and out and I know one thing
Each time I find myself layin' flat on my face
I just pick myself up and get back in the race
That's life (that's life), that's life and I can't deny it
Many times I thought of cuttin' out but my heart won't buy it
But if there's nothin' shakin' come this here July
I'm gonna roll myself up in a big ball a-and die
My, my!

I didn’t go to work today, who knows I may be fired. Sometimes I just wake up and I can’t go anywhere, all I want to do is sleep. I can sleep for hours, besides sex, sleep is one of my favorite things to do. Really, I don’t feel that great today, but I kinda just feel overwhelmed too. So many bills, so much to do, sometimes I feel like Im drowning in a lake and Jason Vorhees is swimming closer with a knife, and Im so bogged down from weights that I keep sinking…. Deeper and deeper….

Im not depressed really, just kinda numb. Maybe I should write some poetry?

I want to sleep the day away
Hell what difference does it make?
I’ll dream away to yesterday

I think instead I will share with you some poems I have written. Poetry is truth, it is like having a mirror into someones soul. Maybe you will think my poems are cheesy, well hell, some of them are, but Im gonna put them out there anyway….

This poem I wrote in high school (can anyone say warning signs?). I actually turned this into a teacher in a poetry class.

Silent Death

|I yell out for help in the distance
yet my response is silence
and the sounds of lonely echoes
Reflecting back upon my soul’s calling
I pry open my frozen eyes
So I might be able to notice
Some sign of desolate hope
Am I totally blind?
For all I can see is darkness…..
In my decomposition I try to locate strength
I want to reach out
Yet to my despair I find nothing solid to grasp
Only chilling air surrounds me
In silent slow motion I fall
The cement feels cool against my crashing carcass
And the earth stings my bloodied lip
Life is so cold and uncaring
I can not fight it anymore
I feel the pain and then numbness
And I become one with the nothingness…..
Here is another poem I wrote in high school

You observe the fear in her eyes
And try to ignore her ominous presence
Passing whispers of
“she’s crazy”
“she’s insane”
you pretend not to notice
disregard the fires that you see
the twisted face
hammering eyes with unseen pain
reminding you of something
you lost at the tip of your tongue years ago

in passing
you always turn your head
as not to stare
not this time
a strange twist of fate
results in the locking of eyes
seducing you to stare
into the heart of all her
obscenities and laughing anger

she laughs at you
“Why pretend anymore?”
“I will never go away”
with that it is all over
you can bear her no longer
you snap,
with shaking hands
your reflection in the mirror you shatter

Here is a poem I wrote after my failed marriage

Shame no more

A sharp sting
Glides across my face
With delicate needles
That laugh at my sensitivity

Only property
No identity
A Mrs.
Not a separate human

He has broken me in,
Like old work boots
You see, it took time to learn this.
The rare art of hiding
Bruised arms
In 90 degree heat

When I look in the mirror
I can only see shadows
For the child so lost
And abandoned by her family
Has shriveled into a tiny ball
And does not live here anymore

He has taken my family
My friends, my pride
And my soul
But I can still feel a heart
Beating beneath the layers
I now pretend to be
It beats in hiding
Awaiting the time when the child
Will wake up
And reclaim life
As she is entitled.

Here is a poem I wrote for my brother… about 10 years ago

Brother of Mine

Years of pretending
Aching inside
Blue from exhaustion.
To survive
We viewed life only in the present
To warp reality from the truth.

Many times my eyes rested upon
Your broken face,
Steaming with confusion

How did it feel to be labeled a sinner?
Did you cry inside like I did
While being strangled by authority?
Did your sea of bruises hurt more on the inside
Than at the fleshy surface?

Now we forget
Or claim temporary sanity
Living adult lives
While lurking in the shadows
Never looking back
At our screaming souls

We profess personal effigy
To prove wrong
The destiny decided for us
In our teenage fate

Day after day
Beat upon
Our fragile teenage minds
We had no choice but to submit

Now no one holds us hostage
Besides a tainted history
For if a child does not forgive their abuser
They never truly become adults
All hostages must forgive their captures
In order to be truly free

We must forgive
To grow up

Here is my favorite poem of all time….Richard Corey by Edwin Arlington Robinson. I fell in love with this poem in high school, and it still sends chills up my spine to read it.

Richard Corey

WHENEVER Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed, 5
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace: 10
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, 15
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
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