I will kneel at the feet of the man or the beast, depending on which one has his teeth sunk into me… and when the lips peel back upwards, to bear the double edged, dripping red, set of razor teeth… only then, can be determined, which one I’m currently worshiping. I can blend myself in with the white or red skin, belonging to either clan through a split blood relation… and when the day has ended, to become the grey-scaled, chain-mailed, cell of my own prison… the only way that I’m able to stay, shine light on what’s mine once again. I can keep up still, alongside the fin or the gill, towing my heaviest anchor and its affected blood-trail… and when the buoy’s been rounded, to become blinded once again, the line of vision, breaths get exhaled… the single-handed curse: my belovedly bled best friend.
Lost amid the aimless
inside a place that’s timeless
vast and hollow emptiness
hostage to the heartless
washed up against the nameless
hung to dry with the airless
swinging on the line of the hapless
in a repeated pattern that’s effortless.
a yarn ball made of questions,
unrolls before me;
a tangle of answers form,
tripping up my feet;
the theme, unchanging,
surrounding the inquiry,
how and where is she?
unanswered for me,
tears that eat away the years,
as they pass slowly.
Because of the beautiful wish sent out to my Boo, From the kind heart of a kind friend, now gone; I sit next to the flame that I’ve kept lit for you, In the moment, I am once again – overcome; By the words and love left all across the Universe, Imprinted by the quill of your bright signature; Yours was a kindness one cannot rehearse; A gentle, warm soul wrapped in a Grey Wolf’s fur.
As I sit in this passing rite’s flickering firelight, I confess that your words swim around my heart and mind; Though the language is different, the words are unchanged, They speak lasting words of someone truthful and kind. For the beautiful wishes that you chose to send out to my Boo, Because she was weighing on your great big, human heart; The most selfish wish that I must practically beg of you, Would be to light the pathways for her through the dark.
I’ll give it to the guy, he’s patient as dead elephant when it comes to my essentially dragging him around behind me aimlessly, during the grips of a random expeditious episode on my part. He usually seems quite content in just silently trailing, hands in his Pendleton pockets…it takes him at least an hour to even chime in with something like, “Uhhhh, should I Google Map it?”
As the “Dark Side of the Year” quickly approaches, my ‘psychological overdrive’ kicks into ‘Beast Mode’ – every year now, without fail.The holidays are especially difficult for me these days – it was the holidays last year that prompted me to begin a blog here, as a matter of fact – the pain and emptiness has gotten nearly unbearable.
When I was still a Mom, I was no different from most: I obnoxiously over-decorated the house and dressed up in micro-detailed costumes for Halloween with Boo every year since I came home from the hospital when she was almost five. At Christmas, we ALWAYS went and picked out whichever tree she chose (even if it was terribly hard on the eyes for any being with aesthetic ability) before decking it out beyond recognition with the shiniest and near-blinding ornaments and tinsels…some of them even flashed or blinked, it was insane. I spent hours and hours each year wrapping up her fuckloads of presents and stocking stuffers with the girliest wrap I could find (typically, waaaay overpriced stuff that I had spent an arm and a leg on during one of her previous school fundraisers), and baked so many cookies and treats for class parties that I couldn’t even try to count all of the batches in and out of the oven.
Christmastime was when I would finally get to buy Boo things that I had socked cash away for since the prior holiday season; it was always a chance for me to see her happy, even if that happiness was in the temporary form of watching her gaggle over a gift she had opened, and loved. I don’t know…I guess the holidays were the only time that she and I were ever able to feel close enough to one another to let go of the trauma between us, that defined both of us somehow. She always openly missed her Father at Christmas; some of her ONLY existing memories of him are enveloped by the holiday season and everything that’s associated with it. I always told her stories about what he was doing where he was – the most despicable piles of bullshit that I have ever uttered to my daughter – I would tell her about the way “he missed her so much and planned to have her with him again for Christmas someday”, even if it was without me, I assured her that he wished she were there with him. I have no idea if she bought those stories or not, but at the time it was all I could come up with in response to her queries about him. I didn’t even know where he was for a few of those first conversations.
Anyway, yeah…well now days – I’m alone every year. My isolation over the holidays is mostly because I choose to be solo; I prefer to be alone in solitude for whatever reason to endure, as opposed to attending any of the meals or celebrations that I am invited to by various people who probably feel sorry for me. I won’t even spend my holidays with Jack the EMT anymore; I am the wettest of wet blankets during this season – can never wait for it to come and go so that I can begin to recover once more. It’s a recurring wound – a reinfection – a rip down the seam of my mending soul…I know the hollowness and sense of loss that bleeds the brightest, freshest blood from my heart this time of year will never cease to reappear with the Harvest Moon, despite my efforts to ignore Christmas lights and Halloween parties and New Year’s fireworks; I can lie to myself all I want and pretend those things don’t exist anymore, but that hasn’t worked thus far because here I am.