Mazes

(11/18/2015)
Why is coming out such a process?
An unending, continuous process?
One that never seems to get easier no matter how much practice you've had or how many times you've done it?

I'm sorta in the closet.  Sorta not in the closet.  To some people I'm out.  To others I'm closeted.  Feels like lying by omission.  Feels shitty…
But there's so many barriers (not even including fear) to knock down to get out of the closet.  Saying "in the closet" implies there is only one door, without a lock, to be opened.  Then you step out and it's just that simple.  But it's so not like that at all.   It's many doors that are often locked.  You find yourself crawling out windows you stumbled across in the maze.  You learn to be an expert lock pick.  You draw maps in your mind with explicit protocols on how to escape.
It's uncomfortable.  It's like being stuck in chrysalis.  You know you've transformed into something better, but how do you get out?  Where is the seam?  Where is the weak point through which you'll force yourself?  Force… That's exactly what it is.  You push and prod but rarely do you cajole.  I can't seem to be that tender or nurturing with myself.  I am too preoccupied with remembering my map and how to pick locks…

Chapters

For my third instar,
Back in a cramped chrysalis again,
Feeling like life is a silo
And I am just one single wheat grain.

Molasses

Life is so fleeting,

Yet everything seems to weigh

Very heavily. 

L'Chaim

A bit of bismuth
Essence of enzymes
A milliliter of milk thistle
A year of yoga
A gram of ginger

A cap of cannabis

A pill of probiotics

A cup of chamomile
A sip of simethicone
A dab of dicyclomine
And a mouthful of menthol
All cheers to my unreliable health.

The Misery of Life

Life,
For all its pleasures,
Cannot be contained between two pages
Nor can I contain the sadness between
The two broken pieces of my heart.

A Gracious Prayer

Oh universe. You are mercy and grace.
Though I am tried and tired,
you have found fit to spare me in this solitary moment,
granting me precious time to complete the tasks before me.

52

So much of my time is spent trying to stack the deck 

So that the odds might be in my favor.

I build my house from the hand I was dealt;

And each time I have exhausted my efforts,

Finally creating some semblance of structure,

A gust of wind effortlessly knocks it down

And I am left to pick up the pieces

And try again. 

Orator

Maybe if I shout it from the mountains
and everyone hears it all at once,
then I can stop telling my story.

Sonorous Philosophies

The boom tree pleasures are the gables of the mind 

Gallivanting 

Silk weeds sleeping havoc in verisimilitudes

A writing wrought in two 

Slickenslides of the psyche separating platitudes  

Ogling every corner of the infinite sky