Black Tar Tears

 

black tar tears

muddy evidence

of failed heroic attempts

veins straining against forehead skin

enraged, entrapped by the war within

black tar tears

thick, sticky evidence of rolling that fucking stone up the mountain

again and again

watching it just roll back down

just roll back down

the other voice is winning today

the one that say

what

is

the

fucking

point

you stupid

fucking

bitch

and I don’t have it in me to correct him

this murderous rage stabs at me

I see how the terrorist lives within

helpless and violent

do I matter at all

to anyone

am I destined to be alone

forever

no one hears me

look —

even the tar

is gone

Disturbed

 

claws

I feel it crawling in

The pores of my skin aching as it enters

I am bloated with this darkness

The rain outside is romantic and only

Exacerbates my loneliness

And they could all tell me

“I can relate”

But relatedness is not found

Here

Mind blurred with overwhelm

Lost at sea

I need an anchor and I can hear her say

“Be your own anchor”

But I can’t anymore

I can’t

Anymore

I need a him

Strong and reliable and loyal

Not the Archetype but the man

He seems always to escape me

I find myself with myself

Conversing just to try and stay centered

It pours now

Romance gone, just pure, wet, pelting anger

Don’t all relationships end that way

Anyway?

Let me break open this old shell

I don’t want this darkness anymore

And yet I am bound

Without it there cannot be light

Or consciousness

But sometimes I can’t suffer any more

I know now there is no escape

Only avoidance

But I rage inside

WHERE IS MINE?

WHERE THE FUCK IS MINE?

I scream wildly

My insanity begs to be let out

I imagine ripping off my clothes and running naked into the street

Cussing and howling

the Madwoman free

But I only gaze at the rain and feel something sickening

 

How many levels of hell are there?

Dante is fucking wrong

I have come to deadened space

Alive only with some kind of empty, disgusting, torturous insanity

A white void of horror

There is no God here

There is no God

I beg to be killed but there is no one to do it

And no instruments for my own use in this white sterile room

So I will starve to death on this bitter, pointless existence

And wake back up in this same room

If only I could be in Hell’s 9th level

This level has no number

 

War of the Gods

demon

How can it be that You’ve annihilated me?

I sat with you

I loved you

I gave you Everything in me

Yet I was met by the Devil

(who you do not believe in)

But I do

Because He came through you

To cut me

To rip my open heart out of my chest

And devour it

Shocked-frozen, I watched Him chew it slowly

Grinding, piercing, masticating

while i became colder and colder

I feel my own demons rise up

Clawing for a piece of my already-swallowed heart

Hardening me

Darkening my Light

That somehow, Something Bitter thinks,

Keeps Fucking Living in me

Soulless creatures hiss in my ears

Don’t let anyone else in.

Ever.

Let us kill any human thing you have.

Let us help you, friend.

Trust only us.

Be alone.

You always have been.

You always will be.

But.

But I know mySelf well enough now!

My warm feelings will Rise Again

And sweep away all these Shadowed men

I will steal back my digested heart from the Devil’s belly

And I will make it work again.

femalehero

The Visitor

 

depression-1_3

At night

He comes

Obese, gray-black

Anger so repressed He is shaking

Below, like Earth’s been doing lately

Quaking

His eyes blank, mouth soft

Head knows nothing of his rage

Below

Trauma can split a person in two like that

So he sits

Heavy

Thinks he’s empty

Squashed

A car in a junkyard

Abandoned, forsaken

Crushed flat, fat

Like an overgrown gourd

Bulging, tumorous

At night

He comes

He speaks to me

An untrusting “hello”

Though

It is my voice I hear

Obese and gray-black

 

 

Black Poetry

Brainwashed-2

Black Poetry beats in me like a painful yellow fog

Murky, pungent, sucking life

This is garbage, you think

(Or maybe that’s me)

For Poetry is the thing Dickenson speaks of!

Hope singing, and the like

I bring a different kind of Word

Self-indulgent, maybe

But not if you really knew…

Well

Some of you do

Some of you do

We are the artists, yes the long-suffering Clichés,

Whose works, year-after-year-after-millennium,

Somehow still rings True

Life strikes down her yellow-gold-silver-blue

Splitting us all open, cracked as we already are

Shattering and shattering

You can almost here Zeus laughing in the skies while

Children are dying down here in spades

While so-called Gurus spew

Unrelatable but somehow edible

Spiritual vomit

People sinking knee-deep in it

Eyes wild, wide

Heads nodding, bobbing like Robotrons

Mouths lapping up regurgitated chunks

Hungry

Starving to ingest the One-Sided

Disguised as Salvation

Hands dripping with acid stench

Shoveling, scooping

Inhaling someone else’s excrement

Proclaiming it delicious

Denial is a Siren

A sweet Goddess of affliction

Who is so annihilating-ly believable

We all think we’ve got gold in our palms

Ever-fooling ourselves

So I take on the role of The Outcast

I must

This painful yellow fog beats out of me

(Go ahead and find it disgusting)

