out of sync

I’d like to think

I am a tree

but I’m not as kind

or resolute.

 

Strip some bark aside,

look inside,

the heart’s not hard to find.

You’ll see it beating,

hurting,

squeezing some stress

out through the cracks.

 

If people aren’t cutting it down

they’re digging it out.

Either way it’s a sick feeling

and a horrible sound.

 

I’ve been looking for earth

to hold my roots,

a placed called Settle

is where I want to be.

But the more I reach for the soil

the less there is

holding onto me.

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Time To Go

When you show someone you’re vulnerable, it scares you. That’s normal. But it scares them too. They’re afraid they’ll have the responsibility of holding you up when they can barely stand themselves, because life is hard. There’s no free pass. Not everyone can rise to the challenge so they look for easy options where there is none, sacrificing chances for meaningful happiness in the process. You can’t blame them. They feel what they feel, think what they think,  and act accordingly. It doesn’t mean they made the right choice but they believe they did and no argument can be pitted against that.

Believing something doesn’t make it true but it does mean you won’t change your mind, at least in the short-term. This is why I believe nothing; I need to be agile, adaptable. To be safe I need escape routes. For if I get stuck believing something unhealthy I will surely perish.

Some things are undoubtedly true though. I try to differentiate myself by being completely honest. People don’t seem to like that. They don’t want to hear it. They want to be lied to, they want a fabrication, they don’t want to know real life.

It’s an interesting place to be in when you’re happy and sad at the same time. I feel it every day, moment by moment. It keeps me in limbo, constantly wondering what things mean. I have decided I don’t ever want answers. I want my reasoning, my thoughts, but I don’t want proof. I want conversation and discussion. I don’t want facts, or lecture.

There are too many normal people on Earth, where the mainstream continue to weed out alternatives; turning them, shunning them, or destroying them. So when a philosophy arises from a quiet mouth it’s crazy because there is no one left to fight for it. No one to say it’s right, or what the rest say is right is wrong. And no matter how innocent it is, it will not be accepted as most do not possess an open mind to even explore original thought. They ignore the autopilot that is driving their life until they die and wonder why they wasted do much time.

I am the same. It’s not so easy to get away but at least I want to.

as long as the earth lasts

a retired mother vacuums an empty house, implores the quiet spaces for response

and feels an overflow threaten her eyes when she understands

 

the sand blasted beach cottage where family mosquito-plagued board games

inevitably descended into

 

memories of a chance encounter. A night when soft lips held a smile at rest,

begging to be joined by his coarser embrace and to remind him

 

silent Christmas mornings, when no one else is awake apart from a parrot at the

feeder, feel like

 

the sorrowful waiting room dictating one visitor at a time transforms the vending

machine into a monster and only serves to accentuate

 

the gravity of a child’s giggling first step across unforgiving linoleum floor is as pure as

 

a fifteen kilometre walk to the family’s water source allows the necessary time to
think about

 

one gull in flight, so unmistakably wise and independent riding the updraft, can

see even better than

 

the most astute commentator may unmask government failings but will never

remove their own façade to comprehend the

 

sound of waves, ten feet above tingling skin, in an ocean without fear is the closest

one can come to

 

the feeling of a wedding day, when the flowers are fresh, lasts as long as

 

the time it takes to cross a loud, disconnected stranger-infested intersection is

enough to realise

 

we will never know enough about each other’s insides to uncover why

 

so many lost people are misunderstood and dismissed by those who are as ignorant as

 

a film star is everything you want to be, then in any interview is never the human you
want them to be but

 

music is always best experienced alone at night amongst slices of moonlight

while you imagine

 

the things you write under the sun but would never utter aloud except to

 

a pet is the kindest listener because they rarely pass judgement and you believe

they can’t translate

 

your emotions catch you napping in the merciless afternoons and none are as
complex as

 

the idea of love seems both tangible and foreign when you gaze upon

 

a sharp petite face you’ve just whispered a secret to, trusting them to keep it in
confidence so no one ever knows

 

a tiny green caterpillar arches its face skyward through the long grass, completely
unaware

 

that a baby is cradled by an arm of the church, gently wet and forced to follow

Jesus without a voice to speak while

 

the last bus recedes before she could reach it, and as the rain explodes on the
footpath, a hooded girl is waiting

 

for a young man who takes pale steps through a crowded room full of old people,
one woman repeating ‘nice to meet you’ to her daughter, to where his
grandfather is

 

listening intently before being questioned, the light in a politician’s eyes shifts in
shade and he spreads his hands; about to elucidate

 

all is not lost but we are always alone. That’s why misty-faced soldiers

 

never stay for long even though the beautiful bodies of blonde, mid-twenties, skinny
dippers at midnight speak of hope

 

when her lips meet his eyes he’s never seen such a complicated twist and neither can

say what they want because

 

friendship can seem so much easier when a smooth brown horse sharing straw and
sawdust in silent companionship with a farm dog explains

 

that even the weakest solitary iceberg, accosted from every angle, never becomes soft

but that doesn’t stop it

 

— disappearing

Expected Shocks

Eggs cr ack in-two

feathered faces.

Eyes open

for the very first time.

beaks split ting,

taste sharp air.

Nights still get cold,

wind still whistles

through open windows.

Insects popping in fire,

in flame

to pierce ears

with the worst of inevitable thoughts.

On cliff edge

death is always tangible.

A resting crocodile,

a loaded spring

flowing smoothly

through liquid glass.

Role playing nose-twitching gazelle

while tiger creeps,

launches-

misses you.

Weather balloons float by,

decide it’s safer to land.

Vast empty sky

speaks knowledgably

of kindness.

Its gentle way,

permanent presence, grandfatherly.

One more step,

take one more step

and you never have to hear the phone ring.

No one sees the water

fall

momentarily

varnish blue balcony rail.

Each year onwards

morbid celebration.

Candle

life

being blown

out.

People are glad

it wasn’t their family.

Tease you

for buying canned corn

(they wanted cob)

a couple hours later.

Wander away,

wonder

if you had not answered

to hear mother’s tears

wash down the line

would they still have sprung

and would oxygen

have continued to fill his lungs?