Red Sunflowers

Sitting here, I blankly stare

At the red sunflowers

Reflecting in the checkered

window’s frosty glare.

Rattling like a snake,

My mind slithers me back

To a time before I was crippled by judgement,

Reacting to every sound, every snap,

Assuming all corner’s lay mousetraps

And I, the hiding rat.

It was a time before my fingers froze,

My back stiffened and my vision blurred.

A time before I over explained,

Overdid and over endured.

A time before my answers to questions

Came out muddled and slurred.

So I blink twice

Unmoving, my body is heavy, my arms are slack,

But I manage to reel myself in

From a head of chaos and a soul of doubt.

“Who have I become,” I ask

To a window that does not talk back.

So I sit here and blankly stare,

At red sunflowers,

Chopped and lifeless, without a care.

-N.B.

Rock Bottom

Particulate matter, dispersed in the sea

Numb as I crashed,

Ocean surface, ocean floor,

Or am I somewhere in between?

God help me, I’ve sunk too slow.

What a pitiful scene.

I have heard wondrous stories,

Of what your ending begins.

So sing me to sleep, with your hopeful lullaby.

I’ll glide past all my terrors,

Fighting with my warrior cry.

Why, then, can I never reach you?

The point where the healing begins.

Rock bottom could not come sooner,

For the nightmare that never ends.

-N.B.

-Photo by: Poeelouis

What’s the cycle?

I remember when I first found out about death. I was young, younger than 7. I believe and my brother and I were rummaging through some old things we found in a cupboard. We happened upon a picture of my late grandmother and I asked my brother what happened to her. I never really knew her so it wasn’t as if I thought of her often or at all really. Again, I was pretty young. He told me that she had died. I asked why. At this point I understood that people die of various causes, but what I didn’t know was that everyone has to die. I didn’t know that a requirement of life is, actually, death. If you live, at some point, you also have to die. That was a really difficult concept for young me to grasp. I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that all of us, my mom, my dad, my brothers and myself were all going to die! What was the point then, I asked him. I believe at this point my brother, who was only seven years older, was wise enough to realize that this was not something he could explain to a less than 7 year old. So, he brought my dad into it. My father explained to me that, yes, we would all die, but not for many, many years. He wanted me to focus on all the good years ahead of me I still had and that seemed calm me down. At the time I was somehow content with having many, many years to live.

Now I am 28 years old and my dad, well, he’s 76 and he’s begun to show signs that, well, he’s 76. The truth is, I’m scared. I’m scared of death. I’m afraid of what it means to lose someone you love and never see them again. See, I’ve been lucky enough to never have lost anyone. Many, many years have gone by and I just let them. One of my brothers recently told me that life is a cycle. We start young, we grow up, we take care of someone important to us, and then we grow old and that person takes care of us. It’s now my turn to take care of my dad. Be there for him like he always was for me. Maybe being a real adult isn’t just about getting bacon on the table, but also about living the cycle.

Every day I am me.

So I must endure what may seem trivial to some,

The weight of emotions,

Which more than often leaves me numb.

As I ponder and speculate,

The words I could not create,

The hunger for meaning I could not satiate,

The trouble my energizer-mouth could not mitigate.

It’s too late.

Do they all know what I tried so hard to hide?

When my mishaps and mistakes coincide?

This mess in my mind,

They’d interpret my mannerisms as lazy,

But the truth is a bit more hazy.

My nerves are like warn yarn, hands slow to knit,

Meanwhile, random rampage of thoughts,

My mind is lit.

I watch you all wishing I was normal,

My affliction, attention deficit.

-N.B.

My Father, Please Hear Me True

I am not sure what happiness rides with wealth,

I am not aware of what glory arrives with pride,

I have not been privileged to know the righteous path of the follower.

I am the dot between the sentence,

I feel the heavy weight of of the transition.

And when I tell you all is well, I lie.

I lie, because they suffer,

The ones who brought me here.

I lie, because she weeps,

The mother I hold so dear.

I scream because I am broken

My body caves in from the weight.

I scream so that he hears me,

“My father, I swear it is not too late!”

He told me once when I was younger,

To choose a path to walk,

Each breath we draw has meaning,

Life is a slowly dissolving rock.

-N.B.

My Love

This poem was suppose to be completely different. I was suppose to write a found poem about flavors, but having strayed so far away from that subject, I completed something I wanted to write more. The funny thing about writing is that I don’t always know where I’m headed or what my purpose was in the beginning. It’s as if the deeper pockets of my mind escape and emotions I’ve buried away come out of hiding. This one is about not fitting in, being different and, sometimes, feeling alone in a room full of people. People you know, people you don’t know. It doesn’t really matter. When you’re sinking, it all feels the same. In those moments, it takes every ounce of my being to just nod and smile. Keep up the charade, until I can escape and be alone. Only then, do I not feel alone.

My love, please do not slip into the darkness,

Pitch black, where spiders crawl.

When the weight of the world has crushed you,

Please, do not fall,

Through the gaping hole beneath you,

The one that knows your plight.

The sinner who speaks to your weakness.

The seer who stole your sight.

My love, please maintain your grip.

When the sun sets over the horizon,

Remember the golden day and sip,

On the little black birds calmly chirping,

Their songs emitted through the trees.

Remember the children and their laughter.

Forget the storm that brought you to your knees.

My love, please take my hand.

I’m feigning strength for you.

I’ve seen the darkness in that hole.

I’ve felt the cold chill of judgement, the cruel slap of conformity.

I’ve feared the numbing of my soul.

My love, please listen,

I promise there is a way.

To rise above the flames of normalcy,

To live in the sparkle of the golden embers,

And weather out the storm.

Don’t worry, my love, I’ll be your shield,

I fight this everyday.

-N.B.