The Whole Story

An overlooked detail,
a loose thread, that part that is just ever so slightly off.
That is what I seek, as if a keyhole to help me unlock your mysteries.
I want to unlock you and pore through your dusty boxes.
I want to pick all the locks.
You say that's me in a nutshell but I want to crack it open.
I want to see everything from kept receipts of what you've sold,
to the annals of history that form the story of you.
The giant sign on the wall is nice
but the fortune you saved from a cookie long ago that's tucked into a tiny box in the corner is just as telling if not more so.
Do not relegate yourself to a summary,
you are so much more.
That clever blurb eventually becomes you, clever but limited.
Present the whole story and keep the ones who are clapping and crying with you at the end.

Self

This is my neon sign,
my drama, My very public tantrum.
I am making noise, calling out to those who need an awakening or just want to witness another's.
This is my banner, my t-shirt, my emblem.
This is what I stand for and support, this is my pride on the line,
my shield in the battle of existence.
This is my stage name, my costume, my mask.
This is how I have chosen to show you who I am,
this is what people will analyze after I am gone if they care to know more.
These are my volumes, my grimoire, my oral history.
It is made up of all of me, what I think, what I feel,
who I am, and how much that can change day to day.
This is my closet, my attic, my basement.
All the things I have collected throughout my life,
things I should have thrown out that I have kept and things I have lost that still pain me to remember.
This is my resume, my final, my thesis.
This is my offering to the world,
from my perspective shaped by many others and reinterpreted by me.
This is my brain, My heart, My gut.
Things that matter and things that don't but they all make up a life that is still learning and growing.
One that cannot be easily defined or even put into words properly
not even by it's author
but I will continue to try, not for you, but for me.

Spoken

I have no thoughts I can nail down,
A superhighway through the crown,
So much talking so few words,
Seeking cream and finding curds,
Floating aimless against my will,
I cannot move and can't sit still,
Is it the planets or the stars?
Or just the fear of showing scars,
Imperfections curse my mirror,
Until the blur gets ever clearer,
I have nothing more to give,
And yet my words still breathe, still live,
I feel the surface just now breaking,
All I know now is the aching,
Remove the robes to show the skin,
Build up the good to smite the sin,
As tongues work harder now to hide,
The darkened places deep inside,
The light attacks and tears me open,
Pray the truth now shall be spoken

Broken open

I once thought I was broken but the truth is I'm broken open,
That nerve that screams from the slightest breeze,
The skinned knee that means adventure,
That succulent orange freed from it's rough skin ready to be devoured,
That snake that now shows a new skin, more vibrant then before,
That boring rock that hides earths lustrous treasures,
That sentence or sound that you could never let slip,
the one that could end everything or begin the healing,
That present that you never knew you wanted and now it is the best one you have ever received,
I am unwrapped, I am exposed, I am naked, I am raw,
The useless discarded,
the substance within ready to be tasted

A Breath so Deep, A Heart so Full

My eyes can only take in the pleasure of it all,
My mouth can only sit agape at the wonder,
My heart squeezes it's feelings to my eyes for it is too much to hold in,
My arms have lost all sense of purpose and composure,
My stomach a creature that folds and twists and flutters,
My legs like the new branches on a spring tree, flimsy and weak,
bending and bowing,
My mind already replaying the moment
and bounding off to preplan the future of what it could mean,
My breath labored with the joy of it all,
sucking it's moments more and more quickly,
What a glorious extremity,
The opposite of tragedy, the opponent to despair,
Here is where we all should live, this is what we all should feel.
Found, Loved, Known, Seen.

The Creaking Wheel Part 2

Her feet pounded up the stairs, ringing with each step on the metal. She wore a wheelmen’s uniform that had been altered to fit her small frame and topped it off with an expression of determination. Her teeth sat tightly clenched in her cheeks, squaring her jawline. Her hands were balled into white knuckled fists and moved rigidly at her sides as she walked. She pushed the door open, and it banged loudly against the wall. A chorus of men chuckled and shouted, “New Guy!” and the chorus carried throughout the workroom. As the second round of jeers began, they turned to see the boss’s daughter standing there slowly pinking in the face. They stopped heckling, some mid-syllable, and the room fell silent except for the moaning of the machinery. She surveyed the work room and was met with darting glances and some sneers below the goggles on the men’s faces. She heard everyone clear their throat at least once and wondered if this was some kind of secret code the workers had to communicate dissatisfaction amongst each other. She lowered her eyes and made her way to the office to meet her father and husband. The heavy door swung open, creaking a warning to the workers. Her father stepped out the door of the office and looked at each worker, face by face. Most of them turned back to their work when he made eye contact, some did so after a very audible gulp. If she didn’t know better she would think that they were trying to be funny. Her father was well revered among the workers but also feared. She had seen him fly off the handle when a worker made a nearly fatal mistake; she had never seen the color that was upon his face that day anywhere else in nature before or since. She stepped in the office, and the door creaked shut behind her. “Are you sure you want to do this honey?” her father asked. He took a breath to say more, but she held up her hand and simply said, “I’m sure.” They spent the rest of the work day going over the schematics of the wheel, vital safety measures, and how the wheel was operated. After they were done, they made their way out of the office. Most of the workers had already left for the day, and the rest were in the lockers packing up. Her father led her to the wheel. He asked her to name off the safety rules with the exact wording and in the exact order in which he had taught them to her. She made it three-quarters of the way down the list and started to flounder. “You’re not ready,” he said sternly. She nodded dejectedly. Her husband tried to plead with her father for another chance. “Don’t worry darling, tomorrow morning I will be correcting him on the rules,” she said winking. “I don’t doubt it for a second honey,” her father said nodding. “If that’s the case,” he continued, “then tomorrow, you work the wheel.”

Resolution

As the fog of another year gone by is slowly lifted, A brand new year has now begun with which we have been gifted, More time to find our happiness, More time to ease our pain, More time to reinvent ourselves then go back to the same, For hope cannot survive alone, it must be reinforced, So little changes can be the stones upon our new found course, Don't paint an angel, paint it's wing, or even just a feather, With each new wisp of fluffy white the bigger piece gets better, One day you'll take a look around, in a year or maybe seven, And realize your tiny wisps have turned into your heaven.