Long Time No See

The ink in my pen ran out a long time ago. 

Now I transcribe each noun, adjective and verb with my own blood.

The paper soaks up my pain and transforms it into riddles of similes and metaphors-

A confusion of emotions. 

Confusion is what creates chaos, and you need chaos to invoke a revolution- and revolution is the never ending fight for the survival of our identity. 

Sometimes I am afraid to write, because when my creative ports open,  the unstoppable flood gates spills truths that drown others and I become an accessory to murder. 

Turbulent waves- rip tides of secrets and painful memories seep into the fibers of lined paper and feed hidden seeds that sprout the language of the soul- a poem.

I stopped writing for a long time because when I do- I can feel my poorly healed scars start to dehisce and the pain taunts me as it bangs against the bars of my caged heart and the fallen angel that lives within me starts screaming to speak. 

Mute. 

Mute. 

Mute. 

You can only press the button but so many times before it breaks and your only choice is to listen and turn the volume up. 

What is your soul saying? 

I used to wear my heart on my sleeve but it kept getting impaled by flying debris from the tornados of fate-

But still I moved forward-

And when the barbed wire from the fences of life kept nicking my skin-

I still fought to progress-

and I had to jump so damn high to surmount the hurdles of trials and tribulations, hurdles which at times bruised my shins- over and over again 

-but I still staggered on. 

Wading through various cesspools of shitty circumstances, trying to stop and smell the roses proved to be challenging- yet still possible.

People just don’t understand that when home becomes hell the streets become heaven. 

I’m sure that I’ve shared a drink and ate dinner with the devil many times.

I gambled it all away to the point where the only thing I had left was half a mustard seed in my back left pocket.     

And in a swamp of decay- I was able to use it to grow faith.

And from that small patch of faith I was able to replant hope. 

I had to stand tall and blow away the clouds of shame that hung over me in order to let the sun break through. 

And man did my forest bloom.

My brain sprouted vines and carried me back to civilization where I continue to strive. 

I allowed my face to be smothered with a pillow held by childhood trauma for way too long. 

And you know what- it feels good to hear my voice again.

It feels good to be back.

Hello, It’s been a while.