"does it matter if your partner is unconsciously applying an extremely subtle, powerful form of emotional abuse?" it matters not what others do if we are willing to stand tall and flow through. Believe this when I tell you: You have, in turn, have given me strength to go forth with my ordeal, and I thank you. much love
Thanks for commenting, Sylvan and Osiris! This should really be kind of an introduction, or insight to some of the stuff I wright. It was written, I think, by a psychologist to describe the way a certain type of people think... Rescue me, by leaving me alone...it'll kill me. I need you to rescue me if I am to live. I am not alive. I am dead when I try to be alive. I am alive when I act like I'm so dead I can't feel anything. There is such a sharp feel to the pain of numbness. Where do the feelings go? Where does all of that pain hide? I dissociate from all that hurts. I give it to others. It is their fault, and their problem, not mine. Help me, while you leave me alone. Leave me alone while you help me. NOW! Truth, you want to talk truth? Whose truth, yours or mine? Is there a truth between? No, my truth is truth. Your idea of truth is a lie. I don't lie. If I don't lie and our truths aren't the same that makes you a liar. Does so....just does. If I am right then you are wrong. Yes you are. No I'm not. If I am good then you are bad if you don't agree with me and or see things my way. My way isn't just right, it is the only way. What matters is what I want and need. That's my truth. And my truth is the truth. Don't you even try to lie to me, don't... I am the center of the universe. Yes I am. I am it and it is me. I will act this way too, if I feel like it. No, you can't win. I will win. I'll get you coming and I'll get you going and there will be no way that you can win. I must always win. I need to control because I feel so helplessly out of control, but you can't know that. You can't know that okay, you don't know that about me. I don't know that about me. I don't know you and cause I don't know me. You can't know me either. No, I won't let you in to a place that I have yet to gain access to. No, me first. Who am I? I thought I knew just a minute ago. Then, suddenly nothing felt familiar anymore. Nothing felt okay anymore: nothing felt SAFE anymore - nothing felt as it had before. Why does this happen and what does it mean? What do you mean you don't know? You are supposed to know. I expect you to know. And if I expect it then I have a right to demand it from you. Don't go asking me for anything, NO, it depends how I feel, and what I believe in any given moment...you just never can know cause I never know what I'll do or say or feel. Every moment changes and shifts from one to the next. What is real, what is truth, whether or not I think I can take care of myself or what I feel, or right or wrong, from minute to minute changes, so I really just don't know. I don't care to know. Don't bother me about it. Leave me alone, just stay here. And be quiet while you talk to me. Talk to me silently. Words can hurt. Don't be too quiet in your silence though, because silence can kill a soul. I know, it killed mine over and over again.
herbal remedies in her pocket book strengthening blood, targeting antigens with infiltrating echinacea incisions inserting reinforced cough suppressants, armored brigades of decongestants and for support of the flanks: tanks with anti-inflammatory shells. nausea turned to fatigue. I saw the tremors of restlessness heard the high pitched whine from moderate bronchial infection and trembled in sympathetic anxiety. doctors came and diagnosed an aggravated sinusitis disorder that spread beyond their stethascopes to swell the lymphatic vessels and I cramped from futility as the scythe came for my intentions to bury any fragment of buoyancy that kept me above dark depths. I poured one last cup of tea and saw the herbal antigens prepare shields of purpose, thicken blood and resolve as it entered the stream.
