The Anniversary of a Van Ride

Anniversary of a Van Ride

The morbid fascination in a destination. 

One never recognised at its inception; 

The perfection of my latent perception

Of my ‘best laid plans’ or my intentions. 

The celebration of recollections, only

Serves toward my angry introspection.  

Tears of frustration, mental retaliation;

Relation of situation to circumstance. 

I’m left staring at calendars filled with 

miles of empty space; empty purpose. 

Thinking of all the would’ve, if only we

Could’ve, because we should’ve known.

The impossibility of forgiving, and yet

pretending we’re still living, when reality

Is closer to simply reinventing the clock 

While losing its true face in the new fog. 

Of all the lives I’m tricked into living, or

Forced to accepting as part of giving,

Like each one before it; I’m admitting to

Grasses greener before you weren’t in it. 

My knowing you felt the difference, but 

Playing into your practiced ignorance. 

To lift your burdens of consequences,

endured of chance, and due of necessity.

Now, written together, is a book I barely 

weathered, filled with empty pages of all 

these empty days of empty dates and my

Wish I’d known before I said ‘it’ll be okay.‘

Phoenix

12/1/2019

~~~~~~~ XL ~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~     XL     ~~~~~~~

I wanted to say something...
Anything...
I just didn’t have the strength. 
I could speak a truth. 
Or about truth and sadness,
Or of missing tiny comforts...

In another life, perhaps you...
You’d have made it about you. 
You would, and it is...
But, it’s also not. It’s not!
I would have let you, though. 
Because that would still be: 
something. 

I miss you; today of all days. 
I miss your muddled love,
Because at least you loved. 
Poorly, but surely. You did. 
Or, I believed you did,
And that’s nearly equivalent. 

I’d hear you speak of you;
Trials and fears, joys and sorrows. 
I’d turn blind of your razor wit,
I’d bask in your shadow,
I’d banish the calculated chill
From my hungry heart. 

But you were mirage...
I blink, and you are gone. 
The dimness of morning,
The emptiness of space,
I remember, and it’s only me
And crackling paint...

So I allow it, if just today. 
I let loose my heart strings,
Like fingers in the dark. 
Perhaps these words;
My breadcrumbs, could
Guide you nearer on this,
The anniversary of a
Tragic genesis. 

-phoenix
10.27.2018
17:47

Living in this new life...

So much has changed in my little corner of the world. Really, it feels like I am living a while new life. There have definitely been some amazing things. There have been some terrible changes, too. My mother passed away horribly in November of 2014. We weren't the average mother-daughter unit but she was the only mom I had so it was still awful. 

Earlier in 2014 my husband and I made the difficult decision to move in with my quadruplegic mother-in-law to take care of her full time. It also meant we lost all sense of privacy and security as it is also necessary to have home health workers in our home up to eleven and a half hours a day, every day. It's not easy to deal with that kind of stress but we manage as best we can. 

Now for the really big changes. 

In January of 2015 my husband and I found out we were pregnant. That's right, thirteen and a half years into our life together, seven and a half years into a marriage, not to mention being 36 years old and living in our new life; part fish bowl part microscope, a baby was the last thing we planned or expected. Funny story, I was on the pill when the first pregnancy announced itself too!  One wouldn't expect that to happen a second time. What we also found out was that our son was the product of my husband trying to make a really crappy birthday better. What that also meant was that it was before spending a month at the hospital watching my mother die slowly, a piece at a time. It meant we were almost three months along when we found out. Furthermore it meant that there were a lot of decisions to be made about how we were going to handle the day to day. 

My husband tried to be a super hero and do everything for me. I mean everything, even constantly helping me up or tucking me into bed. He wanted to make sure that my experience being pregnant was as different as possible from my first one. He was amazing. He went to almost every appointment with me, took pictures so he could remember my belly. He would spend time cuddling with my belly so he could feel close to the baby. He was amazing. He did everything he ould do, een when he barely had time while taking care of his mom. In the hospital he was my shield, keeping people away from me and making me feel safe, my anxiety got so bad when I was pregnant. 

