The Feeling

Waking up,
no energy, feeling weak,
feeling down.

blue sky, clouds,
sun shining.

A breeze plays among the chimes,
I don’t know the words
that could explain this feeling,
or even describe it.

I only know that when it comes,
this little black book and pen,
finds its way to my hand.

Instead of me bleeding,
instead of me crying,
the pen weeps ink on this page,
the page begins to fill,
until, finally bereft,
the pen stops moving.

Or maybe, this ink is my blood,
transmuted through archaic processes,
from me through the pen,
and these words are the result
of all I must express.

All that demands expression, somehow satiated,
by the blood splattered all over this page,
in these sloppy yet organized patterns,
these squiggles we call words.

This feeling is an old familiar one,
comfortable in its familiarity,
but terrible in the act of feeling it.

No wonder as I bleed this ink
onto the page I feel an emptiness,
I identify as relief.

The Storm

I enter.

My mom starts talking about
how great and good God is,
the way that tree fell.

I feel such a surge
of hatred, anger and maybe
even a little bitterness.

But I choke back my words,
and say nothing at all because
I don’t want to hurt her.

I exit.

I have come to feel
that everyone is entitled
to their beliefs.

I just wish they would
stop shoving them down,
my throat, smothering me.

Is it too much to ask
that you respect my right
to believe as I wish???

I am doing that for you,
though your unquestioning,
sheep-like behavior wounds me.

When will humanity evolve
past the need to define God
and simply accept things as they are?

When will they let go
of the old, the outdated,
beliefs of others, long dead?

Will they ever learn
to define God for themselves
and respect each person’s experience?

The wind rages, trees fall,
limbs are blown across the lawn,
reflecting the storm within my soul.

Message to the Monster

You use darkness
to persecute that which
you call darkness,
because you are unable
to face the darkness
deep within yourself.

You try to control
everything outside you
because you are unable
to control yourself.

You are weak,
but want to appear strong,
you think that strength
comes from power,
that if you can force your will
on others you must be powerful,
but you are weak
because true strength
comes from inside.

Deep inside, deep down inside
you are rotten and corrupted,
you look for demons outside you,
but you are the real demon
and with your every act,
your every evil deed,
you feed the demon
and make it stronger.

You are not merely a flawed human,
you are a flaw, dressed as a human.
You are not worth saving,
Your only value lies in your death,
so that your stinking frame
will no longer haunt this world.

We will all be better off
without you here,
the day you die
will be the happiest,
most joyous day
in human history.