Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sleep wont come for the weary. She says write it out but when I do I bleed out. Holding the pen so tightly for so long the blood trickles down and I am writing in my own DNA. A force to be reckoned with then for there could be no mistaken that the words there of are my own. He whispered. He whispered. Did you hear me? I hear him…he is whispering but I don’t want to listen. I opened my flesh to him and as he consumed it he didn’t care to share from his own pantry. He ate at my table and brought nothing to it. Ill mannered- perhaps his upbringing, perhaps just what is lurking inside a man dressed in honor. So at last when the meal was done he, returning home, belly heavy and fully content, took time to digest. The time was longer than needed, it seemed. However, when he took off is honorable cloak he found that he had not digested the meal as well as he thought and what was left began to churn in his gut. Churning and churning until all at once he felt as if what he had taken of was taking him and it bulged in his throat. He came to me, white and sickened offering a red wine much the color of his own blood, feeling he was choking on what he had enjoyed as punishment for not opening his pantry to me before. Naturally I let him in and sat him down at the same table and poured us both a drink from the bottle he had brought. It was by far the most bitter, foul tasting cup I had experienced in my time. It was fairly well aged at 16 years but undrinkable non the less. I sipped on it anyway. Looking at him, I could see he was fading away. In and out of the realms of life he went. I stood up, realizing he had poisoned the wine, himself, his entire pantry and now even me. I was befuddled for a moment then quickly went and got the antidote. We shared it but he required much care and so I called out to him often reminding him to take of the antidote and report to the doctor. The doctor found him to be almost at the point of death and placed him in isolation. So, he is on the island of recovery and I am in town. He whispers to me in the wind and it carriers all the way here but I am to the point that I don’t want to hear his whispers anymore. They taunt me. I am lost though I reach out to those I pushed away. I am in pain, the torture of my mind to understand why that of which I fed so healthily and freely turned to poison me and whispers request for me to lie about his condition. Shall I sub come to that of which I despise-a liar, or do I let my friend rot on the island as I continue on my quest. I fear he is a riddle even unto himself that only GOD is just enough to answer. I wish I could stop the whispering.
Monday, March 29, 2010
So, here I am filleted open, naked and on display for you to see, why? Why not? Theres nothing to hide this is just me real and raw as it may seem. Why disguise, why lie....one lie leads to another and before you know it even you are unsure of what the truth is....So, Ima take up my cross, sweep up the cowering pup into my arms and walk down the mountain where freedom is waiting. Ima take that belt off my back and hang it in a glassless frame for all the women and children of the world to come and feel the scars torn in it. I haven't come this far to breeze in and out of your life like a subtle wind. Ima move you like a turbulent ocean. To wear my interior scars on the outside would make your eyes dart away from me. A site too hideous to bear. The passion of life inside me once fed on lust now famished on what Ive bred. Lay aside your flesh as I have no intrest in any but what is half my own. They begin to throw up their hoops and dangle their carrots and sit back to enjoy the show. Massa is my tap dancing fast enough for you now? One more hurdle and they say Im gaining in the race far past the others but still Im just a face in the masses. Reduced to a number on a piece of paper....is this what has become of me? Wide eyed, lax brow and slack jaw that of my loins gaze at me. As much as I want to be a one woman army, it truely does take a village. Ima step on their backs and over the crack and use those hoops and carrots as stepping stones to my destination. Judge me not for the past few years unless you've known me from birth. All that I am today was created with time, much time even from the day I was born. My stigmata will always show in one way or another but will not mark me as a statistic. I will wear it proudly and bear it long enough to show it to others but not look at myself long enough in the mirror for it to overcome me. I will own my scars and wear them instead of them wearing me. Reuniting these three souls-me, my cross and my pup. Without these things I am nothing and I am nothing without these three. A celebration is on the threshold. Trumpets and voices ready yourselves. A historic reunion is in the making. Each of these precious we three babes.