Tag Archives: anger

The Witnesses (updated)

To honor Good Friday, (2015) I was asked to write a poem. I do not proclaim a faith, just a belief in love and the goodness of the human beings that walk this plane. The three part poem below is written from three perspectives witnessing the crucifixion. When it is read, it is from three different voices they come. I hope it speaks to your spirit if you’re so inclined.

Verse One: The Observer

I’m not a Christian, but Lord, if I was,

I’d not stand by and watch them offer up applause

For that man they called a criminal for preaching about love

For the one some call Messiah, while others cry Peaceful dove.

I stand here in the crowd as they cheer this brother’s pain

My heart is filled with sorrow, as his beaten body strains

The laughter that I hear from the festive vicious hearts

Breaks something inside of me, tears my faith apart

I want to scream above the crowd, “HEAR!”

In a voice shrill and loud, “ME!”

With my head no longer bowed, “LORD!”

Releasing my own funeral shroud, “I AM NEAR!”

But I am weak, just human. I am nothing compared to them.

But maybe, my kindred spirits, that’s what moves me to condemn

For I love my God with all my heart, and in God’s house I walk

I serve in supplication, I don’t just talk the talk.

I am not a Christian, but Lord, if I ever loved,

I’d heed the wisdom of the dying man, and thank my God above.

Verse Two: The Participant

How dare that man pass his judgement down on me!

Who does he think he is, telling ME how to believe?!

I’ve learned and taught the toe-RAH

I’ve worshipped at the sacred altar

I’ve cantered every prayer

I can recite them without flaw or falter.

Then this mortal man comes along and claims to be

Far more holy than even me?

The Son of God? Oh, reeeeaaaaaaallly!?

I’ve fixed that preachy “Love Thy Neighbor” fellow

I paid my thirty silver to hear him scream in falsetto.

Sometimes the laws I enforce prevent me from doing what’s right

I pass the coins to Roman hands, let them bloody their own hands tonight

This should make my people think twice before leaving our faith

To follow a crazy instigator, that rejects my loving God’s face.

Verse Three: The Intimate

I am hidden in the darkness, afraid to show my face

“Oh Lord, why’d they tell us that Yeshua fell from grace?

You showed me my friend Judas with thirty silver in his fist

Forsake my dear beloved with cold betrayal’s kiss

You let my holy brother be taken

from the garden where we prayed.

You allowed him to be arrested

when you could have let him stay.”

I am hidden in the darkness, afraid they’ll point at me and say

That I was clearly one of his. That they’ll kill me the same way.

“Oh Lord, why have they called for my redeemer to be killed?

When ne’er a drop of anguish from his gentle lips have spilled?

I do not feel you near, Oh God, I’ve lost your loving light

When they took my sweet friend, Yeshua, away in darkest night.

If I weren’t hidden in the darkness, barely safe from Roman harm

I’d scream out my torment, beating my chest to sound alarm.

“Hosanna! Hosanna! I sing to your precious name

Hosanna! Hosanna! My finger points my brother’s shame.

My faith is ever yours, even when I don’t understand.

I mean, you took us through the desert, 40 years we wandered sand

And yet, my Father, I hide here, within this darkened room

I wonder, holy patriarch if his death will also be my doom.”

I am hidden in the darkness, despair my wretched dominion

Oh God! My Loving God! Remove my deserter’s vision.”

Dead City

I found myself in puddles of meltdowns
Oozing through the sidewalk cracks
The rawness of naked exposure
Seeping under the weeds.
I had to scrape my gooey emotions
Off the concrete where I stuck
Like melted gum on the bottom

of my own shoe
with a bullshit shovel shaped like my heart

To breathe took my breath away
My heart found no rhythm
In the pulse of the city
Where buses shuttled souls
By necessity or convenience to appointments
Where a prescription for life
Was offered but often denied.
Hollow Easter chocolate bunnies
Held more inside them than I did/could
They were far sweeter than me, too
Because my angry bitterness bit my hand
Gnawed on my fingers
as they pointed blame
At the shallow façade I masked myself with

Delusional

The devil came to my door

He rang the bell and cried

He lied that I was once adored

His chest puffed out with pride

His deception blackly oozed because

There is blood upon his hands

By his nature he’s embodied faux pas

In his hollowed-out grandstand

Convinced there is an audience

Still, he bows his head to pray

“No.” is nothing obvious

I refuse him the time of day

He invades my home with anger

Grief that should have long been spent

His recklessness is dangerous

But he simply won’t relent

His wounds are dark and oozing

His heart is arctic cold

He reminds me that he thinks of me

At least that’s what I’m told

His prayers remain unanswered

He leans on crutch and wit

His aura is all cancered

No blame will he remit

Three (TW: Child SA)

Even at the age of three

As I slid my feet

Between the sheets

I hope that this will finally be

The last night that

He comes for me

That my sign shows

“No Vacancy”

Not cancer as I’m born to be

According to astrology

A quintessential homebody

Too close to the family

The backwash of a broken tree

Fueled on by catastrophe

I am an apostrophe

surrounded by parenthesis

I am stripped of every modesty

Unrequited progeny

Without a verbal loquacity

Hidden horrors and atrocities

Indigo child anomaly

His rejection of monogamy

Forced his vain idolatry

As if I believed, not him, but me

Responsibility for his tragedies

Repulsive as his fingers be

Lollipops he offers free

What treachery is the “non-candy”?

