singing bowl of rage

singing bowl of rage  roman games

I’m furious
I feel like I can run 10 miles
And then eat a cake, straight out of the singing bowl of Rage
Blood pulsing
Mind spouting obscenities

How did it come to this?
Why am I shooting off the mouth like a loose canon
spiraling through the atmosphere?
Where’s grace, goddamnit?

It’s about not being listened to
It’s about not being taken into account
It’s about blame
Doing it wrong
You’re bad,
Back off.

Get off –
No
No
No.

Continue reading “singing bowl of rage”

when do I come first?

when do I come first?

When do I come first?

No, that’s a real question.

Is it after peeing and before taking my probiotics?

Is it after my tea brews and before I check email?

Is it once Jackie is walked, pissed, pooed and fed?

When do I show up for me?

After cleaning up the kitchen and before the clock hits 10am?

After taking out the trash and before the rest of my to-do list comes a-knockin’?

Am I worth the investment?

Time for me hits home the hardest when I see someone else doing it.

A “Wow”, a respect, an inspiration; sometimes an anger, a jealousy, an envy – all of those feelings come flying out of —

My heart? My soul? The little voice within?

I struggle with balance everyday. I know you do too.

Call mum (it’s been a while), connect with best friend, look boyfriend in the eyeballs when he shares a story, hold off the worry/panic/stress/concern/time racing. Leave that at the door. For now. This here. A moment.

You can start now.

taken

taken

I breathe.
It is tense, concerned and contracted.
It’s early, the air asleep.
We got broken into. The garage.
Jackie thinks, bonus! everyone’s up.

Dude, I don’t want to take you out for pee.
I don’t want to pick up your poo.
I don’t want to feed you.

I want to breathe.
Give me a second.

What the fuck happened?
How?
What?
When?

Holes in the skin, I feel violated.
Like a car crash.
Thank God it wasn’t the car.
Valuables, inventory, a guessing game of what was.

Jackie’s diarrhea is at the ready.
He paces in circles, tail anxious.
Come on people, he wants to say.

Stupid us.
It’s on us, all of it.
Hard not to point fingers.
But who fuckin’ cares?
Damage is done.
The lesson came too late.

Diarrhea out. Next step: food.
Jackie circles us expecting the normal routine.
As, well,
We stand like fixtures
Scratching our heads.
A fog in the brain.

third eye business

outta whack

FADE IN: friends over tea.

A: She said my chakras are outta whack.

B: All of them?

A: No, the one’s that count.

B: They all count.

A: The fuckin’ crown chakra and my third eye. My third eye, man! That’s the whole enchilada right there.

B: How bad?

A: Well, the crown is half closed and the third eye is completely shut.

A: Let me repeat myself: it’s fuckin’ shut.

B: Wow. That doesn’t sound like you.

A: You’re telling me!¬†How the fuck do I open it?

B: Wait. Do you believe in that stuff?

A: Well, if you tell someone they’re shitty at something, it gets them going. Especially when you’re talking about the third eye business.

B: But what does that mean to you?

A: Fuckin’. I don’t know. Like God sits there or some shit. It’s serious business. God, I had a feeling, you know.

B: Come on.

A: I’m not fuckin’ playing. I had a feeling, it’s like I new it all along.

B: Okay, so what else did she say?

A: She told me to do this: [raising arms and speaking to the sky] “I SEE.”

B laughs.

A: [Laughing] Daily. Do it with me. [Arms stretched] “I SEE.”

B raises her arms.

A/B: I SEE.

 

FADE OUT.

 

a curse (not really)

a curse (not really)

Dreamy.
I love you oceans.
She says, not just to me.

It’s hard to hear from her.
It’s like the sting from rubbing alcohol.
Why didn’t I matter?
No return phone call.
No response
No reaction.

Silence.
The worst punishment.
Punishable by death.
And I’m in the chair.

Talented, skinny, sexy, confident, fun, adventurous, a killer IG account.
I know, superficial, but JesusChrist does that count in my brain.
Pride envelopes me.
Fuck you, on heated lips, on repeat.
Thick black ash in my heart.

A curse.

No!
Those things work.
Stop that.
Don’t be a child.

A curse.

I mean it!
God.
What is this, medieval times?

A curse?

Not really.
More like blessings beyond reach, an avalanche.
I do.
I wish you,
the best.
Cuz you’re fuckin’ talented and I love you.
I love you.

take take take

Jackie Robinson

We survived!
The day has come.
My man returns.
Like a marathoner, I have ripped through the silk ribbon finale.
Ok, now give me my medallion.

The fear of going at this kid alone.
The fear of having to entertain, maintain, and remain a diligent parent –
The fear of him take, take, taking from me –
Guess what?

It lives larger in my head.

When are you gonna realize, he’s a good boy.
A kind, generous, loving, boy.
No high maintenance here.
And yet.
And yet, I keep thinking he’ll take, take, take from me.

Continue reading “take take take”

Find Magdalena

FADE IN: two surfers.

“I found this note on my phone that I never wrote.”

“What do you mean?”

“A notepad-note-thingie that said, ‘Things are getting interesting.’ Like, what the fuck?”

“Ok…”

“I feel like I’m getting my identity stolen.”

“You would know if that was happening. You also get shit-faced a lot, so there’s that.”

“Yeah. There’s this guy in the music business who sent me an email with a legal document attached that said, ‘You better get yourself a good lawyer, see you in court.’ Like, what the fuck did I do? It haunted me. I got off Facebook, Twitter, everything.”

“Don’t let ass-fucks like that get in your way. Fuckin’ idiots, the lot of ’em.”

“I don’t know. There’s like, some darkness inside, you know.”

He rubs his chest.

And then: “Do you believe in Jesus?”

Continue reading “Find Magdalena”