I wrote therefore I am

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There’s words I can’t say and phrases I cannot otter.  So my brain clogs and fills with clutter…

I jumble thoughts and phrases into sentences.

I think therefore I am?

No I think therefore I write.

I write therefore I am. 

Furiously, passionately, maddeningly 

I forge the words onto the page.

I forge clarity.

Those once jumbled, now clear words become my truth.

My truth because my essence. 

My essence becomes my reality,

And it’s my reality that erupts into my being.

The Forgotten Ode (to eyes)

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Ode to Eyes

Oh eyes

Azure, chestnut, hazel, green

Red, irritated, lighting up the scene

Although a mouth can lie deceit

Eyes tell it bluntly, complete

 

Oh Eyes

The way you long for colors prisms

For beauty or disaster

I praise you for both

The tears running faster

 

Oh eyes, I decorate you

With a rich pink

Or pale blue or nude eye shadow

Only other throw on eyeliner, mascara, and more

Giving girls many trips to the store

 

Oh eyes

They’re what I fell in love with first

Although now I believe love to be cursed

Because although I try to let go

Your chestnut eyes won’t let me do so

 

Oh eyes

You help memory process events

Pretty people in pretty cars

Lost love, lust, movie stars

Or just someone trying to have something to live for.

Pain

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Pain,

without love

Pain, I cannot handle anymore

Pain but it comes now

It swallows my entire soul

Bites, kicks, punches, stabs, drowns

Burns, throbs, torture, full on assault

But

I fight back without mercy

I suffocate the pain with my mind

While pain is always there, pain won’t win

One day

There will be no

Pain

 

 

 

Oh, Lonely Nights

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Oh, lonely Nights

The stars are dimly shining

I lay writing

Hoping one day

I won’t be so lonely

And that I could read this poem

To someone besides you

I have a feeling it will never happen, true

As the cloud that masks the sun

Or the firm looks of okay that masks a breakdown of self

Oh, Lonely nights when my lover

If my lover breaks my heart

I will remember these lonely nights where I did start

At the beginning – square one

Before hypothetical heartbreak starts

But please lonely night end soon

I can spread staring, penetrating the moon

Lonely nights thank you for alone time

It may have been a bit too much

For now my body fears every touch

May have been a bit much

For now my body fears every touch

Get close, tug down shirt

Slowly back down before you get hurt

Lastly lonely nights

Although I am currently hateful

You make me grateful

For everything, faithful too.

 

Bitterness and a Broken Vow

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I rest here on the floor

Completely crestfallen and alone

Not wanted anywhere not even home

Broken how?

Bitterness and a broken vow.

 

They severed my contentment

Smashed my heart

Then spat it out and ripped it apart

Broken how?

Bitterness and a broken vow.

 

I lay here yet again,

In the same spot

Everyone denying it

The whole lot

While I’m broken, shattered

Mangled, Tangled in a knot

Of what is and what’s not.

Broken how?

Bitterness and a broken vow.

 

I sit and work among them

Stitching my tainted heart at the hem

Trying to sew the pieces up quick and strong

So next time the emotional pain won’t last so painfully long

But something is bound to bounce

Off my the wrong way and break

Please, consider what’s at stake

The slashing open of an old gash, broken once more

All you need to do is look at the core

Of bitterness and a broken vow.

You wanted to know how they broke me.

You know now.

There lies the answer, the secret to life

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 I know that this essay is supposed to be just about the orient express and myself but because of me, I am inclined how I relate to a member of Grey’s Anatomy, and how much I can relate to the train members. I had a topic of my own rhythm that I need to belt out. When you take those silly, pointless online quizzes, you never take them seriously. I didn’t. Even after I got Meredith as the TV character I most resemble, I never gave it a second thought. That is until I watched episode after episode, finding that I could always emphasize with Meredith a made up character seemed made for me.  The life full of things to dread. A life is flooded with harsh truths and entire flocks of friends that escape into places that are everywhere except to console her, never mind her breakdown. Her getting slapped by her father made me realize that the emotions hurt worse than any slap a person could give. It was like I was her shadow or she mine. It is like how the detective needed to find parts of the murderer by placing himself in their shoes. “It was done by a woman. I, a man could not deliver such blows” (Christie 89). That is the only way the members of that train remind me of my own life (this similarity) , and it made a lot of sense close to the last page of my reading, that the moments of quiet desperation felt by the murder investigation are felt by myself in equally strong degrees.

