Friday, May 11, 2012

The Art of Road Trips in the Rain



Here for a moment,
Then gone when eyes are opened,
I can’t help but feel a pang of sorrow
Knowing I won’t ever see that landscape again.
I won’t ever be back in a place
Where EVERYTHING was perfectly untouched
Next time I return, if ever,
So much will have changed.

Trees will have grown.
Grass will have died.
Leaves will have fallen.
Life will have continued.
But if I had tumbled out of my shelter
And run off to explore,
Would I have grown old with it?
Could I escape the ferocity of a concrete jungle?
Yet even now I know that I cannot.
There is too much to do,
Too many to leave behind,
Too much lost.
Even with that thought,
My sorrow returns.
There is nothing preventing me from leaving,
Yet so much holds me back.
A seat belt, yes,
But my mind finds family,
A place where everyone loves you.
This can’t be found out there.
So I sit back and sigh,
And turn to gaze at the leather in front of me.
Still I can’t help but look out
And sorrow turns to envy.
How I long to travel out into that landscape.
How I want to escape my invisible bonds.
How I wish the water pouring down
Would wash me into the unknown.
To explore, to grow old,
To escape, to be reborn.
So I dream of escaping the pavement
And getting swallowed by a landscape.
Being lost in the green.
Running until I vanish into the rainstorm.
Why, oh why,
Can I not escape?

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Thanks

In response to "Apologies,"
I felt this was almost required.
Because for every apology,
there are plenty of people that I haven't ever thanked.
Many overlap.

It's going to be another ongoing list,
so if "Apologies" wasn't your cup of tea,
keep moving.
But this is just as important,
and I already know that at least one is about you.

To those who told me I couldn't do it,
you pushed me to be the person that I am today.
Every insult, ever demeaning remark, ever pull down
just pushed me further into my future.
Thank you.

To those who told me I could do it,
you helped me get back up when I fell flat.
You challenged me to surpass what I had already done,
even when I didn't think I could do it.
Thank you.

To those who stuck by me during rough times,
you were an amazing friend, and I couldn't ask for more.
All I can hope is that I have the ability to repay you
if the time comes.
Thank you.

To those who inspired me,
you mean more to me that you realize.
The things you do and tell me have helped me through
the hardest times in my life.
Thank you.

To those who made my heart jump,
you know who you are.
You made me realize that the world isn't full of vile people
and even as a teenager, happiness can be found.
Thank you.

To those who ripped my heart apart,
it might sound weird that I'm thanking you,
but each heart break proved to me that
I don't have to rely on another person to be happy.
Thank you.

To those who taught me,
I try to take everything that I learn and use it
in some form or fashion.
Every situation is a learning situation.
Thank you.

To those who gave me another chance,
God knows that I have had some rocky friendships,
and I am more grateful then you know for
the chance to redeem myself.
Thank you.

To those who tormented me in middle school,
you don't realize how much you changed me.
I'm stronger know then I ever could have been,
simply because you threw all that petty drama my way.
Thank you.

To those who insult me,
you help me realize my faults,
and I strive to change them.
Even though you deliver them in a slightly rude way, life isn't ever pretty.
Thank you.

To those who read my writing,
the fact that you keep coming back for more
does so much that you can't comprehend the magnitude
of importance you have to me.
Thank you.

To those who I call fellow thespians,
I probably thank you most of all.
Some of my best moments have happened amongst theatre kids,
and all of you mean so much to me that I can't ever fully express it.
Thank you.

To those who I call fellow Boy Scouts,
the skills that you have taught me far exceed fire building and how to use a knife.
Scouting has opened tons of doors for me,
and if I worked for forever and a day, I couldn't ever repay you.
Thank you.

To those who I have met through my church,
you are the chain that keeps me from falling into the endless pit of high school drama.
From choir to youth and everywhere in between,
you have pulled me off the edge.
Thank you.

To my sister,
the fact that you get your own entire stanza should say enough,
but I'm going to break the template just for you.
You fit into almost every category above.
You love me when no one else does.
You help me when no one else can.
You pull me up when everyone else shoots me down.
You laugh with me when everyone else laughs at me.
You laugh at me when I need to laugh at myself.
You taught me that country is the best genre of music.
You inspire me to reach for greater heights.
You calm me down when I'm about to explode.
You are the best sibling one could ask for, and most certainly not the one that I deserve.
You won't ever let me make up all the things that you did for me, because you love me too much.
You are the best thing that I have in my life.
You are my best friend.
Thank you.