In the end I lived through it, and I wasn't alone for once!  My first pregnancy was a small nightmare that my husband always wished he could do something about. Let me tell you, he certainly made up for another's mistakes. That is why he is my best friend. 

So, we welcomed our son in July of 2015, making the age difference between him and our daughter the same as myself and my youngest brother; something I said I'd never do...but what did I know. 

The final change that sealed that whole 'different life' theory:  I am now a stay at home mom. I have worked almost non stop since turning 16, and 20 years later I spend my days entertaining an infant because we realised my poor husband could not balance all of his responsibilities to his mother while trying to care for an infant with needs and schedules. His mother sadly made that impossible for him, but she is a story for another day. 

Regardless, as crazy as the last few years have been crazy and amazing and as much as was never in the plan, we love our little monkey man, Strummer more than we ever thought possible. I had given up my dream of having another child ages ago for multiple reasons, but the universe clearly had other ideas. 

Oh, Torturous Creator

Oh, Torturous Creator

When did her shell become so hollow as this?

I wouldn't know her then; was barely thought. 

I know her so well this day, albeit to wish not. 

Taught me to wish not, seeds me to want not. 

Gave not so I should not expect e'er receive. 

She'd have me to be grateful of her sacrifice. 

Gave her first born to a void, and avoidance. 

Taught oh so well.  What I expect, not a thing. 

She was blinded, as only sad mother can be. 

Blinded of how she made me pay her debts. 

Cruelty of her love knew endless boundaries,

As I knew nothing of her crimes upon herself. 

To hate herself, clearly; more than hating me. 

I wonder how I'd take so long to see it there. 

She only found too late she did not want this,

She knew always she'd never love of herself. 

What should my heart respond to more I beg?

Tell me how to pity this hanging fool, as I die!

She was all I'd have, as she'd have it, so was. 

She made sure I'd not accept any face value

If it would not bare of her face, or her pardon. 

Pardon me, my need to vegetate weights me. 

How do I cast out memory when its all gone?

Nor cast her off, trail of blood runs too deeply. 

How does one learn need when it should be?

She, an admirable teacher, I her able student. 

She built me to bare her scars forever, amen. 

She taught me to hurt the ones I love so well.

I would to have been my own, yet fear not so. 

I see her, just behind my eyes, our juxtapose. 

All is fair in love and war, her debts to be paid

And my own could pass to mine own instead. 

I need her to be inside her shell when I come. 

She is not, cannot, has not been able to sing. 

I would trade it all, would give it back, take on

The torment instead if I could draw her forth. 

I've died for her a hundred fold; so one more?

Is but a drop of blood, and it would be easier. 

My maker, my creator, builder of my machine,

And destroyer of my worlds and all my heart. 

I could hate her easily, or thought I could but

I love her still, as I hate myself; as she taught. 

My love is sick, as my heart becomes sicker,

But I feel she knew what I was from my start. 

The difference is barely slighter, but it is there. 

Hers was done unto her, as mine unto myself. 

She would be the victim of her circumstance. 

I should be my subject of death and rebirth.

This is only the beginning of my torment, now.

Is barely a beginning of her agonised defeat. 

As she is so defeated, I fear the depths I find. 

What is to be darker than this ebony current?

What should be more savage and spiteful as

She tips into the cradling abyss; take me too.  

She should not have left a mark upon the soil. 

Much too late for me; this machine is closed. 

-phoenix

11.2-3.2014

No Seconds

No Seconds

It is pitiful, and she is to be pitied if anything. 

Meant for all things handled in second hand. 

Second class in nature; a second class heart. 

Seconds ticking away and leave no seconds. 

It was always like this, only the sets change. 

Always an afterthought, always all thats left. 

Always second to inherit the scraps of a life. 

Never room enough, always to wait her turn. 

Spin on, wither in the abstract, fade in focus. 

Frayed into obscurity, doubles the exposure. 

And it becomes a photo negative, a reversal. 

Twists her further inward, adds another fold. 

Can only wind so tightly before critical mass. 

It must implode before a new heaven is born. 

Every tear to coalesce into embers for a star. 

Every cell, every molecule, of colliding worlds. 

Reimagining constellations, reanimating mass

And all matters of seconds drifts out of focus. 