Ya've got so much boiling up in that mind of yers, it's fascinating to dig through all the layers and peel them off one by one. Deep, deep thoughts...
note: please forgive the useage of the dreaded "L" word, love, king of cliches... I felt it was warranted. summer eyes I. how in hell am I supposed to sleep with this disposition toward current events? living in this room, looking at my belongings turn to ash right in front of me so that I have to remain motionless and take my breaths very cautiously else all I know come crashing down caving in to form one big dusty pile. now, if I believe in heart, in following it can I leave the windows down if she’s cellophane? the wind could pick her, carry her away and I’d not realize her gone till I got home. That presence wouldn’t be around to automatically liven a quiet room with the lift of an eyebrow, the crossing of a leg, the shift of a lip around a cigarette and will I ever heal? will it leave a scar? will I wake up from this twisted nightmare on any particular morning and see her there on the pillow next to mine, with those alluring almost alien eyes II. it’s so easy to stop and think, and sink so low and lower still, until you’re in the cold vacuum of space unable to breath, to see, to talk and the mind is focused but it’s failing fast rewinding the past and replaying events on the porch losing value in a violent flash getting dumped for an immoral other and so it’s all returned to trust who is what at heart, and how I wish we had those ancient oracles of greece that would speak out valuable prophesies, grant peace to the troubled, unraveled those that think too much about this one girl with her two cold feet. I remember plenty a night, sharing a blanket, squeezing together; talking until our hearts entangled arteries and everything in this fucked up world was forgotten about; we were complete and how is any someone to compete with the comparison of near perfection the figure, heart, persona and those eyes they combined to strike and I reacted by falling in love. Falling in fucking love. III. a poltergeist possessed my pen left me finished on an unsuitable foot: focused on finality, charging off and away pissed off and angry at confusion, so listen up. I felt there was a winged fairy in my life that flew off to find some other flower made me think, oh no – not this – too quick and the thing of it was, there was no string connected to her collar to keep her close and when she came back roundabouts to talk old flames were engaged and kindled attacks but a fire will tire quick and afterwards I’d feel my stomach cramp from habit, from guilt, from love and it’s not my place to forgive nothing at all but I will say forget anything you want nothing’s critical but now and yet to come and who’s to say what the stars portray what Fate keeps hidden, off limits to us it’s not to be guessed at and acted upon all we can do is operate on inclination, on instinct, on real knowledge and live because that’s all there actually is.
I'm not sure, if this is what you were shooting for, but.. the third part reminded me of Mad Max. The 'listen up'... !! That was it! The meter or whatever, suggested the cadence from a character in that movie? The image of the fairy on a leash will stick with me too. Nice. Pay no attention to my take on poems? I likes what I likes. It really is a matter of personal taste to me.
Sorry fulmah, but summereyes was hard to swallow, not just because of the length but because it didn't leave as striking of an impression as usually your poems do. I agree with Razor, that whole part III with the fairy on the leash was excellent and a few other tid bits here and there were also very appealing to the eye and the heart. I gotta also comment on these lines that sound cliche, more cliche than as you assume the word -love- does (at least to me personally) "will I ever heal? will it leave a scar? will I wake up from this twisted nightmare" Again I think the idea is there it's just the way you present it doesn't dig deep inside me. But that could just be me and what do I know?
thanks for the replies razor, kx, and sylvan! I threw summereyes up primarily because of sylvan's "book of secrets" and the raw emotion it had, and this one was the summary of a little zine I did when things were a bit raw; that would be my guess as to this ones nature. it's definitely still a work in progress, and I'll keep all comments in mind when I come back round to tweeking it out. the feedback is greatly appreciated, and thanks for reading!
I have recently experienced a bit of, and I quote Skinny, an "obession with medical" poetry. And this one was an eye/mind candy for me!! Loved. Loved it. The medical enwined with the millitary diction tickled me. One question though, why the first line says "her pocket book" but then throughout the poem you speak in 1st person? *scratches her head*
Just rereading what has been written and wanted to say how powerfuly you express this aloneness we all feel regardless of if we are in a relationship or not.
