Experience tells of lessons learned and lived—
choices made, words spoken, actions done—
all done once and unable to be undone once.
Choices hem off certain options in the moment—
though new opportunities come again activating
choice’s functioning sword of swift severance.
Words leave no trace over lips as they leave
but they hit like sticks and stones where ever
they land; leaving welts and bruises, even scars.
Actions flow from bodies as if summoned by a
divine wizard; like embodied incantations they
altar space—for better or worse—in a single blow.
And it’s all once: one choice, one word, one action;
that’s all it takes to forever change anything in a
specific way that can and will never be undone.
One
Moment
One
Choice
One
Word
One
Action
Changes
Everything
So maybe we should slow down when we are
faced with seemingly innocuous choices,
tempted to say that seemingly little thing,
provoked into that seemingly small gesture;
take that second, take that pause, slow down
and breathe—think twice, see well, listen more.
These choices, words, and actions do not fall
idly to the ground and flip-flap about like fish
pulled from waters and left to wither in the sun.
They are always given to others to carry away;
we pass on our choices, words, and actions as
if we are mail-carriers delivering both wanted
and unwanted packages to suspecting and un-
suspecting individuals traversing our journeys.
One
Moment
One
Choice
One
Word
One
Action
Changes
Everything
Tag: Poetry/Prose
There’s a Structure.
There’s a structure;
It exists it’s on its own.
It exists. Trust me.
It exists.
I wish you could see…
…The pain inside me.
…The structure…
The Structure is a number
A number is a symbol; which
Represents a substance;
And Substance provides for need.
But…
I am me
What provision meets need?
A substance clear and thick?
Something against you can kick?
A challenge and a crisis?
(What rhymes with crisis?)
Won’t anyone take the time to see…
What’s slowly consuming me?
Substance as a weapon
Used to abuse and to shame;
Stealing your reputation and your name.
The very thing that smiles as you kneel
Naked in the disgrace you feel.
I’ll never forget that look,
You never fucking forsook.
Substance as nothing and absence.
That silence and that smirk,
That “I’m-not-seeing-this” look.
Brings the most violent blow
Rendering substance to flow.
I cringe at your name and your mention
Just the mere thought is mental detention.
Take this for what it’s worth
There’s a structure, it exists.
On its own, it definitely exists.
Trust me, it exists, I wish you’d understand;
You’re nothing but a pawn in its capable hand.
There’s a structure; it exists on its very own;
It exists. I know you see it; to you it’s known.
Insecurity
This beast knows no limits.
it can penetrate anything and
From anywhere. Debilitating.
Everything is fine and then none of it is.
Here I am
there I am
There I went
Here it is
Ravaging over my mind and my body
Doing what it wants with me; no regard…
Tossing and turning me about with control;
Mind burdened with plaguing toxic thoughts. Deadly
It becomes something beyond me.
Demanding, yearning, reaching,…striving.
Caught in the trap of itself, over and over…
Pulled in to its vortex, the black-hole consuming me.
Relentlessness is this scene, in this place all just is.
Then in the quiet there is this:
The differentiation of quiet.
All is in this indefinable infinite space
In this place there is and there is not.
Insecurity knows no siblings; knows no friends.
The sentence of doom falls heavy on this fragile
Being of flesh and bone lacking the will to fight.
Too exhausted to fight against this reality of mine,
Which is this beast, the reality of insecurity.
It haunts me and cloaks me, like some medical
reprotective procedure, a reverse circumcision…
Insecurity; youareitsanditisyours.
The Big Engine Who Thought She Could Not
There was once a big engine that could, so she thought.
Until, one day, she decided she definitely could not.
Her eyes traveled along the track up the great, big hill.
The daunting task engulfed her; steam puffs went still.
She grit her teeth and tried to gather from inside,
But the biggest problem was that her fire had died.
All alone on her track and without support to be found,
Her momentum slowed, then her wheels made no sound.
They stopped rolling forward; they went completely dead on the track.
All the work and the fight had worn her thin; she felt her morale slack.
An incredible exhaustion seized upon her tired frame fast
Until she started rolling backward, her forward-part last.
Anxious panic set in. What should I do? Where should even I start?
The bend was nearing, so she gripped the track with all her heart.
She caught herself in time before hitting the deadly, sharp turn;
But, man, did that friction between wheel and rail begin to burn.
She held still and began to regain her steely, metal composure,
When something caught her eye down below the steep shoulder.
Up the steep climb a small engine came huffing,
Wheels slowly turning and steam clouds puffing.
The small engine stopped to take a quick needed breather,
And the bigger engine turned so she could clearly see her.
Then their eyes met and locked together in knowing;
The smaller was following where the bigger was going.
“You shouldn’t proceed…” the big one said. “This path is quite frightful.”
