Who’s Going To Pull The Pin?

i hate this

It’s all in the associations, you know. You say wrists I think volleyball. But what’s in your mind?

Serious tho.

And if you think that’s fucked up, here’s the scary part: my associations were not only programmed in hell, but they were designed to switch depending on the observer.

Make sense? I hope so, because I feel like this is my last chance to make sense to people who came from the other side of the tracks.

To get through hell, I didn’t have any steadfast associations. No loyalty to seeing things one way or another. I separated, you know.

I reflected. Not deflected. Not projected. I reflected what I saw.

The approach had some big flaws. On this plane, who was I living so ironically? Who was I if I was nothing to be everything at once?

I mirror what you cannot see, what you need in order to keep climbing up your path.

Should I stop?

What does stop mean to you? Wait, don’t think about the answer. Too late? Shit, now you get it.

I don’t know how to be different. This is the way I’ve done things for a while. My armor looks weird.

I drew the short straw. I was not in the control group. And we were pitted against each other. Over and over and over.

Even though, before I was born, I chose to come back as one who would withstand great suffering, I also chose to forget because that’s part of life on this plane.

And I get caught up like anyone else.

Have you ever heard of an acid guide? A person who stays sober to travel with another as they get high on an acid trip? It was big, so I hear, in the 60s.

Fucking around in people’s minds. Walking ahead on those pathways with a lamp, playing God simply because they were given permission.

I grew up in these circles. I was raised there. Never on this earth in this body have I been without interference.

Now, is that a belief planted or the truth? What is truth? Outside of God. And what is God really to anyone shown that He can be mimicked?

How am I supposed to feel safe with a bomb in my head? Who has been answering my prayers? Why won’t you show yourself?

If it’s one who knows about these things, how can I trust?

And how can I live in the arms of one who does not know about mind bombs?

When I don’t know every single cue that could set it off, when I haven’t worked out the antidote to each pocket of arsenic?

When I have yet to live intimately with anyone who knows how to code and hasn’t harmed me.

(the image above comes from A CLOCKWORK ORANGE)

Whole Moments

She made glitter bombs again
cut up ribbon
sequins and rhinestones
mismatched googley eyes
fairy dust from a birthday party
She scoops it up
mischievous smile
irises infused pure light
she gives it back to the wind
running to catch the fall
over and over
I step in, letting the bitter coffee
and FaceBook messages drop
On garbage day
her bombs will glint in the sun
Poplar cotton diffusing derelict
neighborhood beer cans and pie trays
We won’t be home to watch

Walking Forgiveness

Somewhere out there
will always be a call back
a miss so bitter
it will shape cold days
When this gypsy heart was young
she took in all who wore the shadows
cast over her by the first
Like Darwin at the aquarium
in a girl who speaks only eyes
But there are some acts
that can never be erased
and some people
that must always be apart