As I said, it's not going to stop here.
"Apologies" and "Thanks" will keep growing.
If you know what you did to me,
you know which ones apply to you.
There's only one thing left to say.

Thank you.

Apologies

I would like to apologize.
To you.
And you.
Even you.
It's been very long overdue.

I am not perfect,
I won't even pretend that I am.
However, if any of my countless flaws
have ever caused you any pain,
I am truly sorry.

If you read this, you might just think,
"Oh look, he's hiding behind his blog,
he doesn't have the decency to apologize to my face."
The fact is, there are too many faces I would have to approach,
and too many people that would just laugh right back in mine.

So I'm just going to throw my apologies
into my ward.
If one of them seems to be pointed towards you,
it's probably meant for you.
Just read them all, I'm sure one relates to you.

I'm sorry for judging you.
I jumped to conclusions about you
when I only had one side of the story,
if that.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry I distanced myself from you.
I was going through a really rough time,
and I thought that i could do it alone.
I couldn't.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for lying to you.
The truth is so hard for me to face sometimes,
and I thought that lying would make it easier.
I guess that isn't so true, since I have to keep living a lie.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for disrespecting you.
You were just trying to help,
and I couldn't get past my ego
to accept your help.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for insulting you.
Truth is, I admire your qualities,
and I even admit to being jealous of you.
The insults just seemed easier to live with.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for holding a grudge against you.
Even this long after what happened,
I still can't find it within myself to repair our friendship.
But I can't stand living with this grudge.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for clinging.
You had done something to me that I wasn't used to,
and I couldn't help but want more,
even though it was obvious you didn't.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for taking advantage of you.
I was vulnerable, but you were more so.
I wanted to feel better, and felt like you could do that to me.
I just hurt each of us even more.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for leading you on.
This might seem a lot like taking advantage, but it's worse.
I played with your emotions, simply because I didn't understand mine.
It was terrible, and I still feel horrible because of it.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for demanding you change.
Not to steal song lyrics, but you're perfect the way you are.
I couldn't look past my own personal opinions to see how
the real you is light years better then I will ever be.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for overstepping my bounds.
What I did was rude and selfish,
and I know that you know I was just trying to protect you,
but it was not something that a real friend would do.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for that conversation.
I shouldn't have ever pressed "Send" on that text,
because even though you said it would be alright,
I already know that our friendship won't be the same anymore.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for doubting you.
After everything that I told you and you helped me through,
I didn't believe you in your darkest hour.
It was really inexcusable.
Please forgive me.

I'm sorry for keeping the truth from you.
It isn't lying, simply because I never said anything constituting a lie.
But you spilled yourself out to me,
and I couldn't do the same to you.
Please forgive me.

This list won't stop here.
I will mess up again.
And when I can't face you because of how bad I made it,
expect to see an apology here waiting for you.

Please accept it.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Yourself

Every student in high school wishes one thing,
to fit in.
When that can't be done...
What is one to do with their life?

It's almost torture having to keep putting on a mask every time
you walk onto campus,
then take it off later
if you can.

Slowly, those masks take over your whole life
and the person that you truly are
is forced into a shell that gets tossed
into the sea of high school terror.

When you find that person
that makes you stop and think about taking the masks off,
you jump at an opportunity to be yourself again.
But it falls short.

Shut down.
Forced away.
Re-masked.
Forgotten.

What ever happened to class?
Where have all the good friends gone?
What ever happened to good morals?
We all need our heroes.

But how do we separate the heroes from the villains?
Eventually everyone goes.
When it comes down to it, the only person you can trust is
yourself.

But is it you that you're trusting?
Or is it your mask?
Maybe fitting in
isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

I would rather stand out
then wear a mask any day.
But it's too late.
I'm lost.

I am not myself.
Your are not yourself.
As much as you hate to admit it,
we are all just masks in the freak show of life.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

As The Rain Falls

*A little background information, this piece was an indirect assignment from one of my favortie authors, Stephen King. He outlines all the information in his book On Writing. If you are interested in it, I'm sure the challenge is somewhere on Google. Just look up "stephen king dick and jane challenge."




Rain is one of nature’s great mysteries. How can something as simple as falling water be able to invoke memories of situations long forgotten? How can dihydrogen monoxide affected by gravity send someone not just into their past, but into a world of their own creation? A world where one cannot be harmed. A world where it is just a single person, their thoughts, and the rain. A world where one escapes commitments and problems, happiness and sadness. Joy and fear.

                Except no one can escape fear.

