Dark Heart of Me.

I have these dawning moments when:
everything around me tightly closes in
tunneled down by a tornado’s spin –
and at end of the tunnel –
lies the booming realization;
I have these dulled down memories:
so very many once meaningful things
carved, imparted on the dark heart of me –
but I have let them fade away –
no new recollections to retrieve;
I know of some of the sacred divinities:
many of the Elders have shown me things;
drawn like a map midst the Mysteries –
however, any mystery is gone –
what fills its place, tastes despicably;
I live midst a sense of danger and doom:
like a shadow cast down by a permanent gloom
no matter where I go, it’s with me in the room –
it’s impeded upon and seeded a part of me –
not likely to change back again anytime soon;
I display a die-hard tendency:
hardens the hardness of the people I see;
deepens the darkness of the world around me –
 yet, I lead all the horses down to water –
and wait there until each one drinks;
I am modified by the things that I’ve survived:
skin on my body from cells that weren’t mine;
ears pinned to my head for a while, like Frankenstein –
these things were never easy on me –
but they’ve sure made me feel alive.
I try my best to remember to look ahead:
to not get myself tangled in the ‘said and done’ web
not to worry about what he or she might have said –
no matter what anyone will try to contrive –
we’re each just another day closer to ending up dead.

The Struggle.

All that is happening now does, indeed, go back to the incident in Arizona. The surgeries that she has already undergone and recovered from have each been in attempt to separate scar tissue that has grown around Boo’s trachea from being cinched by a belt for nearly two days; also – her inability to speak has finally been de-mystified as well. The same thing is happening at the base of her vocal chords, as a result of scar tissue build-up, only the vocal cords have been permanently affected by residues left from the chemicals that Boo had been forced to drink during her captivity. The doctors have done what they can without sending her to a specialist for what is considered as “delicate surgery”; the next step to come.
Within the month, she will be going to Stanford for such things…and I have little doubt behind her strength or ability to deal with it. She remains in care still – a milestone in and of itself; she is bored beyond description, covered in bed sores, and must be feeling pretty low…yet, she hasn’t left again. Her little boyfriend (the one who do not necessarily like so much but cannot deny his humanity in comparison to the other men she has surrounded herself with in the past) comes to visit her now; I know that makes her feel like the world isn’t ending, after all. Anything that helps her to stay put and ride out the road ahead through her physical recovery – I am on board with it.
She has grown up so much…in such a short time…she is so jaded and darkened by her own experiences, that I watch her struggle with simply being cared for by another human being…it’s rough. But she’s letting it happen – as hard as it may be on her.

20150904_140004-1

Dark Heart of Me.

I have these dawning moments when:
everything around me tightly closes in
tunneled down by a tornado’s spin –
and at end of the tunnel –
lies the booming realization;
I have these dulled down memories:
so very many once meaningful things
carved, imparted on the dark heart of me –
but I have let them fade away –
no new recollections to retrieve;
I know of some of the sacred divinities:
many thing shown to me by the elderly
drawn like a map amidst the Mysteries –
however, the mystery is gone –
what fills its place, tastes bitterly;
I live amidst a sense of danger and doom:
like a shadow cast by a permanent gloom
no matter where I go, it’s in the room –
it’s impeded upon a part of me –
not likely to change anytime soon;
I display a die-hard tendency:
hardens the hardness of the people I see
deepens the darkness of the world around me –
to lead the horses to the water –
and wait there until each one drinks;
I am modified by the things that I’ve survived:
skin on my body grown from cells that were not mine
ears pinned to my head like Frankenstein –
these things were never easy –
but they’ve sure made me feel alive.
I try my best to look ahead:
not get tangled up in any said and done webs
not worry about what he or she might have said –
no matter they say about the end of another day –
we’re all just one day closer to being dead.