What Nightmare May Come

The gridiron gets to you, wears on you until you are bare boned with soul exposed.

All the dank dirty of cynicism seeps in and slowly fills in the crevices and spaces, infusing you

Like a zombie in a movie, you are half rotted, breaking apart, and focused on your main goal

You will do anything, say anything, frame anything to fit it into what you need it to be

The people in your life start to become blinded to your twisted visage until they no longer see

Enable you in your delusions. Support you in the self deprecations you rain down on yourself

The mud baths of filth you indulge in affect all areas of your life and you're desperate for company

In unquantified need, you will attempt to drag any and all into your muddy pit of despair

You fill the ears of anyone with your, "Whoa is me. My life sucks." horribly flawed stories

Not all fall prey

There are those who walk in a lightness of being.

Those who clawed and climbed their way out of true darkness.

Struggled, fought, and survived. 

They see you, They try to help you. They scare you.

Chase them away.

Use false accusations and unfounded fear as your weak weapon

You must protect your delusion like golem his ring

They see you

I see you

I refuse and leave you to your rancor

Throw me to the Lions and I'll return leading the pride

I wear my battle scars proudly, like all the perfect imperfections that make a painter awe at his masterpiece.

Lioness fresh from battle, I lick my wounds, readying for the next foray, and strut with an unbendable, unbreakable confidence and spirit.

The kind of self assuredness that rises from survival and experience of suffering and pain, triumph, sorrow and joy.

Tests meant to awaken the senses and you to your true self. To all of what a woman can do with just the slightest bit of determination.

Throw your head back, arch your spine, spread your arms, and let it eminate from the deepest parts of you. ROAR!

Remember who you are. You are Joan of Arc leading a battalion. You are Etta James entrancing the world with your voice. You are Rosa Parks refusing to go to the back of the bus.You are Maya Angelou a phenomenal woman.

You are true strength. You are Woman!

The Hippy Hippy Shake

I can feel them. Everytime it gets cold they make themselves known. If I'm careless brushing my hair, their presence is felt. The plates and screws in my skull.

Like the feeling of getting up too fast, my conscious brain leaves me. I wake up to faces of panic. Confused and exhausted. Has someone just beat me up? Did I get hit by a train? No, just a seizure.

My body is racked with pain. I've peed myself again. I hear them talking, but it makes no sense to me. So very tired. My head is filled with white noise. I can taste the heaviness of blood.

Yes, I can hear and understand you. No, I don't want to get up, drink water, have a conversation, answer questions. Just let me be. Let me sleep. I've biten up my tongue and cheek. Ha ha.

How long did it last? Did I hurt anyone? Is everyone ok? Am I ok? Let me try to get up. The pain is unreal in my back. I am embarassed and humiliated by my own body. I need to change clothes.

This wasn't part of my life's plan. Brain tumor and brain surgery were never up for discussion. Seizures and a broken back were not on my bucket list of things to do before I die.

Ok. So this is me. Wonky brained, but oh what a personality. I wish I could've been left with some awesome new talent like telekenisis or something. Nope, just me, but with new subconscious dance moves.

Oh, and the damn plates and screws in my skull.

Nomoniker Was It's Name

There was an egg
it was a very pretty egg
all warm and comfy
the perfect place for it

It started out so tiny
undetectable if anything
it was nurtured
and it started to grow

This place was ideal
perfect supply of all it needed
hummed into life by a life
it was happy

The egg started growing
needing more space
it wriggled and pushed
and forced and demanded

Pulses and waves
movement and clutter
the sounds of impulses
breaking its home

It needed more
more of everything
as it grew stronger
it's home grew weaker

The pulses became tremors
their were times it felt starved
yet the little egg grew
wanting to be all encompassing

Then one day all went fuzzy
there were stirrings and knockings
there were strange voices
shiny sharp instruments

Soon the cutting started
ruining this perfect hideaway
no more nutients came
bright lights and eviction

Plopped into a acrid liquid
dissected into tiny pieces
smeared across glass
peered at through a microscope