The edges of a photograph, its event horizon, 

Hungrily, to devour what was, now to what is. 

And still what should not pity her destruction?

Gifts this second hand cosmos to love alone. 

Eternal witness of seconds, second chances, 

No longer wills to bare false witness; is stone.  

-phoenix

11.1-2.2014

Learns to Love a Silence

Learns to Love a Silence

Just doesn't get it, or can't, won't, wanting

But not wanting, its safer, but always empty. 

Not empty enough it seems, as you are here. 

I'm not in here though. Fell asleep long ago. 

It's what I tell myself to make the days go by. 

If not dead then too awake, too much to feel. 

Want it but cannot allow, for their sakes, all or

Mine?  What's mine in these twining strands?

It is not for me to have, to want, nothing of it. 

Nothing of them exists when all's not in view. 

It becomes illusion, illusory and aye, I know it. 

I know it is the demon inside to block a sun. 

There are all those devils in the ether too, still. 

Thoughts become of flesh and blood simply, 

Not enough fight left inside to fight them out. 

Empty threats of myself to self, another devil

Yet another forked tongue; the sharpest one. 

It shouldn't have to hurt so much to feel this. 

Divining my own bones, waiting to see that

Which stays within this circle, and what falls. 

Steel of skin and the softer flesh beneath me,

It is compressed, a singularity, starved of air. 

And of what tender lies beyond these faces?

Wishes for the stone; doesn't believe it's real.

If not a farce, you'd not be sentenced to this. 

None before, please for none hereafter, a plea

Or promise, I mean to mean, so can't be sure. 

One high, three low; I cannot see you or raise. 

The lottery, always rigged before, always was,

Frame different? No; and show me your work. 

But, I keep tapping, tries to wrap my thought. 

It is to my maddening futility I mean to swing. 

Look here my dear, it will brew all my deaths. 

It could spell a miracle of a melancholy limbo. 

I still know though, this delicate plane I tread. 

It could be worth my love of silence; shadow. 

There is no safety in numbers when it's in me. 

My tears could attest my own starving relief. 

I have to choose between its truth, or my lies. 

What is it, to let the silence bring me solace?

Another face, another skin to keep me whole. 

-phoenix

10.30.2014

Science of Sleeping

Science of Sleeping

The windows aren't closed but its murky here. 

They were shut earlier, but wasn't peaceable. 

It's the buzzing in hallways that is at impasse

And no matter how I shake the bubble; won't. 

Can't.  It can't. I can't. Severs all the nerves. 

Staring from the window into the hollow deep. 

Transfixed by darkness there, its consumption 

Of all faulty matters of my circumstance; free. 

Lie still; breathe shallow, it keeps spinning off

In search but never catching of the scent of it. 

Dead weight, barely animated body, nor mind

If keenly clutched within blanketed oblivions.

It is free-fall; and the fall is how to climb back. 

If not the bottom, how can you see a horizon?

It is listlessness, leads not into lead but follow

Until the last to first must strangle idle hands. 

The windows are still open, I cannot breach

But I cannot shut, cannot touch the pains yet

But I'm trying, can't your see me, hear, please

I can't get out; have to keep diving, gasping...

But if I could find it, dawn, please something,

Anything to spare, sometimes its just a rope. 

Or let me sleep, don't make it dream, I can't, 

I mustn't or I would miss the exit stage right. 

It is the weight, and waiting indecisions, too. 

In fields of land mines and l desire survival,

It keeps me locked and loaded, runs in place. 

It still moves, even when spinning backwards. 

Without a backslide I cannot see what I've hit.
Not to see its girth, how then circumnavigate? 

How these tremours want to extinguish light. 

Crossed signals, lost in translation of the soul. 

If I'm to gather mine and stand, to fight for all,

I must first learn of my surrender unto a void. 

Let the nerves writhe if turned inward, burns. 

Stop me when I can feel you twist the knife. 

Crawling back from the centre to the window. 

Tumbling headlong from space, in heat, light. 

Slowly, steadfast wins these second chances. 

Know where I am, where I was, but is awake. 

-phoenix

10.29.2014

Losing Faces

Losing Faces

There are more faces in here than I can count. 

One for each one of them; also for my sanity. 

Speaking of putting aside of childish things, I

Cannot surrender these that make me whole. 

It becomes harder as the years pass though. 

The personas wither and peel away, exposing

Raw flesh, raw mind, raw face, raw heart, and

I can't do this for much longer, too priceless. 

