I Use to Pity the Disabled, Now I Pity Myself

Did I feel that she was less than me. Did I see her as inferior…thus she must be in pain? She was evidently intellectually disabled and I immediately felt bad, I felt pity. Who am I to feel pity, what authority do I possess? Who is to say she was in pain? What I see as supposed normality is mine, but for her, her existence is normality. And for him, and for them, and for they – their normality is theirs! What if she sees us as the sufferers? It is known that those with autism live on a different spectrum of life. They see, hear sounds, and experience the world in complete difference, I wonder if they feel pity for us? 

Normal. Normal. Normal. This word itself is the quintessence of insanity, of abnormality. I think I am the one suffering, I think we are the ones who are striving to fit in. To be normal, this very idea should be pitied. 

I became uncomfortable with my own presence. I felt disgusted with my thoughts, which where uncontrollable. I had no control, the emotions I felt became of its own will. I see a journey in us all to undo all that we have been told and gather new consciousness and perspective. It will not be easy to undo that which operates on a unconscious level ; to thwart that which thinks before we think. 

  I use to pity the disabled, now I pity myself. 

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I fell down the stairs: I’m just Tired

Normal people just say “I’m Tired,” but for a writer it is never that simple. Those words would never describe inside. A mind filled with commas, spaces, poetic pauses, and multiple literally elements is far too convoluted and filled to use common words.

This is me saying I’m tired. This is me saying I want to take a nap. Talk about dramatic!

~I took a step and thought it was firm. The bottom of the staircase bruised and beaten I look up for help. Raise my hands, grab the edge, and yell.

Today is still a good day, I remind myself. Just a little blood, a twisted ankle, and wrangled back – my watch still works. It’s 5:00 o’clock, the entire night is ahead. I have people to call, words to look up, day dreams to scribble down, I got to get up. But it feels good to lay down for once. The blood is warm. My foot looks like a puppet’s, without its master. ~

I Have That Itch – I Am Being Called To Serve

I am getting that itch, you know the one. The one when I have to leave. The one when I feel that all my work is done and there is nothing I can teach you. I have given you all the tools you need to survive.  But most importantly, I am being called somewhere else. Where? I do not know, but I am being called. I can feel them or him or her calling me. Help is needed, my guidance is wanted.  A new adventure awaits. It is a life style I am becoming accustomed to; one I am beginning to understand.  I would love to stay in one place but I cannot, this is not quite my reality yet.

 

I learn and teach. I make and give. I teach and learn. I give and make.  I am a traveler of sorts. An inventor of many. An explorer of times. I am alive. I have to share what I have learned to give what is needed. I have to learn what is experienced and then spread what needs to be known. This is my calling, this is my being…this is my life.

 

This next place feels hot. It feels quiet and unsaid. I feel energy kept, waiting to be released. I see sex, I hear drugs, and my eyes burn from the lights. I do not know this place but I have heard of this town. I have seen these people but I have not met them. They know of me but have never dreamed of me. I am their hope, they are my aspiration. This place feels right. There is a lesson waiting.

How Do I Stop This Tape??

I tire of the repeated stories in my head. I grow bored of the constant replay and edits. Is their no sanity in this mind? I am not my past. I am the present. These words ring wonders but the practicing of it, not so much. Why is it so easy to replay pain but hard to imagine glory? My day is filled with fighting my mind from wandering into the pits. Why are we all so plagued with the belief that we must suffer? We are obsessed with the idea of struggle. Man vs Man. Man vs Nature. Man vs Himself. Elementary, my dear Watson. It makes a good story. Cinema. Lights, Camera, Action!

I want to see without thinking for once. I want to feel without feeling. I want to exist without the rotating, “Why Do I Exist?” Can I sip tea and be merry in the motion of sipping?

My Pain is Many

I watched Tyler Perry’s For Colored Girls this weekend and it put me in a whirlwind of emotions. The first time I watched this movie was during a period of my life when I was experiencing extreme anxiety – I went insane! Now, if you have not seen this movie you are definitely missing out.  Here is one of four poems I wrote as the tide of emotions erupted.

