Beautiful Struggle

desire

throngs of worshippers flock to your fickle feet,

you don't deserve the hype or praise,

but we keep returning, hard-wired

for carnal cravings, driven by lust,

longing for connections,

always wanting more,

deeper, stronger, sweatier,

wild, controlled, tamed and unnamed.

insatiable appetites salivating,

media up-playing, stringing us along,

in a quiet, desperate, clawing, biting

scratching, love/hate race.

granting you a throne for life.

dirty little pieces

what happens when words fail,

left unsaid on the kitchen floor,

dirty little pieces to be picked up

and thrown out once they've expired.

sentiments and desires unspoken

wadded up, crumbled to the ground

like yesterday's dinner crumbs.

i wonder what your crumbs would say

if i swept them up and kept them,

shoving them in my pocket

for safekeeping.

trash to everyone but me.

overlooked

when you see me again, you may wonder why

the distant eye, why the sideways shrug,

the skeptical glance and nonchalant sigh.

but then again, you probably won't notice,

because if you had really seen me to begin with,

then the shrug, the distant eye and sigh

would not need to be.

 

recipes

wondering where the years turned to limits,

when our lives became maps and markers,

a series of achievements you measure in money,

marriage and your latest career rank.

my latest ideas and projects suddenly juvenile

in the glare of your adult sensibilities,

my enthusiasm an unneccessary garnish

on the cake of your well-planned life.

each ingredient carefully measured and recorded,

no surprise twists or recipe spins.

when did your dreams become his dreams,

your thoughts echoes of commercials,

measured in shiny things and diamond rings,

the right coffee table conversations

and dinner companions, sprinkled 

with accumulating accounts,

built upon predictability and math.

but how do you calculate the moment of despair

when your child comes home tattered and blue,

or your spouse disappears, ruining your whole recipe?

what do you use to ease the pain,

when everyone around you is set on gain,

numbers and plans, building the same lives,

that cover up when passions die.

 

just me

I'm not your plaything

to be tossed aside when you're bored,

not your 24-hour therapist,

or your knight in shining armor.

I can't save you from yourself,

or soothe away all pains.

i'm not an airbrushed fantasy

to be turned on and off at will.

i don't take payoffs,

glittery gift bribes or fat out lies.

i don't play when i'm feeling down.

i'm not your cheerleader 

for every fucking problem.

i'm just me,

a shattered soul

with unending dreams,

trying to love

as best i can.

my groove

hedonistic tendencies,

wrapped up in these memories,

fighting with iron discipline,

grappling with guilt-laced liquor.

i may like you today, tomorrow, last week,

but who the fuck knows what i'll think yesterday.

what went through my mind last year or next.

can't stop my mental dance for you, baby.

twists and tumbles, sideways glances,

spun on a whim and a will,

stronger than my ties to you,

feet forced forward whether yours follow,

the tunes tumbling out with no refrain.

baby don't call me "mine" cause it can't be so,

i wouldn't dare call myself "mine,"

so i'm not fuckin yours.

so excuse me baby, 

i've got a dance to do.

 
 

Better Version of Me~ Amen

Life passing

A little over a week ago, Ubi was diagnosed with prostate cancer, which, in dogs, is incurable. This sent my world spinning as he has been my best friend for so many years now. Ubi has moved with me all over the country, even gone to college with me, ever since I plucked him out of the Humane Society in St. Louis in 2002. He has been with me through most of my tumultuous 20s, and been a grounding force in my life that motivated me to stay healthy and get out into the world every day.

Ubi was suddenly very sick the whole week before the final test results came back with the grim diagnosis. Since he has been on pain medicine for about a week now, he has been much better. Not his usual self but still begging for food, trying to fight other dogs and pushing me off the couch as needed. I can't help but hold onto a glimmer of hope that maybe the vet was wrong (she said there's a very small chance the test was wrong), that my beautiful, strong four-legged friend will be ok. But she is the only specialist in the metro area, and from her gloomy prognosis, it sounded like Ubi could suddenly get violently ill at any time now. So I'm trying to enjoy each day and night with him in the meantime. We've been to new parks and nature trails, he's found a new favorite treat (Frosty Paws), we've watched more movies together and I've taken him on longer, more leisurely walks. And I can't say I've minded the slower pace. 

But I dread the end. How will I be able to decide when my best friend's life is no longer worth living? How can I play God and have him put to sleep, or how can I prolong his life with medicine if he is in pain? I feel like I have been through so many ups and downs taking Ubi to lots of vets in the past few weeks and preparing for the worst while getting few answers. I cried for days, even got sick myself and now feel sort of numb. I already feel an impending void in my life. Maybe it is not healthy to be this attached to a dog, but, alas, I can't help it. Ubi has been my faithful protector (even warding off a creepy date or two), security guard, playmate, running partner, cuddling buddy and the best road trip partner. He's ran with me through the streets of St. Louis, New Jersey, Atlanta and the cornfields of Illinois, where I went to college. On road trips, Ubi loves sticking his head out the window in the back of the car and always cranes his neck to see big trucks on the road. He's even gotten honks from passing truckers. I swear he was a truck driver in a past life. Every time he sees my car, he tries to run over and jump in it with waving, curly tail. 

And Ubi is a fellow misfit. When I first got him, he was a tall, skinny dog with patches of fur falling out. His cage note said he had been confiscated from his last owner due to neglect. He seemed nervous and wary when I brought him home to my parents' house. "What a weird looking dog," my mom said. But with plenty of TLC, Ubi grew into a muscular, shiny-coated, outgoing dog who loves people, food, trips, couches and walks. (Unfortunately, despite the training classes we took, he never got over his hatred for other dogs. I don't know if he had been trained to fight or if it's just the Akita in him, since they usually don't like other dogs.)