                Fear. What a world it is to be able to live without fear! I cannot even begin to explain how life has changed, now that Nell and I don’t need to worry about the fear that plagued us every day when we walked in the door. Two years ago. Two years ago today, we escaped that beast, that SHELL of a woman that used to be my wife, her mother.

                We escaped fear.

                Except no one can escape fear.

                Little Nell hasn’t even mentioned her mother. She is so young…I am thankful for the mind blocking out those things that it knows are bad. Nell was fearful, so very fearful. But then it changed. She escaped it

                Except no one can escape fear

and kept living her life right away. I haven’t been so fortunate. I still make sure that no one is anywhere in the house before I leave and right when I get home. I still have the gun hidden under the floorboard that Jane and I ripped up to hide our belongings when we left town. The “decorative” samurai sword still hangs over the fireplace. For whatever reason, I just can’t let go of them. The terror I outran would find me. I would again be held by fear.

                Except no one can escape fear.

                Sitting here, looking out the window, I know now that I did the right thing. Jane needed help. Something was wrong with her, and I couldn’t do anything to save her. The hospital is working to fix it, whatever “it” is. Jane is safe, she will be cured. Maybe she can come home soon. Maybe we can all go picnicking as a family again, with Nell and her dolls, and Jane spraying on the lavender perfume she loved so much. Maybe she won’t be so disturbed, so abusive, so…paranoid.

                But I know that can’t happen. It’s just the rain playing tricks on me. Jane can never come home. The hospital can’t make her better. She is a mental patient, patient number 112358-F, and she will be until the day she dies. She can’t ever leave the hospital. She can’t ever escape her fear. She can’t ever be like me and Nell.

                Except no one can escape fear.

                It’s just the rain. A silent storm. Drop after drop hits the window, no thunder to be heard, no lighting to be seen. Nell calls storms like this “Angel tears,” because the angels are sad about what is happening on Earth, but they don’t want God to hear them crying. Sweet Nell… I’m sure she would love to be right where I am now instead of upstairs taking her nap. That was something that Jane was always good at, putting Nell down for her nap. It’s still a fight to get her to sleep. Luckily, once she’s down, she’s out for the count. Even if the angels were screaming, not crying; even if thunder rolled and lightning crashed, she still wouldn’t be waking up. Nell always sleeps through her naptime, and through the night. I wake up every now and then looking at the empty spot next to me on the bed. I wonder if I did the right thing with Jane, condemning her. Then I remember the fear that Nell and I lived with, and how happy we are without

Except no one can escape fear.

her in our lives. What a world…

                I actually thought about this a lot last week. I saw in the paper that a mental hospital burned down in a freak accident. Of course the first thing that I thought of was Jane. It wasn’t her hospital that burned down of course, she was in New York. There is more than one mental hospital in New York, of course it wasn’t hers. I almost went to see her after I saw the news, but it’s late November in Maine, and I don’t want to worry about foul weather. So I stayed. I called a few times, but always got a busy tone. Probably other panicking relatives.

                I fixed myself a pot of coffee, and went to sit on our covered porch. The storm was starting to pick up a bit, now there was quite a bit of wind to accompany the rain. For whatever reason, I like sitting outside when it gets windy. I guess I’m hoping that the wind will carry me away from all my problems, my future. My past. Especially my past. One thing is certain; the wind definitely carried me away from my fear.

                Except no one can escape fear.

The wind and rain made for a calming sound, and I watched all the raindrops fall into our pool and send small ripples out. Drop, ripple. Drop, ripple. Drop, ripple. Drop…ripple… Drop…

                A crash woke me up an hour later, making me spill my now lukewarm coffee all over my lap. The wind, which had really picked up, had blown the front door open, and as I ran to close it, I saw that the same thing had happened to many other houses down the street. I shut and locked the door, then turned to go up the stairs and check on Nell and change. But as I approached the landing, a smell hit my nose that was all too familiar. Memories flooded back to me, good ones and bad ones and memories that even the rain could not wash the dirt off of. Memories of picnics and dolls and fancy perfume.

                At the top of the stairs, looking into Nell’s bedroom, spraying on that damn lavender perfume was Jane. She sent a playful wave in my direction, then pressed a single finger to her pale, chapped lips, and walked into the room. I sprinted up the stairs, suppressing the urge to shout out her to get the hell out of my house, and before I knew it I was in Nell’s doorway. Jane was sitting on the bed, watching Nell sleep with the bottle of perfume on the ground by her feet. In her right hand, she caressed the gun from under the floorboard. In her left, the sword from the wall lay flat against Nell’s stomach. Her hair was flat against her face, soaked by the rain, and an old, dirty, ripped smock was plastered onto a body obviously suffering from malnutrition.