~My Pain is Many~

My pain is lonely

My pain is horny

My pain is crazy

Yet, it invokes my creativity

But, it drives my sanity

 

My pain is single

My pain is sexual

My pain is infidelity

Yet, it invokes my celibacy

But, it drives my chastity

 

My pain is complex

My pain is medicated

My pain is judgmental

Yet, it invokes my kingship

But, it prevents my downfall

 

My pain is beauty

My pain is lovely

My pain is contagious

Yet, it invokes my sadness

But, it drives my passion

 

My pain is simple

MY pain is soothing

My pain is Godly

A Smile Reached My Bedside

I live for the thrill. I live for the times I cannot believe what I have done. I am 24 and raging. I am 24 and evolving. I am 24 and changing. Time moves so slowly while life moves so fast. One minute I am here and the next I am worlds away. A new adventure every minute. A new heart every second. Sometimes I wonder if I will be alive in the morning, sometimes I wish I would be dead in the morning. I cannot endure a pain greater than the one today, but I know I can experience greater joy than I did two days ago. I guess that is what keeps me going. The potential for happiness, the hope of faith. The look of better more fulfilling days.

 A smile reached my bedside today, from who I do not know but it warmed my toes and wiggled in my stomach.  I awoke with a rush and sent a smile and a hug to a bedside in a far off land. 

I Find My Happiness In Blushes As I Offer Homage To The Cold

 

I was told I was free to choose. I was raised to believe that dreaming was infinite, but somewhere down the line the story changed. Instead, I was forced to conform. Instead, I was told not to speak of my dreams. Instead, I was clothed with half-truths or no truths. Perhaps, I do not understand. Perhaps, I heard wrong. Now, I am fed up. Now, I am shamelessly confused. Now, I do not know if reality is a dream and if my dreams are anything at all. I would love to say that I am chasing my dreams, but sometimes I do not even know if am capable of dreaming.

 

The dream that we have, is it even our dream? Or is it a dream we were told to dream, a supposed happiness that we should seek. Happiness, what is this happiness? Can anyone define it? Can anyone honestly tell me they are happy and if you can, where do you find it? Are you able to buy it? Are there different types? Do the poor have less of a chance at being happy? Does the middle class have less money to afford happiness than the rich?  Where is your happy place?

 

Somedays I am sure of what I want from life. Somedays I am not even sure I am alive. Somedays I cannot find myself, not even in mirrors – I cast no reflection. I alter between certainty and vagueness. I alter between form and shapelessness. I envision a great tomorrow then I envision mass destruction. Love lays her head next to mine only moments later as I flip the pillow I find a coldness that reaches bone.

I imagine that which is cold was once warm. I imagine it only takes a kind word to change the world. I imagine if I change one cold heart then I have changed the world. I do not fight the coldness, I embrace it. I do not argue with the coldness, I listen. I do not spit at the coldness, I offer it homage and food.

With each spoonful of concern the cold blushes. With each smell of warm smile the cold begins to release its rigid movement. With each sip of hot love the cold glimmers of sparkling memories heart-filled.  

And there I find it. And there I feel complete. And there I see myself. And there I exist. I find my Happiness In Blushes. 

My Gays Put Your Clothes On

Found this piece in my archive. I must have seen something on Instagram or Facebook that upset me…

 

My Gays put your clothes on

Your body is your temple, a gift from above. You do not need to expose it to show it exists.  Your body is for your bedroom not social media.  It is becomes unduly disappointing to see so many fight, argue, and lose their lives to ensure our equality and watch it be squandered in half-naked pictures. Your pictures do not exude sexiness – it presents insecurity.

 

My Gays put your clothes on

Instead of uncovering your body let’s try unraveling your minds; peel off the shirt of superficiality, drag down the pants of starched sexualities, and kick off your boots. You are here and no one is going to take you away. The fierceness you try to portray in pictures, can you use it in a sentence?? Can you hold a conversation and convince the world why you should have rights? Can you stand tall and say I do!?

