Anger

by

poetry: looping


it bled in again,
choking the lights to a dull gray—
predictably lame,
with broken teeth
to gnaw frayed scabs
like grinding old gum.

the silence roaring like white noise,
crawling through me,
carving old words into my stomach,
predictably lame syllables
hissing like searing wounds.

until—predictably lame—
stupid tears burst forth
stealing my breath
reminding me:
doing nothing gets nothing.

so do nothing again
and get nothing again—
but I am so damn tired
of choking on it.

*6/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic. 

by

poetry: knock, knock

Let’s pretend you are a door and I slam you hard. You rock in your frame briefly and wonder why I’m so mad. You don’t say anything though, because you are a door. I wash you with a soft pink cloth the next day until you shine. I tell you I love you and I’ll slam you again. You forgive me because you are a door.

Let’s pretend I’m a door and you always walk through me. I try to look nice but my wood is splintering and my handle is loose. You don’t notice though, because I’m a door. It’s not until you get a splinter from my wood you see me. You tell everyone to look at how broken I am. I say nothing because I’m a door.

Let’s pretend two doors meet each other in a long hallway. Just a couple of doors out for a walk. “You look broken,” the polished door says. “You do too,” the broken door says. They lean against each other saying nothing else, because they are doors.

by

poetry: tar

no experience fighting
speaking my words
changing your mind
I throw black tar at you
hoping it sticks
until it does

vomiting old wounds
without my mask
there’s nothing left
but burning guts
destruction looks ugly
and so do I

you run from me
now a villainous fool
as I cover myself
folding up again
swallowing my poison
with a glass of wine

by

Poetry: Inside the Cave

Another fiery hot headache erupts inside your skull
turning pale cheeks crimson. Disappearing beneath
a thin, black blanket—you retreat into the cave’s deep
crisp darkness. I suppress bubbling anger’s hot breath
tight inside infinities compassionate heart; draining
like cups lining crowded cracked windowsill. Please,

be okay. Worry lines crease, carve my aging mom face—
chiseled rock tracing waters long cascading movements
through life’s echoey darkness. Foamy pools of cooling
relief sit waiting for moments to pass, for pacing eons
to eek by into light’s laughing return. Heart remembers
every nighttime outcry, each soothing back rub. Please,

be okay. Reaching through foggy depths flash flooded
with writhing madnesses ugly nightmares, your fingers
wind tight around blankets edge; my feather-soft motherly
kisses on soaked brows do nothing. Anger ripples dirty
clothes piled high igniting guilt’s powerful ringing rage
pounding ancient rocks into fine powdery dust. Please,

be okay. Fear transforms uneven tapering columns
into screeching monsters to slay. Drawing wet sword
angry words drip, drip, drip through silence too thick
for thinking. Screams soften by plunging heavy, headfirst
into icy water’s depth to see through stinging eyes past
adventures where love’s sweet patience held fast. Please,

be okay. Lashing, tearing with pain’s tired hoarse voice
blame begets blame until desperate razor-sharp rockslides
throw open windows repose letting sweet swirling wind
signal truce. Whispered kindness wipes at particles left
stinging, laughing off this dance, forgetting how darkness
clung everywhere at once—embracing love’s shining light.

My teenage son suffers from chronic migraines. While I strive to be loving, kind, and motherly at all times, anger bubbles forth when he’s down. It’s anger at the situation, but it becomes anger at everything. We fight when it’s over as if we can keep it from returning by scaring it away. I’m not proud of this pattern and this poem is my attempt at processing my feelings.

by

Sorry nobody clapped for you, people suck

It is pretty much always the same. Lines of kids in caps and gowns, flowers, balloons, crying moms and fussy babies, speeches about the meaning of life, scattered bursts of applause and snapping cameras (mostly cell phones now).

Every time I attend a graduation, I’m proud and happy for the graduates. I never get tired of seeing all that hopefulness.

But it comes with equally strong feelings of hate for the human race.

I try to suppress it.

I focus on the mom with the tissues in front of me that screams out, “I love you baby!” as her boy walks across the stage.

I focus on the dad beaming two rows down who is videotaping the entire thing with due diligence.

I focus on the grandmother who is overcome with such joy that tears run down her face.

Then it happens again, another name is called that is met with silence.

This kid has no cords around his neck. No awards to speak of.

I clap in my quiet, lame way, but it’s nothing. It isn’t heard because the next kid, the one with 50 family members and tons of his peers screaming his name, is now walking across the stage.

That’s when the anger starts and I think about how fucked up this whole thing is.

I was one of the “good kids.” I worked hard, understood the game, and had lots of family members to cheer me on.

I wasn’t that kid that nobody clapped for.

But I see you.

I know that your life is harder than these spoiled kids with two loving parents and a hundred relatives that flew in from around the country to support them.

I see you.

I know that you barely graduated because you had to juggle taking care of your siblings because your mom has to work. She couldn’t come to your graduation because of work. She works hard. You do to.