In a crowded room where I can barely breathe

There is none in this picture frame but myself. 

Grows tired, tired of the face, tired of a name. 

To bleed out in tears, words, none love them. 

Letters are born, fall short, shatter, dissipate. 

Each takes a sliver of what is mine, of my soul

And soon, the sands will run dry, nothing left. 

Would seem for sooner rather than later, here. 

I can hear the ticking, measuring the seconds

And I know its too long until this will be done. 

I wasn't built to stand against these trials, too. 

It is all too heavy, and I can't turn a blind eye. 

All I hold, or try at least, slips like falling sand. 

Makes for difficult footing in the quick of it all. 

I can't stand to stand by as it all fades away. 

I have few choices for it, they've made sure.

What of mine then, when it boils down to it?

It is silly to want when none would deliver it. 

Too many strings, too many holes to identify. 

Too much to wade into to find what I needed. 

It all loses value because I have none to give. 

All I try to give; takes back from me in threes. 

They wouldn't see to care to begin with, and I

Become a fool over and over when I even try. 

-phoenix

10.27.2014

Arousing Curiosity

Arousing Curiosity

The curves and angles of her face delight me. 

Tiny doppelgänger, embodies my fascination. 

Those illuminating eyes could fill the universe. 

I would long to peer into her mind, to see her. 

I wish to know this child who hides in the fold. 

I want to see her world from her point of view,

In her own words, just a brief glimpse will do. 

So I may hear and sense what hers all means. 

This creature is so wondrous, but so troubled. 

She becomes so easily confused, she panics. 

She retreats as quickly as her comfort allows. 

I step back, to take snapshot of her breadth. 

We have come so far, you have climbed a hill. 

The mountains, love, are still far ahead of you, 

I fear, and loathe the darknesses I do foresee. 

You sell your life short though, looking too far. 

The chemical standard, your active conscious

It betrays you splendors of the here and now. 

How I torment with your flaws, mine or yours. 

I'll see you history lessons I'd wish not teach. 

Seeing in you those even I can't change, mine

Is already beaten to submit by these demons,

I'd hoped for more, but gave different layers

To this easily battered spirit, and discourage. 

To lament even as she walks the miles keenly. 

She shall stumble for hundreds more smiling. 

I want to find her a steadier path to bore her. 

None awaits but my hands would build it if...

But I must bide her time to trial and to error. 

I cannot walk beyond the membrane splitting. 

To trust to fate the lessons she'd not listen to. 

To have faith that fate will smile on her there.  

-phoenix

10.15-22.2014

Burdens of Silence

Burdens of Silence

Its a much heavier burden, that of a silence. 

A weight of a hollow in the miscreant heart.

Not so much of ether, has shape and name. 

How does this warmth turn so cold in here?

Mustn't be for the likes of trespasser flesh. 

Not for the darkness, for it would be eaten. 

Yet still lives here, this perfect extremophile. 

It feeds of the light seeping in, leaves a void. 

A laden juxtapose, a perfect balance but not. 

Occupies in space, and time to consume all. 

Lovely excruciating treachery, is so a spade. 

Excising this demon is fruitless, so it seems.

Time again attempts to expose it to the light,

There's no reception, no certain reciprocation. 

It stagnates as it refuses to be seen or heard

And to know its truth; to wither away, vanish.

Perhaps a key, but if so, unwittingly. Lament. 

Upside down and inside out and for nothing. 

You shouldn't be here, and nor should I ever. 

To long for yesterday and tomorrow at once. 

Knowing of one a farce and of another done. 

It's the linger, the presence, its perseverance,

And its mocking calm that drifts from cracks.

It is a glass door, but still a door nonetheless. 

Oh torture at the fruitlessness of this journey. 

Only it becomes harder to sacrifice of my self. 

How can they look her in the face and not be

Disgusted by the creature that stands before?

Selfish, fickle, the flustering madman that is, 

Assumed as so deserving; not even scraps. 

Toiling and tilting, the buoy barely afloat now. 

All ends in sight; means extinguished before. 

Must be content to let it fester and boil; both. 

The pointlessness of stepping beyond a wall.  

Feeling something may be more than nothing;

wake of waves to be neither seen, nor heard. 

To say its better; I know not of such fantasies

As pressures build and would grind into dust. 

To stay this course back to recessive corners,

To watch, to wish and to mourn this from afar. 

-phoenix

10.25.2014