                “She grew up so fast. Two years and she already looks like a young woman. Hello Dick, how ya been?” Jane whispered this as she ran the sword up and down poor sleeping Nell’s body.

                “Jane, get the hell away from my daughter.”

                She laughed. “YOUR daughter? Why not OUR daughter?”

                “You lost your claim to her the first time you slapped her. Get the sword away from her, point the gun elsewhere. Just leave her alone.”

                “Point it elsewhere? If that’s what you want.” She slowly lifted the gun and pointed it directly at me, the sword then following. Her arm was steady as the heavy samurai weapon became parallel with the floor. “Let’s talk. Downstairs.” Jane began walking towards me and to avoid the point of the honorable blade, I was forced to walk backwards, down the stairs and out onto the patio.

                I couldn’t take my eyes off of hers. “How did you get out?”

                “We all did our own laundry. Two years of smuggling bleach and one match made it pretty easy. I’m sure you saw ‘Mental Hospital burns in Freak Accident: No Survivors.”

                “You’re insane.”

                “Dick, you abandoned me! I loved you so much and you shut me up in that godforsaken place. Why did you do that Dick? Why?”

                Now it was my turn to laugh. “You didn’t love us. You TORMENTED us! The last few years I tried to save you, but I ended up LOATHING you, not loving you.”

                “But you knew something was wrong. The doctors from hell told you I had something wrong in the head. But they were wrong. I knew what I was doing, and I know what I’m going to do.”

                “Jane, you’re disturbed. Get out, or I will call the police.”

                “Go ahead! I already called them! Someone is going to need to clean up the mess that you caused.”

                “There hasn’t been a mess since you left and we finally started living a life that we enjoyed, and life with happiness, and without fear.”

                “Oh Richard… What a true sentence. Except no one can escape fear. You should know that. Well, I restate that. No one LIVING can escape fear. You want to escape it? I will be more than happy to oblige. I’m taking my daughter back. Good-bye Dick. Escape your fear.” With that, Jane lowered the gun and leveled two shots into my chest. I couldn’t feel them, but I knew they hit, because I saw the world falling down as I collapsed on the floor. I saw Jane drop the gun. I heard a small voice cry out “Daddy?” And everything slowed down.

                Jane spun around, swinging the samurai sword at the source of the noise that had violated her ritual. I saw the sword fly back in the air, crimson drops scattering off the front of the sword, and watched Nell’s body drop to the floor, her head rolling up against the opposite wall. I heard Jane scream and heard the clatter of the sword against the cobblestone floor. I saw her run, and run into the arms of one of the three policemen at the front of the patio. I heard the police calling for back up. Then I heard Nell’s laughter, she was calling to me. Singing, over and over again.

                No more fear Daddy! No more fear! We escaped fear! No more fear Daddy! Come picnic with me, come play with my dollies! Come on daddy, we can make angel tears now, let’s make angel tears. Don’t let God hear you, he might get upset! Let’s cry on Mommy, let’s cry just for her!

                Angel tears…Let them fall. As the rain falls, let the tears of the angels fall onto Jane.

                Of course, Nell. Let’s go make angel tears for Mommy.

Saturday, March 31, 2012

A Proud Race

We are a nocturnal race.
Sun is a mystery to us, simply because it is gone
when we enter the world.
We conduct internal genocide.
Each would gladly slaughter another
just to take their place.
We are slaves to society.
We work in the shadows of our sweatshop
unknown to the outside world.
We get minimal recognition,
as all our work goes into an
instance of use.

Yet we endure the pain
because it is all we know.
It is all we wish to be.
It is what we love.
And those instances, each one,
holds nothing compared to what was
put into the work.
Yes, we suffer for a lifetime.
But each "Yes", each "Good Job",
each standing ovation,
That makes us who we are.
A proud race.

Family

The glittering shine
of a flame-wrapped cross
moves me in ways unknown to others.
Bestowed upon me on the day
that the Holy Spirit took up roost
in my soul,
it has not left me since.
Through plains and cities and mountains and oceans
this cross has pulled me through.
But when the Spirit takes its home away
what shall become of the cross?
Should it lay forever with me?
Or should it meet a new neck
and share a new soul
and see new places?
Will I feel whole if it is removed?
Perhaps that will be my legacy, in some far off future,
"Who will get grandfather's cross?"