The smaller smiled and replied, “But I hear the view is quite delightful.”
“Plus,” the small train started then stopped and then continued to speak,
“I never knew an engine built like us could even consider going to the peak;
Then I watched you start climbing higher and higher!”
Silence fell; the big engine felt something stir inside her.
The little one to the big spoke again, words fast embolding;
The big one leaned in toward the little she was beholding.
“And it’s not just me who has been inspired by your acts…”
Just then more chugging was heard below on the tracks.
More engines were weaving and wending up the treacherous mountainside.
She watched these little trains climb, inspired by how they worked and tried.
“I’ve been at this all wrong….” The thought began to grow in her mind.
“I’ve been looking for help from the side and ahead and not from behind.”
Her gaze returned to the tracks she was desperately clinging upon,
“Maybe…” she thought to herself. “Maybe for them I can climb on?
Even if it’s only an inch or two farther that I can offer,
It’ll be one less inch or two they will have to fight for.
She closed her eyes and gathered up her remaining bits of strength.
“For them…” She grit her teeth, bore down, and powered a length.
“For her…” and she went forward…covering more distance!
What had begun to stir was a full-fledged fire in an instance!
And on the train chugged and huffed,
Engine strong and steam clouds puffed.
There once was a big engine that gave into thinking that she could not;
Until one day a smaller engine reminded her she could, so she fought.
Tell Me
Tell me this isn’t all there is.
(I fear that it is.)
Tell me there’s something beyond this.
(I fear there isn’t.)
Tell me to take heart.
(For I feel it grow weary.)
Tell me there’s a reason to go on.
(My energy wanes.)
Tell me my life is precious.
(I need to remember why.)
Tell me my life hasn’t been worthless.
(I can’t silence that voice anymore.)
Tell me with sweet silence.
(The cacophony in my head.)
Tell me with lavish love.
(My hearts floods with fear.)
Tell me Jesus loves me.
(My doubt stomps about.)
Tell me Christ longs to hold me.
(I long for that sweet embrace.)
Tell me there will be answers.
(The questions rage.)
Tell me it’s not all for naught.
(This darkness looms.)
Tell me…
(I bow my head.)
Just tell me…
(Words fail me but tears don’t.)
Please, just tell me…
(Please.)
This Him in Her Arms
It is dark in the room,
She closes her eyes.
Not to block out light;
There is none.
It is dark in the room.
She closes her eyes
And lets herself be pulled away
By the rhythmic rocking
Of the rocking chair.
She closes her eyes.
…and lets herself be pulled away.
The sensation of her feet pressing
Against and releasing from the ground
…press and release…
And lets herself be pulled away.
The sensation of her feet pressing
And she is reminded that she is
Still here and still connected;
She breathes and lives.
…the sensation of her feet pressing.
And she is reminded that she is…
She is not alone when he squirms
Against her breast and settles.
He is here with her.
And she is reminded that she is.
She is not alone when he squirms
And her heart against the pressing darkness
Beats and thumps, flaunting its truculent posture.
She loves him.
She is not alone when he squirms.
And her heart against the pressing darkness…
It willfully ignores the prior years of pain
That caused her to shut down and push
Them all away,
And her heart against the pressing darkness…
It willfully ignores the prior years of pain,
Each beat and thump pushes aside
The fears she has always feared and the
Rejection that threatened.
It willfully ignores the prior years of pain.
Each beat and thump pushes aside
Herself for this one, this him in her arms.
She pulls him closer to her; her head bows.
She kisses him.
…Each beat and thump pushes aside.
Herself for this one, this him in her arms…
As in labor, she vows now again: mine for this one.
For the first time she knows what it feels like
To love.
Herself for this one, this him in her arms.
It’s Her Fault
She was born to be at fault.
She wasn’t in their plan; she happened.
She was to be the boy that would replace the older;
Delivery. “It’s a girl. I’m sorry,” her mom said.
She was the reason they never had that *real* boy.
While the older wrecked havoc; she absorbed.
The family fought; ready to tear apart at the seams.
She tried to soothe, tried to hold them all together.
Yet, she bore the fault of the older who deserved the wrath.
Early life taught her: “receive; you are at fault.”
A guy stood in a doorway a few feet away from naked-her,
Her body shivered; she tried to dress herself; she was crying.
He called her names: “whore,” “you’re nothing but a prostitute,” “hag,” “filth.”
It was her fault that his roommate took her when he wanted to;
It was she who was the whore who deserved it.
She gazes upon the “ring-of-vows-now-broken” still wrapping her finger.
Her heart—broken more—questions, “how did this happen?”
“I’m strong; I’m smart; I’m educated…How?” she whispers.
The silences threatens her; it has the condemning answer:
“Oh silly girl, don’t you know this by now? It’s your fault.”
LaurenRELarkin.com 