 

My Gays put your clothes on

We no longer have to settle for the gay next door. There are gays around the world. Gays go to school, Gays run companies, Gays write books, Gays teach classes, and yes Gays are even priests. You can close a 250 million dollar deal and still be fabulous. No one is telling you to put down the bowties or destroy your Cher records.

My Gays put your clothes on

Through Tears, Snot, and love: A Letter to My Father

I sat crossed legged on my bed one night and wrote this through tears and anguish. I had one of the largest scares of my entire life. I was not sure how long I had left on this planet because of a foolish impulsive act.  I took my body for granted; I told myself I was invincible.  I stole my innocence away because I was sick of being patient.  Instead of turning to my family for support, I turned to my impoverished emotions. 

**This is my first time reading it since it was written. I like it just the way it is.**

 

Through Tears, Snot, and love: A Letter to My Father

~Will you love me forever knowing that I sinned? Will you love me knowing that your boy is not a boy? Will you love me tomorrow knowing that I am sick? Will you love me when they pull out the coffin? Can you love me when I choose the colors? Can you look at me with my sores? Can you cry with me or for me when I can no longer?  Will you love me father when I pass? Will you bury me? Can you look at me eyes full of tears and tell me you are proud? Tell me you love me and hate and shame do not run through you.

Father, I love you and I have sinned but I am human and I am a sinner. Will you love me forever and can you bury me next to you? Can you hold me as I slip? When it gets dark remember my smile. Let it brighten your day. Look towards the sun and see me. I will always be with you. I will never leave your side. Guide my little brother so he can be a man. Tell him I let him down. Tell him that love will guide him right. Hug my older brother and never let go. The days you didn’t say I love you will never occur again. Whisper it in the wind and pass it on the ripples of the sea. I am your baby boy and I am sorry. ~

 

This excerpt/poem is extremely emotional for me. I am tearing as I write this.  My father is the greatest; I simply want him to be proud of me. He is. We spend our entire lives trying to please our parents even after they pass. At one point I told myself if my parents do not agree with my decision as a man to love other men that is on them, but truthfully I want their approval. I want their blessing. I want them at the wedding.  I want them to hand me over to the love of my life. I want to peer over while at the altar and see my father crying. He will declare that he is proud and could ask me to be no different than I am.  

 

I do not know about you but I want my parents to be a part of my life, my new standard family; a non-traditional non-hetero style of living. I’m in love with my second chance.

The Oracle Has Spoken

I sat one day in front of the computer uncomfortable as ever. I was upset, disturbed, and irritated. The worst part about this experience was I did not know why. All I knew was I wanted to scream. My spirit was in turmoil and from past events I have learned you Never ignore an unsettled spirit. So as writers do, I opened a word document. With no effort at all my fingers preordained for this moment typed as my eyes and mind watched in wonderment. I felt like a modern day oracle of Delphi. This is what I prophesied…

– It was the dawn of time when you said you loved me. But as the fish walked the first walk of life you fled. You grabbed the four-legged creature and left me gasping for air. I was the mer-creature left in a swamp of murk. That night the sea grew cold, deep, and unknown. My scales lost its luster and my gills filled with hate. Eyes peering just over the water-esk horizon I saw you leap into the air on its back. Bound not by green but held by blue.

Every crevice became my shelter, eyes no longer needed, sun unseen. Colder and colder I retreated, deeper and deeper I wandered. The sea was my jar of tears. I could not understand why I could not fly, where was my four-legged creature? I could not understand. I swam faster than any sea horse. I could dodge a shiver of megalodons. The pearls I harbored in my pouch caused volcanoes to heel. I am a masterpiece. The children we would rear would bear the name Triton. A dynasty of esteem. –

I am not sure when the rest of the prophesy will come. I know there is more because I can feel it. But I’ll let you know this – as soon as my spirit starts to roll I shall swiftly start to write. But who knows, the spirit does as it pleases. I’ll probably end up with an entirely new and unrelated foretelling.