Gone, but not forgotten
marks left behind
scars and plates and screws
the space left filling back in

Damn Aesop and His Fables

I watched him
in the cliche cafe
with my mispelt name on the side of my mocha latte
peering over my laptop
like a peeping Tom on a tree limb

His easy smile
stretched across his scraggly bearded face
his arm draped across the back of a chair
I hated that chair
wanted it to be me his arm was draped on

I swore his eyes caught mine
like a fly caught in a spider's web
I was locked in a memory
that never was
Or perhaps yet to be

Riding in a convertible
wind in our hair
him smiling with his arm draped across my back
laughing about the funniest things
destination unimportant

"PING!" notification from my mother
she wants to know if I can express her dog's anal glands
he likes to scoot his butt across her bed when they're full
Mr smiley beard gets up with his friend tossing away his cup
he turns, winks at the pretty barista, and walks away

My hair would've gotten knotted in a convertible
Bugs would've gotten in my teeth
my mocha latte would've ended up in my lap
or worse, in his lap causing him to wreck
his car and ruin his white linen pants

I pack up my laptop and head out
thinking how I dodged a bullet on that one
I need to control my sexiness or next time it might
cost some poor handsome bastard his life
I think I'll stop and get some grape juice on the way home

My Father's Name

Kepano, The Wanderer. My Dad should have given me his name. It suits my wanderlust so well.
It is a primal need. 

The actual physical need to get into salt water when Ke Kai, the ocean, calls out for my return.
The deepest part of my core being pulled, and there is no ignoring the call.
The Hawaiian blood that races in my veins demands to be satiated and subdued by the water's touch. It's like a riptide that searches me out to draw me back in. 
It's not a choice. It is an absolute need. Like breathing.
The moment that the salty air hits my lungs, I change.
My skin opens up and breathes out my burdens. 
My hair too unwinds it's tight curls and extends them in all their kinked up beauty
My feet touch the water, and Kai opens her arms enfolding me in her waves.
She heals me, calms me, soothes me, and cleanses my being

It starts in my back.
Like the strings of a delicate kite that is dancing on the wind, I am pulled.
Soaring ever upwards to the mountains.
Again, my soul has no choice but to move me.
The mountain is Poplcatepetl, and I, like Iztaccihuatl, missing him and dying in his absence 
My fingers need to feel the soil crumble through them, and my lungs to drink in the crisp, clean air
The mountain wind blows, and my soul, now light of it's worries, takes flight.
It takes me through canyons, down ravines, and winds me through on a dance through with trees
The mountains cradle me. Rocking me with gentle breezes and the lullaby of nature's symphony.
The earth recognizes and recharges my spirit
When she beckons, I will answer always. Urgently. Gratefully.

My roots extend from ocean, through desert and swamp, and high up into the mountain tops.
I become restless like a wild caught tiger now housed in a zoo.
I must roam
Seek out silence and allow myself to be stilled
Hula under the light of a new moon
Nourish my hair in the ocean's salty brine
Swim with dolphins in the mornings
Run with wolves through the night
Play with fire like Xiuhtecuhtli and feel its spark burn within me
Discover new places, connect with the people and immerse myself in strange customs

I am a wanderer, a gypsy soul, a flower traveling on the wind
I am a nomad traversing the cities, waters, and forests like the native that I am
Those that try to hold me down only succeed in watching my back as I walk away
Those who understand, accompany me on my journey and add enlightenment on my path
There is also that treasured one that travels at my side
We are a tornado and a volcano. 
Mesmerized, respectful and in full knowledge of each other's raw power, 
strength, weakness and beauty.

Look for me on the wind, I am there. 

Down the Rabbit Hole

trapped
clawing at the cage 
like an animal
wanting to break free

sleep
it is my one comfort
it is a nightmare
conveniently 

love
it is a strong binding
heart wrenching
pit of despair

habit
unweilding hold
monkey on my broken back
punching at my head

pain
my constant companion
the one I can turn to
my creative muse

Down
down
further
away