I see you.

I’m fucking pissed on your behalf.

You’re the 302nd kid to walk across the stage and I know you feel alone. I can see it in the way you walk and the way you don’t make eye contact with the staff that is shaking your hand. From way up here in the stands, I can feel the pain of your life.

I see you.

This doesn’t diminish the accomplishments of the other kids. The ones that are dripping in awards that they earned, the ones who are famous around campus for their sports achievements, the ones who didn’t miss a day of school. Yes, they absolutely 100% deserve the recognition, praise and love.

But so do you.

I wish you could have heard my clap.

I see you.

The inequity of the hand that you were dealt makes me want to do something. I want to hug you and tell you that it gets better. That everything will change now. That you will be that American success story, rising out of the ashes like the phoenix, and you will get everything you’ve always dreamed of having.

But that’s a lie.

The truth is, you have to keep working. You have a lot of hard work ahead of you.

You have to show up and do stuff.

Every. Single. Day.

Life is not easy for anyone.

The kids that have a million fans in high school are not exempt. Everyone has work to do.

They might also have to face a hard fall from the high of being on top. They may spend a long time recovering from the ego blow coming their way.

They may also be so hard on themselves, a perfectionist bred from parental/societal/internal pressure, that nothing they ever do will make them happy.

We all suffer in some way.

We all have to work hard.

The thing I really want to tell you isn’t far from the silly stuff your classmates said in their commencement speeches. All that shit about “your life is what you make it” and “you can do it.” I know you rolled your eyes. I did too. But it’s true.

One minute you will feel overwhelmed with regret and sadness.

Then your 8-year-old daughter comes up behind you and gently rubs your temples and kisses the top of your head.

You will have a list of stuff to do that never seems to get smaller and you’ll scream at how meaningless it all seems.

Then your 10-year-old boy brings you coffee while your writing and it’s the right amount of cream and sugar. He sets it down and quietly whispers, “I love you.”

So, yah, life is hard. It’s not going to get easier or simpler.

But there is coffee, soft touches and moments that lift you back up and flood you with hope again.

Now get to work.

by

Battling giants and stomping the floor

10274147753_73b9312e43_cThe children were playing on the edge of the woods when then heard loud sobbing. Although frightened by the sound, the children gathered their courage and found a lonely dragon crying. Each tear turned into a precious stone as it hit the ground. The children befriended the dragon and he no longer was lonely.

For years the children would return each Autumn to the woods and visit the dragon. He would give them one of his tears to keep. As the children entered the darkness of winter, these precious stones would serve to remind them of the love, light and friendship they share.

But this year something dreadful happened. A horrible, mean giant stole all the tears. This giant prefers darkness, fear and loneliness and he loves to scare little children. You must sneak into the giants home while he sleeps and steal back the dragon tears one by one. You will need to gather your inner-strength, courage and light to lead you through the task. Good luck.

This is the story that I and others read to the children on Saturday at our school’s annual Harvest Festival. The children would then sneak into the giant’s house and grab a stone.

I watched as one by one they did, indeed, gather their courage and enter the house. The giant was making sounds and shifting in his sleep. He would occasionally wake or say something scary. The children did it. They loved it. Some came back multiple times to conquer their fear.

As I watched this play out over and over, I realized how much I am running from my own fears. My giant is my fear of rejection. My fear that when people get to know me they will leave. My fear that when I speak my truth I will be laughed at. My fear that allowing myself this space and time to heal is selfish. My fear that I will never be happy because I don’t really deserve it.

So I’m facing these fears. I’m walking right up to them. The giant is making lots of sounds but I’m moving forward anyway. Inner-strength, love and light are my weapons.

Sunday was another dancing morning for me and I went thinking about fear. I went with the intention of releasing some of it. What came out was anger. Lots and lots of anger.

At times I stomped the floor so hard that my feet hurt. My hands kept clenching into fists. I realized that I was holding so much anger and resentment. After several hours it started to release its hold. I could feel the anger melting off. By the end of the session I was smiling. Really smiling.

There is still so much work to be done, but I’m feeling lighter.

I spent the rest of the day yesterday with my family. We went to the park. I played catch with my husband. I’m so afraid of baseballs. I saw my mom get her lip split open as a kid and the balls scare me. But I got to the point of actually catching some with my eyes open.

“You are not rooted to one spot,” my husband said. “You can move your feet to meet the ball.”

I watched my daughter try over and over to conquer the monkey bars. Her determination is wonderful to see. She is no longer afraid of falling and can make it halfway before losing her grip. No frustration or tears. I’m in awe of her.

My boy spent his time building with sticks and leaves and floating his creations down the creek. He would throw it off one side of the bridge and then watch it come out the other side. Over and over.

After the park, we all went bowling and then out to dinner. Laughter. Silliness. Balloon animals. Ice cream. Kisses.

Best of all, I was there. Really there.