Stop the Bloodclaatt whining

Do you know the best part of healing? It’s when know you recovered and not give a fuck about the old weak suffocating feelings.

We all go through shit. Clean up and get the fuck away from it.

Gassed

I got my fill. I have a long trip ahead of me and the road I’ve been on took me to a-lot of places I couldn't remain happy in. Where I stayed longer than I shoulda.

I guess I wanted to feel what it would be like in different skin. But when I pulled out the only color that changed was emotions.

I got High on attention. I left a-lot of people fuming. I made every right turn a dead end, convinced I was worth the wait

How long—long enough to desire more.

How much time— enough to make it right.

How many times—so many I can't believe my lies.

Where do I go now—away, but never far enough to stay.

Home calls me back. The bones I buried leaves bodies falling like tears from an affair I saw coming but allowed, and let the itchy, tingly feeling mark and form a trail.

Bored and seeking entertainment. That was the advertisement. Where we entered was tainted and tainted us.

The more damaged you are the more you seek. It’s just too much fun to brag about being broken and in recovery. Head & ears buzzing, like the phone vibrating with pleasure meant for one, but ain't nobody single in the house you live in.

You know how we got here, we lost the fear, of losing each other. Comfort makes beauty positively ugly- mind and body. That's why we change after our sure thing ends. But we still dig that pocket that kept us stuck and in the dark.

We are supposed to pull each other up and gas each other to go further.

Dark-Immortal

Skin. Grave. Eyes.

Glimpse beyond light. Seek the lie, the deception. It’s erotic. Allows me to give raw love, to beautiful women. If they were with a beautiful man, I make love hatefully.

They love me angrily. it’s controlling. When I am tired of their body, exhausted from destruction. They will mind me and seek my lie.

I poke around in their dark. An immortal life.

The BIG Muscle.

I hugged myself. I felt my muscle. I felt my girth. When I let go, I showed and made them feel my worth.

Vet-ERR-ran

I saw a tree that looked like blankets were thrown over the branches.

It made me think of the starving, desperate ignored heroic veterans-sleeping on pavement, built from contracted sins, that allow us to profit from judging and pretending to repent.

I thought of the grinch. And how easily those trees would fit in. Then I came back to reality. No matter how positive I try to be I have to be real about what I see. Another epidemic the world refuses to acknowledge.

Fiends, lost minds, frail skeletons inhaling air like a last meal. Skin sagging-over the weight of life. Trying to remain strong to protect families. Losing what makes them whole without knowing. Forced to kill their inner child-playing with toys that release laughter, tantrums, cries, temper, and wisdom. A simple easy life, complicated by adult insight.

Why are we always at war to control what is not ours?

One rule seems to be followed when creating America’s Veteran—one holds all the power and drains the others sense.

The drug of honor and loyalty creates addicts, relying on the enemy of self to make it easy to feel less—a normal life under this flag we struggle and fight to wave. People get mad when they hear that, as if veterans should be thankful for being discarded by the people, they risked their lives for.

But I know, it’s not yours. I’m just a story you all, everyone, everybody knows. A warning shot, telling you don’t get too close.

You remember? When the wind blew a whisper, and the scent tickled your nose? That day you stopped and admired that person, normally disgusting but that day, they had the same burden bearing shoulders of your dead brother, teenage son or father.

Remember when you fell to your knees when the crazy lady carrying the worlds baggage reminded you of your mother? You pretended you were tying your shoes and hid the seriousness of your pain and injury. Just like a veteran who no longer uses mirrors to see-ignoring faces and words.

The disgust for others is more honest than what we show to ourselves.

Why are these issues not talked about?

Because it promotes you to a problem. The only rank thrown out. The one people turn their nose at and refuse to help or be around-like the convict’s people shun until they need one under their belt.

Now you see what those other people feel. The ones who sing the blues at night so their skin stays hidden. They know through highs, lows, good times and bad, struggle and success- we are all we have.

I didn’t look up the name of that tree. If you see it, you will understand. But you will probably ignore it like your conscience screaming to do the right thing under the moans of what ruins home and the love you always wanted.

What are you battling?

In the pursuit of love happiness and war, I am whole, and my power is absolute. My reason for fighting is always justified. If I rule and conquer it makes me attractive.

My love enjoys being dominated. Clawing scratching. Biting stabbing shooting all night, torn and worn and beat to hysteria. Deliriously floating past problems as a solution.

Bloodshed nourishes my soul. Flesh fills bellies. Nobody imagines they could be sick from pursuit.

Can I be happy with someone's loss? Yes! No! Both!

When a child wishes for someone they love to die so they can escape hurt or receive the attention that creates popularity--do they know what they are pursuing?

When they get it, even if its timely and deserved, does it bring ruin or repair? All battles hurt.

Is it possible to rebuild?

It depends on your love, happiness, and war.

Break A Dawn

Bright morning. Grey days. Dark nights.

Your vices versus the mentality you worship.

The Thrill Never Dies.

Is every day the past and future in reverse?

Today I’ll think of what did, could, and will. I pay with what I spill. Blood, sweat, tears, or children. On the pavement or bedroom floor.

I’m learning to be fluid; releasing things I don’t want before they’re stolen.

At some point, when I can’t make no more, being happy with loss makes me wanna take yours.

I receive on the humble, palms open and outstretched. But giving back makes me clench. My mind chases the wrong excess. Now I’m drowning in what I spilled. I can’t get over the thrill.

It's the only feeling I can legally chase. Don’t screw up today, being stuck on yesterday.

