Thursday, February 16, 2012

Freedom in the Darkness

It's been awhile since I posted-okay, a week. I celebrated with you in my last post, and then I took a little break. Life distracted me in other ways. I knew I'd be back though. I hesitated posting this spontaneous poem because it is not all rainbows and happy thoughts. Since I don't hide anymore, I decided to post it anyway. Consider this the thorn on the rose. It's showing you my shadow side with a flashlight. I am not going to be embarrassed by my dark poetry, my dark thoughts, my strange interpretations of the nightmares in my life. I am going to be real. And in this realness is a little girl with a very adult like tongue who uses her words to lash back now that she has the words and the freedom to no longer hide. We don't dwell here long-like I said, it is showing the darkness with a flashlight. When I turn the light fully on, it is all changed and gone away. But don't we all have nightmares from childhood that keep looping in our head and psyche? Doesn't that chair in the corner look like a monster in the dark shadows of the night, or soul, no matter how many times we convince ourselves otherwise after we've turned on the light? The spontaneous, free-flowing poetry that is written when we are feeling like we are in the dark room of the past is like turning on the light. It doesn't have to be true anymore. It gets the fears and tears out and allows our inner mother to tell ourselves it is all okay and to soothe the scary parts so we may know that we are loved. We can clean up the spider webs and live freely again. 

Recurring Childhood Nightmares Loop

Between these worlds there is a heartbeat, a murmur, a silence so deafening it screams within you, within the fear of itself, the echo of the past words and dialogs and scripts that dangle in the breeze of your head like last night’s spider’s work running across the yard, capturing the leaves and lint that the wind blows as it howls through the darkness of night.

These echoes of the past haunt like a rotten boat creaking on the shore waiting to take a journey to never return. The bell ringing at the hour and the ice cream man plays Christmas in July and Happy Birthday every day. Like lions roaring at the hand of the child who wants to pet it.

Who knows what evil lurks within the mind of a used child? The game players, that’s who. The haters and doubters hedge their bets that invest in hedge funds that play games of nothingness supporting the best suit and squashing the intuition out of those who truly want to believe.

We die young when we have to grow up so fast. Have mercy on us! We know only what they do, for if we were to think for ourselves we would be squashed, caught like the lint and leaves that were blown away by some other force. There is gravity when you are trying to fly and no flying without the wind and wings.

Be still you silly little expense! Be quiet you nagging black hole! If you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all but make sure you hear me when I am screaming at you because I will make sure you never forget these damaging words of hate and regret and angst for my own childhood. What good is yours when I did not have mine?

I need to loose my mind to find my mind so I may mind my own. Do you mind if I mind? Or do I just need to rewind to be kind?  You play hopscotch and jacks with my feelings and dreams and tell me how bad the terrorists are when they hijack planes. You praise the man and hate the women who birth them. Change the world, you say, and then hate those who change it. You need to grow up, but you are growing up too quickly. 

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