Self Inflicted Wounds

NOTE:  This piece contains profanity.  If you're offended by profanity, please do not read it, and do not comment how offended you are.  You comment will be deleted.  Also, the subject matter of the piece is STRICTLY metaphorical, and the wounds referred to are emotional wounds, not physical ones.

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Self inflicted wounds take the longest to heal.
Unfortunately, those little bastards are also the easiest to re-open.


The don't hurt at first, like a bruise your don't remember getting.
But once your realize it's there, the damn thing won't stop throbbing.


So you massage it; apply ice, heat, ointment; anything really,
but it never helps. Instead, you wind up rubbing it raw - a
fresh wound.


Then, you Band-Aid it, because God forbid you should actually
treat it properly, let it heal. No, you're too stubborn for that.


After a while, the bandage becomes irritating, so you take it off.
Things are fine for a while, but then the scab starts to itch.


You begin scratching and scratching, frantically clawing at a
little piece of coagulated blood. Finally, it pays off; the scab
pops off.


Another fresh wound, oozing blood. You realize your stupidity;
rush to the bathroom, disinfect it; slap on some Neosporin.


A few days go by; the scab begins to fall loose, and you know
you should let it fall off by itself, but you don't. Idiot.


New wound. New cycle. More pain. You're a masochistic fuck;
you know that?!


But eventually, you'll learn; you'll stop hurting yourself.
But not before it scars; no. You'll always have the scars.

Everywhere & Everything: All Leads Back to You

NOTE:  This is the first of two pieces.  The second immediately follows it, titled: Self Inflicted Wounds.

Everywhere I go, I'm reminded of you;
places I go with my friends, things I do-
all things we did together-
now just memories.

Every song I hear on the radio
brings you to mind; that concert
we never went to; every ballad,
each love song... Rascall Flatts-
reminds me of you.  I see you.

Every church service brings longing,
not peace; pain, not healing.  All of
our friends in one place, at the same time.
I think of you.  I miss you.

Every time the phone rings I
secretly hope... But my hope is
foolish and fleeting; it only brings memories,
and memories only fuel the pain.

I created it... the pain.
I turned you into them... the memories.
I did this- broke... us.

Broken.

it's a lie you know.
Time doesn't heal all wounds.
Mine are still bleeding.

Walking Contradiction

I am a walking contradiction.

I believe what I believe
and will continue to do so
until a more attractive or
convenient belief system
comes along.

I am a walking contradiction.

I believe in being the better person
the one that apologizes never judges
refuses to use that word or
ascribe to that stereotype but
I find refuge in the status quo.

I am a walking contradiction.

I believe in love not hate
and peace not war
ever the optimist because
it's the right thing to do
but negativity is abundant and taxing
so - I - give - in.

I am a walking contradiction.

I believe in one right path
but many ways to walk it.
You say blue I say yellow
but it doesn't matter because
either way we still wind up at green!

I believe what I believe
and I believe that you are the contradiction.

So.  Try.  Me.

You are a walking contradiction.

You believe in a world of
black and white but you
live in a land of sliver
and gray.

You say left but go right
You shout up but jump down
You command others to fight
while you retreat.

You are a walking contradiction.

My words spit fire and
My eyes spew flame but
Still-

You don't get it.

No one is perfect but
everyone tries.  Everyone
lives in shades of
contradiction.

Mexican Queen

Your beauty is like the sun.
Antagonizing-
Something I can't live without,
Even though I know it holds the power
To blind me if I stare for too long.

But your beauty is also flawed.
Agonizing-
Like a specter, this phantom image
Haunts me.  A memory.

Your beauty is like the snow.
Stunning-
It sends a refreshing chill down my spine,
Even though I know overexposure
Can lead to frostbite.

But your beauty is also flawed.
Freezing-
Like a blizzard on the summit of Everest
Brings forth an avalanche.  Too cold.

Your beauty is like the Spring rain.
Cleansing-
It washes over me with the power to heal,
Even though I know too much water
Will drown me.

But your beauty is also flawed.
Grating-
Like the rains and tides corrode
The sands of a beach.  Acidic.

Your beauty is like the colors of leaves in Autumn.
Striking-
As breathtaking as the forests of New England,
Even though I know forests
Hold darker things.

But your beauty is also flawed.
Maddening-
Like a forest after twilight turns dark,
A sinister maze.

This is what you are!
Beautiful-
But your beauty is flawed.

You can't help it.
Like all beauty, there are marks-
Life takes its toll.
I just wish your physical beauty
Didn't reflect such a tattered and frayed soul.

"Profound Wisdom from John Lennon"

Another quote that I love.

"When I was five years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life.  When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I wrote down "happy."  They told me I didn't understand the assignment, and I told them they didn't understand life" (John Lennon).

The Great Bay Window

My first attempt at a short story.  Please be advised that there is some language involved.  As this story is inspired by actual events, the few instances of profanity are direct quotes, and therefore could not be omitted.

Grandma Rose, this is for you.  Your untold story.

