On the Juke: Volcano Choir

An old love revisited. Repave by Volcano Choir has been playing on repeat. I really enjoy Justin's dedication, in whatever projects he tackles, to poetic lyrics that connect and lead to reflection... plus production that kills. Specifically today, the song "Comrade" has been moving me.

"Comrade"

by Volcano Choir

Like I didn’t know it

Choking on the pulp of it

Semper Fi

You kept me on your long line

Tugging in the whole time

Keep shining on

And that silent head grip

I can’t do it no more

The honey bin

The bunny's in

Is telling you there's a countdown

Oh, damn your eyes

To add that one a long time

Standing in a straight line

Said it'd be a tall climb

Said that we could go back

Said that we could go find

Terra-forming!

Said that we were coke blind

Drinking in dramnesic

Tore out the comrade

That's a comrade, making a comrade offer

That Ticonderoga shit

Made my mind and my heart all split up over

The floor to the jackpot

There's a floor to the jackpot

Where'd you rise?

You don't even lie to me no more

They say you ain't a comrade

Still, I'd know you'd come back

For a folly-ridden Romeo, you break down the fortress now

Standing out in public

Stained with your conscience

I know that you love me

You are just lawless, son

Give it another fortnight

Eye to eye the culprit

Just rid the fucking pulpit

I ain't giving you another full ride

Underneath the combine

Said it didn't bump you right

Habitual falling right?

Poetry Hour: Entry 18 - Obnoxious

This is a stream of conscious poem with a little editing. This is my mind processing the feeling of being perceived as "obnoxious" even though no one has ever told me that before that I can remember. I realize I cook up these negative definitions of myself by myself, drawing conclusions that may be entirely false. All this is also mixed in with a lot of other feelings as well, which makes sense since this writing really is stream of conscious; my brain is, in a way, regurgitating a lot that is welling up within me. This is my mind aflutter in that realm of reflection. 

obnoxious

slow down.
too loud
too loose
high mood
high noon
and i'm liquified
and i'd just die
on the tile floor
pushing a little more
for your yes
for your mess
for this glass
for a laugh
or a few
it's not new
it's my mood
it's the moon
as it shifts
and i switch
back and forth
wanting more
but needing less
as not to stress
myself out
or to shout
far too loud
in this crowd
so you'll hear
that it's clear
i'm here for you.
but us two?
slow down.
i'm everywhere
as each hair
stands on end
as i bend
backwards towards
sliding doors
marking this
a foreign bliss
or maybe that
a syndrome flat
hiding forever
being clever
but never knowing
what we're not showing
so i'm loud
with a shroud
too loose
high mood
high noon
and i'm petrified
that i'd die
'neath these eyes
and darker skies
of your rejection
and the inflection
of your taste bitter
that you'd fit her
better
while i'm still fettered
to you.
slow down.
quiet now
see how
the silence fixes
and transfixes
them to me
how i see
and i'm intriguing
and now they're bleeding
for more words
have they heard
i'm a mystery
i'm very interesting
i'm a bottle neck shut
i'm a bursting virgin slut
seeing everything but
you.
slow down.
can i listen
to this transmission
calling me to forget
and never let
anyone break me
fallen fake pleas
of social indulgence
of self-control quenched
fears of man
fears of hands
reaching for a rung
already strung
with falsification
and dirty damnation
that leads to sadness
and a sort of madness
akin to the sin
we all fall in
and must renew
and must pull through
so i'm trying my best
so i'm beating my chest
at the screaming of death
and the final breath
of truth.
slow down.


may 14, 2017

Poetry Hour: Entry 17 - De La Lune

de la lune

death at the lips of the ocean

and the tides responding to the call of the moon

receding

receding

receding

there was nothing i could do

may 8, 2017

Poetry Hour: Entry 16 - Split Ends

I have manufactured many a poem over the last year, most all written and edited and comprised on the Notes app I have on my phone. (I know. How lame. How millennial can you get.) I am hoping to edit through these poems a little more and make a second portfolio (after the first, She Sips in Silence) called Girl in Slow Motion. From this compilation, I have already shared some poems on this blog: "My Darkness", "Buried Alive", and "heaven over water" to name a few of the recent ones. Now I share another one; one that I just wrote the other night.

This poem deals with letting go. Letting go of things that are necessary to let go of, as hard and painful as that is. Letting go forces growth. It is the rose that is nipped away. It is pruning. You can see the beauty that once was, being satisfied and thankful in that, but recognize that to cut away is the best thing to do, ultimately.

I haven't done a lot of this sort of thing in my life, I realized. I see now that that was, and has been, a big factor for my anxiety. I try to keep alive things that are already dead, or near to inevitable death. I try to grasp and control so things are kept neat and tidy in life, in relationships; so that things don't fall apart; so that there is peace; so that there is happiness. But that is not life often times, and I cannot hold all the world in my two hands. I know more now than ever how it is so important and healthy to let go... when the time is right. And it's a delicate balance. To know "when" involves a lot of wisdom and discernment. I think (and what this poem deals with is) that I am learning just that: cues of when to hold on and when it is time to release. It's a thin balance. I hope to continue working on it as the year rolls on.