title temporary I. you forgot i do it all, i have dynamic imagination exaggerate & talk static over the phone but listen; buried beneath syllables & metaphors there´s an ambiguity supplying correlation: out on the porch smoking a cigarette skin tingling from a wounding radience still leaking from the screen door forcing us further & further away. so i become the earth with continental divides a million faces with unlabeled qualities unexplored wilderness & uncharted coasts & polar opposites at times; & every so often i question the prominence of the pyramids stretched along the giza plateau. how did primitive man get so geometric & fixated with orions belt the circumference of the earth it´s more than symbolism. II. i´m incapable of choreographing a dance the motions are emotions, a flexing of the felt. i´d rather depend on magic, the casting of a spell to construct an 8 by 10 glossy photograph moving at 60 frames per second, that´s based on that first camera flash, that coalesces in strobe-light sequence, the effect being synergistic. we should be products of hollywood script but have no famous supporting cast, hot shot producers, explosives, special effects there should be no cliffs or cars plummeting but i haven´t seen any movie camera recording & we´ve mountains, rivers & a deep canyon between north carolina and california. III. i´m not much of a wizard. this magical staff won´t work. you still sit knotted up looking out the window thinking the car door´s gonna open your body bouncing off the road & i know you´ve bruised your knee before i know you´re talking to mission control i know the space shuttle is heat resistent & has technology i don´t understand & i may not know what i´m talking about-- sorry, i prefer theoretical development over the facts at hand.
Thanks for Responding KX and Sylvan! Feedback of any nature is always appreciated... Well, it's supposed to portray girl getting sick and taking lots of medicine, with my sympathetic observations narrating, but there were definitely a couple of inconsisties, which I changed to hopefully kinda capture a little better, although it's probably still a little confusing. ah well... mayhap I'll remove all the duality and leave it focused as either just my observations or a 3rd person story; but that shall be for a future date decision...
Personal indeed, too cryptic for me as an outsider to grasp but I get a glimpse. This part made the most sense to me and thus was the one I could appreciate the most.
hehe... kinda what it's about... there's a coupla odd bits in there to grasp on too, the rest is just fluff er distraction cos I didn't want to get more specific...
touch me right there I. astronomy apparatus targeted her at the apogee from the orchestra seats where the features of the face fade and the hair converts into a corona a frizzled fire of colored curls and a sugared-up song about a girl pretty and placed down on the floor her muscles unwilling to move to reach to open the door and so, does her curtain fall does she stage a curtain call her best friend arrives and look it’s a play, it tethers emotions to a story line that drives away in a car that stalls leaving the story unresolved II. touch me right there recognizing a touch a punch a pistol whip it doesn’t matter, a 360 turn and I think about what, I forgot angels will never earn big bucks selling their soul out of a trunk and the people who stand stunned at the blood and tears it contains forgot their own skinned up knees they forgot that pain permeates their footsteps so their brains change into satellites transferring signal-pulse oh my god’s oh please look in my direction one time admit we’re a collision course of destiny we’ll dance sing experience revelry dance and sing and revelry
it was a starved midnight ritual the interstellar blond riding shotgun tying back her hurricane hair girling up in anticipation for the corner booth marathon cigarettes, lighter, twenty five dollars all systems were check, we were a go so we parked and crossed dimensions ihop was refuge from reality smoke ring nebulae above the tables remnants of forgotten conversations the ventilation couldn’t exorcise; not that it bothered us, we were the bantering binary cluster propelling shit talk exhaust out our volcanic mouths, catapulting our sentences as declaration of war on the non-smoking section at least until menus arrive. we order we wait we eat and thick galactic grease combats our go-juice with sober sedative upshot, the comedown sparks cosmological conversation, we debate invading the atrium to install democracy. we declare, in corner booth manifesto: those two hulks have gotta go, enforcing a line on the regulars is frowned upon ‘round here policy enacted, we shell out $24.28 shuttle back to the car to go home. fare well my pancake princess till we rendezvous tomorrow the ritual is complete.
Great great stuff fulmah! Probably sounding like an old record here but I loved it!! The seemingly ordinary, mundane described and embedded with such flair, visuals and cosmos, my goodness, how did you make it work?! "it was a starved midnight ritual the interstellar blond riding shotgun tying back her hurricane hair girling up in anticipation for the corner booth marathon" One of my favorite stanzas probably simply because it was the first but what followed was just as great. Bravo man.