Not because I wish to be different

(Though, fuck you, I’m different)

But because mainly

I must be a Counter

To all the golden puke we cling to

Pretending that it is Soul

WAKE THE FUCK UP

war

Stupid fucking people everywhere
You see them out there
Small talking about the weather
They don’t know any better
Rattling on about the latest sale at Marshals
I hear a neighbor’s voice waft into my living room
Cloying and gossipy, “Oh, it’s allllways about HER,” she says so nasally I wonder if her nose is doing the speaking
I get the distinct feeling she’s talking about herself
Just doesn’t know it
I tried to get to my gmail today by pressing the “gm” buttons into my browser
Accidentally took me to female genital mutilation
I guess I pressed the “f”
Women in other places get their clitoris and labia scraped off
Their vaginas sown up
Sometimes without anesthesia
Usually before age 5
They see it as a rite of passage or a sign of purity and honor
I see it as men in fear trying to control women’s power
I see it as the symbol it is – women mutilating their femininity
How long do we suffer blindly?
How long do we fool ourselves to make the shit we eat taste more palatable?
So what kind of poem is this, you wonder?
Where is it going?
I don’t fucking know
People in Ukraine dying and bloodied by government for fighting for rights
In 2014
How are we still this barbaric?
HOW?
There is too much pain in this world
Covered up shoddily by our daily purgings of false importance on Facebook
Or our video game playing addictions – 5 hours a day — or
Anything, really, to take us away from the horrific truth of what is actually going on
All the time
Because we feel helpless
So we hide
Until consciousness again finds us and we are thrust into action
Until we stop asking “how are you” and not giving a fuck about someone’s answer
Until we stop talking about the weather
And start discussing our souls

Becoming You

blackquilt

This blanket made of Nothingness and Impudence

Woven with Depression and Resistance

Created just for you

Wrapped in it at birth

Hanging like a dark film over your shoulders

Under your feet

Must have felt like Home to you

This painful quilt of failures

So many excuses

It’s not that bad

People have it worse

And some do

And who cares?

I am interested in what happened to you

Tell me of your precious, unnatural cloak

Tell me how it’s home and you never wish to leave it

Tell me how you hate it and beg someone to rip it off

Let me know the fight in you

It’s not an easy feat

To start to choose the Unknown over Home

Even when home is unbearable

Oh the burden of a certain kind of familiarity

But

You are not the thing you wear

Nor whatever you were born into

You are underneath

Pure and unbroken

I believe

If we’d never seen the sun and suddenly it appeared

We’d fear annihilation — hide deep in our Darkness

Rather than welcome the soft warmth

So do we live from Fear…

Or do we Risk when it’s hardest to Risk

Who among us is brave enough

To take the cover off

Or — with new thread —

Begin again…

A blanket made of Happiness and Mindfulness

Woven with Compassion, Love and Peacefulness

Created just for you

quilt

Gray Field

gray

I am Uh-lone

Lost in a dry, gray field of it  —

Emptiness

Draping over me like a long, invisible cloak from head to toe

Offering nothing

Causing the kind of pain only Nothing can bring

Shocking

A great, dark, Impersonal

Void

One can only scream silently for so long,

alone

I am so totally Uh-lone

Sharp in my sobriety

That the masses lack

Preferring to believe that

“It’s all love and light, baby, love and light”

Bullshit

I don’t know your experience and you do not know mine

I only know that we can try

To understand –

And we’re lucky if we can –

Or find someone who really wants to

Who does not run away shrieking from our carnivorous pain

The way I hypocritically do

I never could relate

To those who haven’t been to hell…

To those who aren’t awake

 

Numb

 

blankexpressions

I’m in that place

Where there is no try

Where desolation goes to die

No more questions, no more why

I’m in that place

Where there is no try

Only wishes and desperate pleas

Like winter’s snow falling silently

Melting before they are received

In this place one hopes for sad

Depression, even, not so bad

Joy a distant memory

The reining King is Apathy

He watches over fields of numb

And clouds of pain

Rivers where lives end in vain

His eyes are blank, a little grey

No one home

Nothing to say

His last try was a million lifetimes ago

Disconnection here the status quo

I’m in that place

Where there’s no reaching out

Or an inner voice who might cry out

And yell, “I do not wish to die!”

No, he is not here

There is no try.