Split Ends

The whisper of scissors cutting my hair.
A quicker inward gasp, swallowing the air.
Pieces of me left in fragments on the floor.
They are the dead, the past, and what for?
I am healthy now, new and light.
Yet it seems, somehow, not right
leaving trickles of me behind;
letting the sun-drenched be declined
and without the roots that once held life;
eradicated with a sudden, screaming knife.
It’s a shock that takes you by surprise.
It’s the surface for the newly baptized.
It’s a letting go of what needs to leave
and finding that there’s space to breathe
in a world once wrought with a me
that is no longer. This is nearer to free.
This is stronger. This is the new pain
that molds the layer I was meant to attain.
This is the baggage left there, unneeded;
That is seen and, rightfully, well heeded
as I walk away from those silver silken sheers
that I once hated. That made everything clear.
That I appreciated as they did me a favor
and allowed me to not hold on and savor
what was threatening the good to come.
The new beginning. The sinking and rising sun
and the knowledge that I am okay.
The hair is left there to be swept away
so the ground can meet her next decay.

Poetry Hour: Entry 15 - Heaven Over Water

heaven over water

a white moon hangs in the black night sky

the all seeing eye

tells me

i know 

don't worry

everything is right

Poetry Hour: Entry 14 - My Darkness

My Darkness

These are my darkness.

Of the warm tears falling down my cold

cheek.

A raven fluttering its wings

over night filled with tender dreams.

These are my darkness.

Of the cares never received, only perceived,

hopelessly.

A blister cold beneath my teeth

that clench down the truth I scream.

These are my darkness.

Of the hands grasping, stitched upon my

knees.

A restless pleading that would send me

outward to take hold other hearts beating.

These are my darkness.

Of feeling and being so unseen that I'm

deteriorating.

A camera capturing a high speed

decay, overlooked and fascinating.

These are my darkness.

Of the blurring eyes and face pixelating

slowly.

A girl who's easily forgotten and forgetting

that she was loved once sacrificially.

These are my light and my darkness.

Of the blood and body that is actively 

dying.

A promise not felt currently, poignantly,

but exists, nevertheless, eternally. 

Poetry Hour: Entry 13 - Buried Alive

A poem like this deserves context. Maybe so people don't freak out and send help. Please don't. I already have that.

Though this poem is dark, I'm alright. I assure you. However, the feelings are real and the words come from a place of depth, of meaning, of fear, of human condition and weakness.

I had a spiritual high very recently - not two months ago. But with a high such as that, I worried during it what the dry season afterwards would look like. I know these things come in waves; I was bound to come down sometime... I just didn't know how far down I'd fall. 

Well, I couldn't help it quite honestly. My anxiety from the past began to come back and this time with a friend called depression. I believe this poem kind of describes what it's like within it, at least for me. It sounds similar to when I wrote about my anxiety attack, because it is similar. They are different though. I've never been, at least in my adult life, in this place before, as low as I am. I would say it's a lot of apathy towards myself paired with the onset of random sadness, mostly occurring when I'm alone.

Now, to end, hear this: my current condition doesn't mean I love God any less or am trusting him any less than I did when I was on top of that mountain with him. That's not what depression or anxiety is. On the contrary, we two are pushing through this. I am yoked with him and I look forward to see how he works, because he is so strong and so good. So very good. 

Buried Alive

It's getting harder to hide. 

I'm falling apart on the inside.

It's a speeding car without breaks

heading straight 

for a brick wall. 

Maybe if you were to call 

out to me I'd break free; 

finally flee 

from this speed 

and just slowly bleed 

in your arms. 

But I'm not pretty enough for you to want to save me; 

I've got nothing in the way of charms. 

So I'll just crash like crazy 

and hope I don't cause any harm.

It's in a shell I recoil; 

a breathing corpse grasping at the soil. 

I'm in a body unwanted, 

soul haunted 

with pain and grief. 

Maybe, for a moment brief, 

you would attempt to see 

the depth of me 

that lies 'neath 

the shroud of my teeth 

gleaming bright. 

But my smile has always been a kind of release for them;

I've given every inch of my light.

So I'll keep my sorrow hidden

and hope they aren't feeling my fight.

It's suffocating, the ground -

the dirt so thick you can't hear a sound.

I'm choking on rocks in my throat;

my lungs coat

with the dark grave

that slips and begins to cave

in on the hollow bones 

shaking alone

in my skin;

the air growing thin

without you.

But because I still lie alive in this body of death

I find a longing still lingers through.

So I'll savor every single one of my breaths 

and claw away to a surface new.