I was cradle rocked deceptively

Robbed of my autonomy

Even at the age of three

As I slide my feet

Between the sheets

I pray that this will forever be

The last night that

He comes for me.

Unwound

I’ve been staring out the window

Waiting for the sound of your ride

But the clock kept on ticking

Wasting the hours

As I could do nothing but cry

You never came home again

Never said hello again

Never heard the sound of my pain

All of the broken bits

Scattered like shards

As I kept on screaming your name

The last words you said to me

Echoed inside my brain

“I’ll always love you.” You said.

I’m wrapped in these blankets now

Cold in this unholy shroud

Facing the three AM dread

Everyone whispers

Offers their sympathies

Telling me I will get through

But I can not listen to all of their symphonies

While I keep Pretending they’re you

Reflections, on Travel Insurance

My apologies for leaving you in the lurch. It’s taken me a bit of time to get settled back into my real life.

I’ve been battling the insurance company that I bought my trip insurance from because they’re refusing to cover the repairs on my face even though I was injured on my trip. Turns out that the moment I set foot on American soil, my insurance was gone. I still need to have my nose set, my teeth fixed, and I’m uncertain about the break under my left eye. But, according to them, I’m on my own.

I thought I was being responsible. I thought I was making a good choice. I thought I was protecting myself in the event that something happened. I never expected to have to use it. I bought the policy after much deliberation, research, and conversations with fellow travelers. Be prepared and all that.

What they failed to mention is that if you’re injured on your trip, you have to get it taken care of right then and there. No waiting until you get home even if that’s what the doctor says because of the recovery time. You have to give up a part of your trip to get it taken care of when it happens. AND you pay out of pocket up front which they will reimburse you for afterwards. I haven’t tested that theory yet, but I’m going to guess by the way I’ve already been treated that it’s going to be a million hoops to jump through to get that back in my pocket.

I felt and feel betrayed, disgusted, and ripped off. I thought I’d be taken care of. I thought I was protected. I was but am not now.

Would I tell someone else to buy trip insurance? No I would not. It’s a pretty good scam. You’d be better off putting that money into savings in the event, Dude forgive, you need it. I would not do that again because the peace of mind I had is now a chunk out of my pocketbook. It’s not worth it.

In case you’re wondering, I bought the policy through AAA. Allianz Assistance USA is where the policy came from. They’ll gladly take your money but if you need follow up care, you’re on your own. I wouldn’t trust Allianz ever again. AAA even pled my case to them because my agent was astounded at their refusal. She didn’t get anywhere either.

May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved (but not by Allianz).

Day Eighteen-ish

My first night here at the new place. I went to bed but got awakened by a phone call from my dear friend. It was only 8PM her time, 2AM mine. I took the call because I love her. I had to turn on the light so she could see me. We chatted for a bit about stuff and things.

At 2:30AM there was a banging on my door with a man’s voice yelling in French. I understood the word monsieur, but that’s it. It freaked me out and I ended my call. I was confused, uncertain, and afraid. It took me a long time to calm down so I could sleep again. I messaged the host because I didn’t know what else to do. I was not about to confront an angry Frenchman in the middle of the night.

At about 5:30AM (11:30PM in East TN) I was successful. At 11AM there was a light knock on my door. It was the host of the Airbnb checking to see if I was okay. I was, although I explained my confusion. I didn’t realize that anything I do or say here can be heard because the walls are so thin. I didn’t know.

The man who lives across the hall is a musician who was awakened by my conversation. I promise, I wasn’t being loud or anything, just talking. The man immediately next to him was yelling for me to be quiet, but I didn’t hear that. The musician is the one who banged on my door.

I have lived alone for so long now that I take my privacy and space for granted. Being in a communal apartment building for the first time in over a decade has been quite eye opening. I don’t know that I could go back to this again. It makes me grateful for what I have.

Anyway, I fiddled around a bit today, but I was really tired. I went to bed at 7PM with the intention of reading. That didn’t happen. I just woke up. My normal routine starts tomorrow and I’m excited to see my clients.

I am okay. I’m fully chastized. I’m learning and understanding my place. I’m going to share the pictures of the Paris photoshoot (my favorite ones anyway) in my next post. Stay tuned…

Throne

My throne near the top of the willow tree

where I could oversee

my kingdom that resounded

with mournful train chords

and springtime robin red-breast

Thin the veil between worlds

Of retrospection cursed not blessed

It’s like a perpetual bloodstain

With solidly placed blame

Thats removed quietly with disdain

Where “It’s just how they are” to

Invisibility of me to an entire crew.

But I’ll not allow their foolishness

Not in my kingdom where I am best

Where I’m more than bone deep

Better than the company they sheep.

Publicly Primal

A bonfire of hatred emblazoned within.

I want to violate you by releasing my raw primal rage

A bonfire of hatred emblazoned in my silent chest awaiting birth

The “Flesh your heart” punishment of original sin, raped

The mundane act of typing the violation of my rights

as a human. as a woman. as FIFTY ONE PERCENT of totality

while you prognosticate fodder for the war machine

I defiantly consider all acts of subjugation as Slavery of Women

When I’m no longer terrified of how I will sound unrestrained,

You will no longer exist other than in history as bad apples

bitter seeds of spill on the dirt floors of the prisons you built

for me

but will not hold this.