Druggies, Thuggies, Hoes

If you think drugs are a spark, your life is hazy because you’re barely awake. Fucking yourself and numbing the pain. Beat downs give something to look up to. That light you see looks like an elegant memory. You know it’s the same but far away from your current misery.

HEAD TRIP

My dreams coming true are nightmares depending how I move. Being the baddest motherfucker on the planet, had me screwed, in a place I couldn't escape from.

Stories that give me a release hold others in pain. They feel damaged from my grief-I thought recovery was supposed to help not be used to balance deadly habits--an addict’s bedside manor where they sleep in horror.

Heating babies’ skin with lighter’s and smoke so they never feel disappointment. Elevated thinking. A different kind of enlightenment.

Being Numb to emotions is the world’s new guilty pleasure. And me and my baby get numb when she shoves me down her throat.

More than OK

Today I love myself more than I did yesterday. I’m not exactly sure of all the reasons, but I don’t need to be. I just know I’m moving forward so I’m better than ok.

Negro What? Negro Who?

Who would I be if I wasn’t me?

A killer—I am. I kill my old self every day.

A rich man—I am. I have young life I’m constantly nurturing and feeding—so when I’m old and wrinkly they can take care of me.

A fixer- I am healing. So, I am a healer, I am a dealer, I am a dream stealer, and a dream deliverer.

Well, I’ll be God…Damn! at-some point I thought “I gotta stop believing the lie that I can become anything my heart desires.”

But sheeeeiiiiit, as you can see, I really can become anything.

Pep-talk

Do it. Don’t do it.

This is gonna hurt.

If you don’t listen it will get worse.

Don’t change what you believe. Just change what you see.

When you screw yourself, you screw me.

—-Teeth chattering from pain. Feels so strange. Hand shaking, trying to find the strength.

—-It’s at my head. I pull. Aaahhh. Peace. My mind is blank now I just wanted to change the way I think.

RUNAWAY (#1)

I thought running away relieved the troubles. Mind speeding around its trap—finding a way. Eyes—as windows, allowing glimpses. A journey to something new. Leaving sad, old times behind. Searching for more change than scenery.

My hopes, dreams and life rely on it.

Weak-End

Art by Laurie Homan

Thank goodness it’s Friday.

Excuse my health while I fry my brain off natural herbs, and insides off salt and grease. I’ll soon be at peace, laying or sitting. In or on a throne where death is released from the living.

My weekend—ahh, the long struggle, gets to choke me silly. Lay me out, now I don’t have to avoid help, eye contact or panic attacks.

If you pretend enough, you can bluff your way to recovery.

See me! Thats how I make it too!

Sad-er-day, when I sat-all-day—gone. Cause— I ain’t have the strength to live it— kept my woes shut in, so everyone felt me.

Let me not talk that way.

I’ll make it through…

Sunday, great name.

If you got one, protect him. teach what real and fake is, Not toy tits or butt lifts. The women who handle men better and more often than their own business and feelings.

If you have a daughter, educate and battle her and her mother— train them for the war they will see, and the ones men use for cover— Jealousy. It intensifies love but leaves no survivors.

I was never able to fully enjoy Sundays. I always felt the sun made the world stand still— a good thing, but I felt it was the last day to hold onto myself. When it’s fall and rainy season, I brace, cause smiles stop shining bright. Too many minds used to being used, slipping and pulling bodies down, happily confused.

But at the end, I get it together. I can’t be the man with a family and be weak. Aint no escape. Only helping myself and creating a better way.

Blues Traveler

How do memories travel? With the wind? Passing on whispers traveling like spirits.

Do you believe them? We make truer than what we presently see.

Morning Wood

What age are you supposed to grow up. I have an erection every morning. Does that mean my wet dream dies?

Black Book

I was looking in the mirror…

Opening and closing my eyes. Flipping my palms. Opening my mouth lifting my tongue, checking my mostly white teeth. I turned from side to side, then around. I checked my armpits. Flexed by biceps, chest, imaginary abs, then grabbed my dick.

Don’t fuck yourself.

Go make love to the world.

Grass is Greener

I’m a Lover. I’m a Fighter.

A provider and healer of myself and others.

I’m a hypocrite so I can show you how to recover and shake off my hurt.

I listen, I direct, protect, and show you how to neglect. Powers of a mental prison. I escape to lure you in. If out is what you seek, close your eyes for the best view.

I say my truth is my spirit, you call me delirious. But you should want my crazy to last. It shows my loves will.

I sought the wisdom of the stars. Standing barefoot in the grass, absorbing blessings to keep my head straight, and plant my seed in soil I know will keep me safe.

The grass is greener where my wife and kids lay. But it needs to be maintained.

Keep Fighting?

Art by Leroy Campbell

When you're the rock, you tumble when the kids struggle. Tears break you slowly. Causing trouble as you crumble. Wife shaking, holding hands in prayer so the relationship doesn’t turn to rubble.

A broken man is a weapon with bad intentions. Tearing others apart because he doesn’t know how to help—a lie used to escape problems because he won’t battle himself.

I know what’s next. But I won’t say. I won’t lure the pain. Not even to stop hurting you, Hurt brings revenge. And I don’t want to be the excuse for more suffering. I want to be the healing, helpful end.

I try not to start again, but I saw you struggle and suffer. I’m what you needed to cut loose. You refused. But you cut your eye at me, and it hurt more than hate. You can no longer pretend to love—so my rage never ends.

And I continue to hurt us, end love, and start again.