Now that Ubi's days are numbered, I can't help but wonder what to do next. I know it's not a good idea to make decisions while grieving, but I can't help but feel like I need to get away for a while (big surprise, lol) to clear my mind and heart. And I have a sudden sense of urgency, as if life is passing fast and I need to make some changes. Lately I have been watching a lot of Spanish films, as well as "Under The Tuscan Sun," which have re-ignited my passion for traveling abroad. I've even considered living abroad again, maybe in the South of France. My dream is to be an author and write about my travels. But I have so many ideas and projects going on, it's hard to focus. And I can already hear the voices of naysayers "we're too old for that" my friend said, or "how will you pay for that," my mom will say. We shall see. Things have a way of working out when you are completely willing to surrender to them. I just hope, for me and Ubi's sake, that I don't have to make any major decisions for a while.

 

My dungeon shook

In James Baldwin's "The Fire Next Time," he has written the most powerful letter I have ever read. I admit I get moved by many authors, but this letter moved me more deeply, on a spiritual level. In the letter, Baldwin shares the wisdom he has experienced and learned in life with his nephew. 

Toward the end of the letter, Baldwin says:

"It will be hard, James, but you come from sturdy, peasant stock, men who picked cotton and dammed rivers and built railroads, and in the teeth of the most terrifying odds, achieved an unassailable and monumental dignity.  You come from a long line of poets, some of the greatest poets since Homer.  One of them said, The very time I thought I was lost, My dungeon shook and my chains fell off."

The last line evoked such strong feelings in me, and more than that, ignited my soul. I find it hard to describe my reaction with words alone, but I will try. I think Baldwin's letter was so powerful because it gave a brutally honest look at American history, racism, hatred and the legacy of pain that racism created. The letter gives voice and power to people that struggled for centuries against unimaginable cruelties and inhumane acts, all the while surviving and even thriving. It is a testament to the human condition that people can endure so much pain and emerge so strong. I am inspired and in awe. I think when people hit rock bottom, they have a choice: to hit the rock and face the truth, possibly crushing themselves in the process, or denying they are at the bottom and living in a narrow, protected world based on fear and conformity. 

It is only the strong who hit bottom with eyes wide open and see the truth, then limp up and struggle to climb out, spreading the truth of what they have experienced. Although it is one of the most difficult trials that a person can endure, those who survive and climb back after hitting the bottom are strengthened by more than mere mind and muscle can explain: their spirits are emboldened, becoming indomitable.

I feel like I have hit rock bottom in my life in a series of downward spirals that began when I was raped at 17. After years of fear, anger, denial, self-loathing, self-destruction and strife, I finally hit absolute bottom a year ago and was completely alone. I felt used, broken, tarnished for life and unwanted. I began praying, something I hadn't done since I was a teenager, and I tentatively reached out to old friends. Some stuck with me, proving to be strong souls themselves, and others buckled, calling me names, ignoring me or even ending the friendship. I met new friends, many of whom became encouraging allies. And most importantly, I finally turned to myself. At the bottom, I felt like my whole character had failed, and felt utterly useless as a person. Through much introspection, writing, meditating, praying, listening to music (thank God for hip hop), running, traveling and reconnecting with myself, I realized I had all the strengths I needed to survive all along. The problem was not that I was deficient, the problem was that I had believed I was deficient, and had acted accordingly. 

As James Baldwin told his nephew in his letter, defeat does not come from other people's fear and hatred alone, it comes when you believe them. In the letter, Baldwin describes his father: "He was defeated long before he died because, at the bottom of his heart, he really believed what white people said about him." I can relate to this in my own way, not because of racism, because I cannot compare or speak for anyone on racism, as I have not experienced the racism Baldwin talks about. But I relate as a woman, as a survivor of assaults, someone plunged from the "virgin" category into the "whore" category against her will, and then condemned for it. Although I pretended to deny it and not care, looking back I realize I believed all the labels and dehumanizing views of me. When I hit rock bottom, I began climbing, desperately, with much cross-examination of myself, gaining strength with each step up, until here I stand, speaking my truth.

I admit I still have trouble standing up for myself at times, and I still have spells where I feel overcome with anxiety, but I know, deep down, on a spiritual level, that I have seen the worst, and I can withstand it. I realized that I have lots of things to be proud of in my life, the most important to me being that I have helped many others - people and animals - and plan to continue to do so. And I realize how important freedom, independence and friends are in my life, and I thank God every day for them.

I also realized that some things that I clung to so hard, with my perfectionist tendencies, had obstructed me from connecting with others. With my tumble to the bottom, I let many of these things go, and realized that I did not need them after all. Alas, I am still a work in progress. But, I know that whatever happens, my spirit will survive. For I no longer believe the hate, but choose to walk in love.

"I assess the power of a will by how much resistance, pain, torture it endures and knows how to turn to its advantage." ~Friedrich Nietzsche

beyond borders

i want to escape these check-marked boxes,

make a beeline for the border,

into a land without borders,

where we all share and don't really care,

who has what or how they got it.

i want to feel passionate love without pain,

asking nothing of each other, yet giving lots.

i want to skip back in time to innocence lost,

wade through the self-loathing and disgust,

to bathe in wonder, awe and dreams.

i want to write meaningful words,

that resonate in centuries,

freeing the minds of even 

the most embittered souls.