Once you escape.

Create a safe distance.

Enter therapy!

Heal…

And try again.

If fortune shines your way.

You find someone who is kind and loving. 

Only then  will you realize that a younger version of you made that choice.

“The world is a wonderful place… it’s just filled with cunts and the internet is to blame.”

The Democrats are all screaming…

Crying Democratic tears.

On YouTube, I’ve been streaming.

See the nation without peers.

Oh, come on now, I’m just funning.

Thinking about those yesteryears.

When those Cold Wars were all gunning.

And under desks, we hid all fears…

Well, I guess we’re afraid of something.

Me? It’s Dad bod getting plump.

Living forever is more than I can bring.

You? It sounds like Donald Trump.

.

The bad luck raised suspicions, on a path that was beat down.

No one dared to look within or see the wise men in the town.

It was happening for eons, as long as Grandad could recall.

Like a dark foreboding plank walk or a dream in which you fall.

Until the child spoke her words that, “Maybe somethings wrong with me?”

So we made a meeting with the Doc, down at the Family Psychiatry.

The doctor raised awareness and we all took a look.

Things are looking so good now, might take Grandma off the hook.

Now life is far from perfect however the family’s not so sad.

Looking in the mirror, not blaming blind luck, good or bad.

A large gaping mouth set upon this gigantic head… Held up by a tiny neck, unable to swallow those desires…

The horror! The horror!!

Now I have the visual of the narcissistic view. They fear they don’t exist…

When men feel stress, they process.

When women feel stress, they talk.

Generally speaking, women feel uncomfortable with the men’s process because it happens in silence.

For a man to talk when he’s stressed only increases his stress.

I’ll just leave this here and go away for a while and write…

Talk among yourselves

OR

Process by yourself.

“There are 32 ways to tell a story, and I’ve used everyone, but there’s only one plot, things are not as they seem.

Jim Thompson

I fell out of love by mid-day.

The snow was white and fast.

There was crunching in the footsteps.

All the praise for cold had passed.

I was huddled with my cafe cream.

I was braced at distant storm.

Then I remembered that you weren’t here.

Once again, my heart did warm.

I was attracted by her beauty.

Even read the things she wrote.

In her diary of private thoughts.

She said I wouldn’t get her vote.

I feel no guilt or shaming.

Even if somehow I got caught.

Don’t care about your feelings.

Because I know you can be bought.

There’s a quiver in the ether.

A faint hint of rich fresh air.

I will use this little breather.

Just to plan and scheme and stare.

You said you wanted feelings.

With a longing for deep truth.

You said you wanted Superman.

He’s on a cellphone by the booth.

He said he doesn’t like you.

He’s not into girls no more.

We are living in a brand new world.

And I’m by the exit door.

There is color in the flowers.

And moisture in the rain.

The rocks are hard and heavy.

And the soil holds all pain.

I’ve been dancing in the meadows.

I don’t dare to stay too long.

And only under darkened skies.

Where the thunder plays my song.

No more confab with the foolish.

Or the prideful, boastful voice.

I take it to the world at large.

And pretend I have a choice.

Sometimes, I miss delusions.

In the busy city streets.

And the chaos and confusions.

But not the phones and texts and tweets.