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     The old woman sat in her wheelchair, looking out the great bay window, facing the road.  Her expression wasn't one of pain, happiness, sadness, anger, or even boredom.  It was the glossy stare of indifference.  You see, she was there, but not really there.
     "Ma?  MA!  Jesus Christ!  Did you hear me, Ma?!"
     "Grandma, Papa's talking to you."
     "Huh?", came her reply; she wasn't looking at them. She was still staring out the great bay window.  Much of the rest of the visit passed like this. Finally, they pried her from the window, her window, and wheeled her back to her room.
     "Ma, we have to leave now.  Today's Tuesday; we'll be back Thursday.  That's in two days.  Okay Ma? MA!"
     "Grandma..."
     "Thursday," she cut him off softly, not so much a conscious effort, for in her mind, she was flying.  So they left, and an attendant and nurse delivered her dinner and medication, respectively.  Then she slept.  The following day, Wednesday, she repeated the same routine, but with a different visitor - her daughter.  From her room to the window.  Window to dinner and pills.  Then bed.
     Thursday came, and her son and great-grandson came back as promised.  Same routine.  From room to window.
     "Ma?"
     Window...
     "MA!  Jesus..."
     Flying...
     "Grandma..."
     Both.  "Huh?"
     "Let's go." They took her back to her room. Same routine. Same attendant and nurse. Things had been slowly progressing like this for months.
     A few days later, the whole family gathered in the courtyard of the nursing home for her birthday.  Everyone brought the old woman gifts, and there was homemade food, even cake.  For the first time in a long time, her mind wasn't on the window.  She seemed happy.
     About a week after the party, both her son and daughter received a call from the home:  "I'm sorry to bother you, but it's an emergency.  Your mother is on her way to Holy Cross...severe pneumonia."
     The old woman was hospitalized for over a month.  This was her fifth bout with pneumonia in the past six years.  She wouldn't win this one.
     The day she died, she told her son and daughter that she'd seen her sister, their Aunt Helena the previous night.  "Aunt Helena came to visit last night."
     "Mom," her daughter said, "Aunt Helena's been dead for ten years!"
     "She couldn't have been here, Ma," said her son.
     The old woman merely replied, "She was."  She went to sleep, and her children went home.  Later that night, the call came.
     When they received the news that she had passed, her daughter wept.  Her son, needing to appear strong, cried only on the inside.  Others in the family cried too.  Some did not though; after all, she had been a hard woman to tolerate in life, so for some, her death was not a burden.  Arrangements were made, and there was a mass of Christian burial.
     In the church, the family, most at least, grieved.  But the old woman wasn't in the church, nor was she on earthen ground.  She was finally resting in the place she'd been looking at, and envisioning for months.  She was finally flying beyond the great bay window.

Chuckie Cheese

This one is for you Papa.  I love you.

I don't remember much, but
I do remember you. I remember
strong, yet gentle hands
picking me up. I remember
you coming over to visit. I imagine
it made her jealous. I remember
going to visit you - so many
knick-knacks! She wouldn't
let me touch them. I remember
you painting a room -
drywall was your canvas.
I remember.

Mostly, I remember Chuckie Cheese.
I remember you
put her in her place. You
took me there anyway.
I remember
that day from over a decade ago -
Better than I remember yesterday.

Even when I
grow old and lose my
memory, I'll still remember
Chuckie Cheese.

When I'm gone
and my grandchildren are the ones writing,
we'll meet on roads paved with gold,
and I'll say: "Papa, remember Chuckie Cheese?"
And you'll respond: "Of course..."
"...I never forgot."

What I Miss Most

This poem is dedicated to my Uncle Ray.

i miss when you'd get into a fight with your girlfriend
i miss how you'd call mom or dad and say "mind if i come over?"
i miss how 'come over' meant sleep over and that 'sleep over' was indefinite.
that's what i miss.

i miss being too tired and giving in to sleep before you showed up
i miss waking up the following morning - early - because i knew you'd be there.
i miss you giving me a huge hug, boxing my ears - even though it hurt - and giving me a "noogie."
i miss the way you smelled: like paint and turpentine and dust.
that's what i miss.

i miss how you'd change the news to Scooby Doo or Looney Tunes
and ask "what do you want for breakfast?"  it was always cereal or
homemade pancakes, and it was always good. i miss how once breakfast
was ready, you'd watch cartoons with me.
that's what i miss.

i miss the memories that never got to be made.
i missed the chance to say goodbye. but most of all-
i just miss you.

"On Destiny and Fate" & Inescapable Witch

"On Destiny and Fate"

No one man can control his own destiny.  For Destiny's cunning twin is Fate, and she knows exactly when to mix things up a bit.

Inescapable Witch

No one man can-

Can control his own destiny.

For Destiny is

But fickle Fate's twin.

Destiny:
The hope of that-

That which is predetermined,

Often illustrious...

Destiny seems.

Ah, but Fate!

Fate: that which is-

That WITCH is inescapable!
Truly meant to be...

Fate appears.

So...

Ponder now this thought, my friend:

T'would destiny or fate fare ye better in the end?

"Success According to Einstein"

I love this quote!

"If 'A' is success in life, then A = X+Y+Z.  Work is 'X'; 'Y' is play, and 'Z' is keeping your mouth shut" (Albert Einstein).