Hands of Time

Written 2004 orig. title:

Your Hand In Mine

Your hand in mine, a thing of the past.

It was nice to have just that one embrace, it has endured a lifetime.

Where did you last leave me?  Was it the way you wanted things to end?

I wasn’t finished knowing you but that isn’t what matters most.

My hand used to be in yours.  We walked together when the years were too long and hours seemed to be many days.

Damn the man who shakes his spear, that he yelled about losing love and never having loved at all.  A voice so loud it rang for centuries.

Could I have seen it in time to stop myself from falling?  Would I have stopped myself if I could have?

Frozen skylines fuse our lives with icy roads that lead to dead ends.

All roads trace back to one true source.

My hand in yours and how once upon a time, we connected.

Hate Mail as A Simple Practice in Self-love.

written about May of 2012

Hate Mail

This feels good.  Finally letting go of the need for you.  Too long I have struggled to hold on and keep the wrongs on the right side.  No longer am I burdened by your strife.  Regrets, yes, I have, at the least, three.  You, you, and you….oh yeah,  maybe four…you too.  The lighthearted feeling of letting go of you has brought me peace and relief.  Why did I ever weigh myself down with cares for you anyway, it never got me anywhere with you.  I once held on to perhaps and maybe someday, I have clung to the way it used to be; the way I thought it should have been, but now I have let all that go.  I have never known the strings unattached before.  I wow at my wings and how they expand in flight.

In hindsight..

You sought my need, my weakness if you will, then you preyed upon that.  You fed my hungers and warmed my cold shoulder and then when I owed you everything you it held it against me and used it to manipulate me into being your puppet.  I could be a wonderous fool of a boy filled with naive haste and immature thinking but Mister Geppetto should have found a wife and given up his playing with dolls if he wanted real children.  Was he truly a kind old man who loved kids or a creepy control freak who wanted to be the one pulling all the strings?  In the real story there is no fairy godmother who waves her magick wand, no little puppet who changes into an actual boy.  The true story is far more gruesome, yet trite.

My nose may have been longer than I wanted at times but I am reconciled with the results of my misbehavior.  I pay prices for my errors everyday.  The difference is that, now, you are not the one who sets the cost.  I will not give you power to sway my thoughts anymore.  I refuse to accept your words of guilt, shame, chastening..the list never ends with you.   Your constant mental whippings no longer take place as I reject you and everything you have done, even in your actions of trying to earn your way into heaven, your supposed good deeds that make you appear docile, harmless on the surface.  I rejoice in the freedom I receive from the finality of death.