People could be my closest friends yet I’d feel so distant like a shadow yet so close and like I didn’t know them at all because of their actions. The knife found in Mrs. Hubbard’s room caused her great distress, like in my life invisible swords made up of words that hurt. “I just can’t tell you how terrible it was. I was always sensitive …the mere sight of blood” (Christie 206). It is this “bloody” life I was, these events that just make me tear up. I weep whenever Meredith is shot down, when she was drowning metaphorically or in reality because I don’t see her, I see myself. In the bathroom, behind the auditorium, in the foyer, in the dark, alone, I can see me a silent sadness. I see a detective stumped the case gone cold. Whenever it’s all wrong, pretend joy is short lived. When everything is wrong, she moves along or gets help along the way, she is helped through it all. My mother too resembles the yelling, shouting and being told you’re not good enough of her deceased mother. It’s like there is no difference between compliments and lies! Everything is essential all the same to me, because isn’t it all the same if I need someone everyone leaves me? They drift like a man lost at sea, further and further away.

It’s like watching Meredith; I want to smash the glass world that separates her life from my own and meet her. I want that which separate us, to disintegrate so we see into each other’s eyes. I want to cry with her, and stand with lost eyes, let her know she is not alone. I feel the members of the train just brush things off that are important, and that mirrors my life.  I want to be with someone who feels like me. Because I want to know that I am not alone. All the people that shouldn’t care care A LOT. Nosy people and it’s annoying to explain my “pathetic life story” This is like the people who are curious about the case. And all the people I need in my life simply cannot fulfill the simple duty of being there for me. Just being there. Is that too much to ask? To call me, or to hang out. To comfort me when I’m sad or lost. To bring me the warmth of their smile or their shoulder to cry on. To calm me down, at least try would be beautiful! Isn’t that what friends do? They help each other. They are there, they care! To have your back? They don’t. And I’ve thought of the situation so much it has started to lose all meaning. That is what Poirot understood, that he really had to get under the skin and truly comprehend all elements to discover the truth. Frankly, I want to be stuck in that blizzard in the novel.

Frozen in time, because these continuing tears that rupture my cheeks and burst onto the keyboard. Internal conflicts float as soon as the first tear begins it’s descent down my cheek a path known so well, that it doesn’t even feel real sometimes. I hear the voices of all those “friends” telling me to drop this drama, that I’ll be fine. How do you know that I’ll be fine? For a fact, you don’t know. My sitting here writing this proves I am not fine right now. When I should be celebrating my successes in life, I’m over this dark cloud creating more problems with my dismal doubt. Like Poirot discovering the answer of the case, the case of my life is not solved, the pieces scattered on the carpet like puzzle pieces with people yelling it’s a bird, it’s a dog, it’s the sun. I tell them and you that it’s my life spilling out. Sometimes everything is wrong, and it needs to move along.

More than anything I can’t help the hopeless, trapped feeling I have. Like those on the train who don’t know want they want. Like why can I just be a calm person, mellow and relaxed? Like so what if tomorrow’s better, because life is never without suffering. Why do we suffer? It is said we suffer to gain compassion. It is said we build character. It is this compassion that has made me a fool. Because only now do I realize that I sit alone. My compassion for some is one sided and that is well, it is what it is. Without guarantee from anyone that tomorrow will bring sunshine into my life, I travel alone. I plot a path in my head of where I’ll go. And I will leave this negative persona behind. Because I want to believe the world has good in it, despite everything that disproves that, moving on through is supposedly to make me stronger. If that works, I’ll have the strength of ten men. I will build bridges and put out the flames of the ones that are burning. Until then my mind is in a headlock, tortured more perhaps by words never spoken, then words said. I must, like the detective look beyond the obvious and turn to the“it couldn’t be”. There lies the answer, the secret to life.

Broken Hearts

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We both had smashed, swollen broken hearts

I want with all my love to fill the cracks

I want to hold you so very tightly

For you to love me back

Can we forgive the pain of yesterdays

And move on to tomorrow

Or will we live forever in this sorrow…