Old Bones…

Well, that didn’t take long. I wanted to write something every day, for 30 days. Apparently, that was too much too ask. I did realize, rather quickly, just why I don’t write every day. It’s hard to carve out the time and the desire. Even harder to deal with some old skeletons, that maybe are best left in the closet. It’s easy to think I have nothing worthwhile to say. Even easier to feel guilty about not only taking the time to say things – but, also for the things that I may say themselves.

I did make a few private journal entries. This one may be as well. We will see. I am leaning towards journaling privately more and more lately, and just sharing certain poems and posts. I still struggle a bit with the fact that some people from my “real life” may be reading this. Truthfully, sometimes I wish I never shared this space with anyone close to me. This is nothing personal regarding anyone, other than myself. It is more of a reflection of how comfortable I am in m own skin. Still. And, how much I like having a private space to clear my head. But, I think that is ok. Common, if not “normal”, right? We all need at least some personal space. And, who knows? Maybe some close to me in “real life” are sorry I ever shared it with them, as well. Maybe, there are old bones that nobody really needs, or wants, to see. I mean, we all have enough on our own plates. Who needs to pick through someone else’s bones, too, right?

Too much light can be blinding. Painful. Immobilizing.

Maybe it’s more important to cast just enough light that our own eyes can start to focus and recognize familiar shapes.. as they surface from shadowy depths… until we can see old bones for what they truly are… or once were.

We shall see.

Hopefully.

~ smj

“Things grow towards the light
Looking to find what they are looking for
And grasses grow high
In pursuit of the sky
Like those who’ve come before
Now and evermore“

~ Untitled (Grasses Grow), A Fine Frenzy

Eyeliner

“You wear too much eyeliner.
You look like a whore.”

Tigress teenage eyes rolled back
at him. Her face scrunched up in disdain
to mask the sting of his words.  Who cares
what he thinks? She didn’t want to.
What the fuck does he know? 

Innocence was overrated, anyway.
It never protected her when she had it
from those that would stare right into unlined, wide
eyes, smiling as they robbed them blind. 
Blue naivety drained to black.

Tears can take years to catch up
with repressed memories.  But, they build and spill
eventually.  One way or another.  They don’t care
how much you hate to cry. Denial can’t prevent
bleeding out slowly from the inside.

Breathe, dammit, breathe.

I really suck at meditating. I have been dabbling in it, on and off, for a few years. Attended a few classes. Read a few books. A few months ago, I invested in the “Calm” app. It turns out meditating is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

I really wanted to like it. I thought it could help me with pain management, stress management, and to be able to be more mindful and possibly a better version of myself in general. I still think it might be able to. I still WANT to like it. So, I’m not giving up on it… but, Man? Who knew doing “nothing” could be so freaking difficult?

For those of you who never tried the “Calm” app…. Basically, there’s a “Daily Calm” you can do each day, which is a 10 minute meditation on a variety of topics. There’s also a ton of other meditations – including sleep stories – and more. But, the “Daily Calm” is really not 10 minutes. It’s a couple minutes of someone (usually this chick, Tara) talking in the beginning – telling you to relax, breathe, focus on you breath – etc… and then there’s about 5 minutes of nothing(that’s the hard part)… and then, somewhere around 7 minutes in, she starts talking again about whatever the topic is.

firefly nights

fireflies escaping
like sparks flying off the fire
joining stars and you

                       – smj, 5/18/2019

—————

Just a little haiku I wrote for my cousin.  I was thinking of childhood memories of parties at their old house… and, of chasing fireflies.  We would run through the fields at their house in the night… trying not to trip over the dark while following the sporadic flashes.  If we were lucky, we’d manage to catch a few fireflies, and when we did, we would put them in a mason jar with some holes in the lid.  We thought we could use them as a lantern.

We would keep them for a bit, but I never wanted to keep them long.  I was afraid they would die (thanks Dad).  So I’d let them go… sometimes unbeknownst to my cousins while they were busy desperately trying to catch more.  Besides, the flies just were not nearly as beautiful or impressive up-close.  They just looked like…. well… flies (with big glowy butts).   But, with a little added distance?  Oh my. They became magical… mystical…  lighting up in the dark sky if only for a second… here… then there…. then, wait… where?

I still see them in my backyard sometimes.  I don’t try to catch them anymore. My boys are also too old now for that.  I don’t think they were ever as impressed by them as I was anyway.  Am.  I still am.  I still like to watch them flicker on and off, until they are too far away to see and I lose track of them.  They remind me of  the sparks flying off a bonfire… billowing with the smoke up to the stars.  I like to try to follow those as well… watch as they rise up to the heavens…  until they fade into grey ashes that join us once again.  Or until they just mysteriously disappear all together.  Possibly morphing into yet another distant star against the black sky.  Who’s to say?

 

Missing and Reminiscing

*sigh* I miss this. This place, I mean. I miss the poems… reading and writing here. I’ve been writing… Just not here…and not really for me.  Life has been… relentless…  as usual. Not all bad. There’s plenty of good mixed in.  So, I’m not complaining. Well… maybe a little… but that’s not why I’m here.

I am just missing this place again… And this part of me that goes with it. I guess it has been put on the back-burner once again.  Par for the course. I go in spurts, as usual,  and lately I haven’t been reading any poetry, let alone writing any.  Shame.