drip.

Oh baby I just wanna drown in your unselfishness, swallow up your insecurities and let your weird ways carry me in rhythm to the beat of your drum.

Let the waves of obscurity cease at the crease of your wonton smile.

If I can't breath that's fine don't worry! 

I don't want to miss a second of being submerged in whatever abyss I find you in. Slowly through the darkness of unknown comfort yet trusting grasp, the rising possibility that 'everything will be ok' buoys me past the break of despair to be met with confident love and affection. 

One deep breath of cool crisp circumstance shoots like lightening from bow to stern, propped afloat my own stream of constant indifference. Finally! 

 If this is all fear has to offer then I suppose it was all very worth it.

That Ol' Thang

Just when things seem to be proportionately swell: [job(s) are pleasant, people in my life loving, bed warm and belly full] 

off in the horizon, just beyond the river bend and downtown boogie ave comes blindsided slaughter of euphoria. Death. 

Having barely navigated the jungle of grief these past 9 months and seeing that comforting EXIT sign like turning down my block after a long night- I find myself completely lost in sadness again. 

Hold up. 

Not lost like "How am I gonna survive this" lost. 

But "How do I make it out THIS time?" lost. 

"Do I have enough gas left?" lost.

"Why am I back here?" lost.

"How many more times.." lost.

"God I am not strong enough." lost.

This whole experience of loss in two's is new and quite frankly the worst. I have nothing in my past to compare it too, and to ask people of their own experience makes it hurt even more. Their genuine and often unrefined emotions about the losses of loved ones stings like a paper cut I'm reminded of under hot water. Years later and the scar is still seen and felt. 

I fear that this not only will break me but also will repeat itself. And THAT will bend me to splinters. 

Of course I am rambling. That's what grief does- I'm spilling over with wayward, forceful emotions that are engaged without a destination. Their tenacity is intimidating and often wonder if this is at all my reality or have I finally cracked. Reality so damn full of hurt and unattainable salve that this must be a movie and I am just dreaming in playbacks. Reruns of "Worst Case Scenarios" staring me in a visionary nightmare. 

Nah Fam- it's just me and facts.

Of course I'm projecting like a mutha, but like the fitty-11 stages of grief I'm just treading water through all of them. Keeping my head barely above water, but still not falling under. The waves will come, that's a promise. I'll just keep kicking? 

To Find

As things normaly go: 

What is missed is searched, and what you find is a discovery. 

So when I find something familiar in an unfamiliar place (usually unexpected but profoundly in need) the question of "Why This; Why Now?" is answered in the discovery itself. 

Something like seeing the lesson in all things green in equal magnitude. 

Those days when I cant love myself- love finds me. When I can't find laughter, I'm suddenly surrounded by it. 

Or on the dreary side: a tidal wave of friends loosing friends isn't me wishing to deal cards with the devil. In grief there is a feeling of overwhelming hopelessness and sadness- in these seemingly historic lows of existence comes a flush of (wait for it) purpose and joy. 

I sound crazy; that's how you know it's true.

Just as being swept off your feet is a reminder to stay grounded while dreaming, a scrape and a bruise wakes you up from the present cirsumstances of a nightmare. 

How nice that neither scenario stains too deeply that it cannot be rinsed new.

Passengers

Been a belaboring few days.

Tense shoulders and back, achy joints and a horribly busy mind.
Did the very things that normally cool down my overheated countenance but I was still scrambling for an answer.

This burden of frustration was getting heavy. It stunk and seeped all over all my nice things.  I couldn't bleach the stains, and not enough Tide rinses to handle the rest. I felt ashamed.  More than anything I was just tired. Tired of this heavy-metal, cumbersome "whatchamacallit".  I just wanted to be free.

So now-
Laying in stillness and all its splendor I finally have a clear moment to see the gold that shimmers all around me.  And some silver too.
I dropped my luggage of sickness at the doors of Choice and opened the door that read "Humble". With Humility the next door read "Acceptance" and it was a heavy drag but with some sweat I emerged. With one final grunt, I found it.
Love.
Love wrapped me so tight that I couldn't fight my way out of it, even though that wretched misery was starting to feel familiar.
Now I am ok, pleasant. No exaggerated worries to grimace at or wacky grins to laugh at. But this love all around me has cling to my hardest components and soothed every callous from carrying that unnecessary luggage.

Lesson Learned: when Lost, look for Love.

Make Room.

Grab some room, by all means. Occupy a small space I've saved just for you.
I'm sorry it isn't too pretty.
Some days I just can't keep up but it is always there for a stay or for a while.
It fits just perfect in all nuanced disbelief and off color swirls of chaos. On my side there is a white rag for defeat, and your side an obnoxious reminder of whom lays near me.
Some mornings you smother my mind.  Some Days you're so heavy I have to unload you somewhere. But at night is when I handle you best.
When we are both winded, depleted, in complete deficit is when I can wrestle you till the very end. At night, I win.
And all I have to do it try.

Pain. Not the choice

When thought of, it would be safe to assume that something accidental would be the culprit. A bump, something sharp and sudden, or sneaky and burning. Never an intent on breaking skin or hearts. No?
If it all were caused by careless accidents, then how do we heal?
That is the enigma; healing from accidents is nearer to nature. Safer to understand that the causation was not direct but off-aim. Yet lucky to be struck, I suppose. Easier to heal from a wound you know of.
What horror films and justice academy's are tasked at would be: when there is no accident at all. Just intent.
Pure, intensively activated intent to cause vengeful and specific Pain. Pain could be used as a mnemonic device for Participants Are In Neutral.
Neutral to the neighboring events to take place at the hands of a soul-less (NOT careless) beings of nightmares. Not hiding in your closet or under your bed: closer than your forgotten thought that you remembered a moment ago.
That Close.
Rose tinted world views easily hide the snarls of guilty bastards that gladly swarm in your oasis.
Pay Attention to the waves you didn't wake.
Pay Attention In Neutral.

Just a little bit of Sometimes

Dreams deferred don't often start that way but do end as such. But what about when a person reaches that same fate of reusability?

From a promise or a premise of endless enjoyment and distraction becomes a distant memory. Racked in used-up emotions that were tacked onto a wall of imagination. What then?
Whom or what do we miss most; the promise or the dream? The anticipation or the ante-up?