Too Much Pain, What's for Lunch?

I used to smoke, but that's over now.
A long-lasting relationship with those white cylinders that were always there for me. Helped me out of so much heartbreak. One puff at a time.

They say "breathe". And I did.
And it got my through.

Now I chew.
Smoking's out. Not cool; the glares of the modern elite shame you into snuffing them out.
But food—still okay.
Still kosher.
croissants with dark chocolate nestled inside, doughy noodles and creamy sauces.
Giant just-about-to-be overripe luscious peaches.
Food, is my Savior.

Always there for me.

There's a lump in the back of my throat,
and all that longing wants spill out past it and I just. can't.

Ribs dripping with tangy sauce, charred T-bone off the grill,
carne asada, and three brightly-colored salsas with mashed avocado on the side.

Food, still sanctioned.

What is not sanctioned, is the the donut roll easing it's way above the edge of my jeans,
the rounded ball which is now nestled under my breasts,
one that if I were impregnated were garner all kinds of positive attention, support, and nurturing.

but this one only generates side-ways looks, muted whispers, and self-loathing.

And just at the moment when I need to look my most beautiful.

At the moment when I am putting it all out there.

I am finally, finally on stage, singing my heart out.

I am singing.

And that is a miracle.

How did I get here?
and why now that it is happening, am I fast-tracking myself to Weight Watchers, knowing that I would never submit to groups or systems or restrictions.

I am all about indulging.

I am all about doing what makes you feel good (or better).

I am all about coping.

But this? It's sabotage.

And the bigger I get, the more my outside is in conflict with the inside Mimi.
The one that wants to leave it all on the stage, the one that wants this to be a permanent way of life.
The one that wants to be a diva and a star. The one that could be that, and will
if she can turn this ship around.

I'm not hungry, but my pain is.

Pancakes, soaked in real maple syrup and creamy butter,
crispy smoked bacon, tall lattes and crunchy fresh-baked biscuits
Reese's peanut butter cups—the salty and the sweet, taking me straight to heaven...
a shortcut.

Today's Burden

this is the last one
for today
it's more
than i've written in months

i've just watched
horrified
and let none of it penetrate
my heart

how can those two simultaneously occur?

when so much horror
has swept over you that you can observe
and recognize
how ugly the reality is

and still
take your shower
brush your hair
make your coffee
kiss your husband
and teenage son
and drive to work

where you do your best
to be your best
and give your all
and make a difference
where you can, when you can

making a crying child stop
eliciting smiles because you made someone else's life
easier. for a moment.
seeing the look of gratitude,
when someone you know carries an unbearably heavy load
has shared a small bit of it with you
because at least today, at least for a moment
you have the will
to carry the burden

you don't know how far
how long

you do it while you can
while it's yours to do

until some day you lay it down
and pray that someone will be around
to do the job.

Pour It Out

i used to write in threes.
three poems, or sort of,
back to back
eyes closed
i let it pour out of me,
i didn't try to interfere
didn't stop to spellcheck or erase,
edit or analyze.

i just tipped the cup
and let it pour
and then when finished,
i would slap down my laptop top
and sigh
a breath of relief
knowing that now since the words were no longer bottled in me
they were trapped on a digital page
inside the circuits
inside the casing of my apple-kissed, aluminum mouth
they didn't have to torture me anymore
they didn't have stick in my gullet
rotting away,
the acid seeping through my stomach lining
and the acid sitting at the back of my throut
and the tendency of my brows
to sail towards each other
in consternation

all this
all this thought
making manifest in my vulnerable body

i've seen it take hold of me
change my chemistry

i've seen it creep along my skin
and cause bumps itching
redness, rawness
as if the rawness of my soul
was making itself manifest

and people would say
you need to chill out,
drink some peppermint tea,
take deep breaths
they would say
do some yoga
some downward facing dog
will straighten you right out

i remember when every morning
brought with it dread––
a panic that if i got out of bed,

i would have no idea where to go from there.

bad times.

i wrote my way to health
and now i'm writing again
and i think
it's a preventative measure.

Rigged (on the death of Elie Wiesel)

When will the world learn?

Angry about aging.
Angry about nothing ever changing.
Rigged systems, trickle down economics
and nothing trickling on us

silly rabbit
these tricks were made for kids
with a capital K
the ones living
up on a Hill

whose sons never go to war
just stanford and harvard
making friends whose friends will all
be somebody some day

my son, yes, he's white
and still
had a momma with no desire
to live off the backs of others

i ran away down south
dropping out the only way i knew how
i joined the 3rd world willingly
and laugh about it now
knowing noone from there
would do such a crazy dumb ass senseless thing

as give up luxury
give up running clean water
give up macdonalds in all its forms
and tarjetas de credito

at 20%
25%
that's .25 for every dollar.

and we're back to the rigged system.

in which you can't get ahead
you can only get behind
and

i'm angry at my scowling face
angry the beauty that's lost
drowned in anxiety
trying to feed my family

i want nirvana...NOW.
i want messiah...NOW.
i want to know how to be in the world

seeing as how there's no world
that will have me.

no matter in which one i find myself
i'm only playing at being
wondering when
my real life is ever gonna start.

Be Amused -- Be Very Amused

How one day's emotions can differ so greatly from another's without often a very obvious cause is a mystery I am coming to except.

It makes the well-worn AA phrase of "this too shall pass" all the more relevant, helping one not cling to any emotional state as purposeful, permanent and therefore, meaningful, that last being the most important aspect for if the flux and waves of anger, anxiety, elation and excitement are all as transitory as the shifting light why try to make sense of them?

Why not merely except them as they are-stand still--let them wash over you like a spring shower and subsequent rainbow.

This is what a tree would do; A stalwart, silent observer to all that twirls around it slightly bending in the wind, growing with warmth and sunshine, turning inward and slightly dormant when conditions are less than favorable, yet not clinging to any one state as permanent.

A tree shows no "longing"; it simply adapts. To what is.

How to live in a culture that revers those who long, struggle, work hard, strategize and achieve? For that is the value that is held up--universally by left and right, Republican and Democrat as "the way to be".

American Idol, Hollywood, politics, high-tech--pick your venue where these dramas are played out. 

And yet if it's all meaningless, then the only purpose of having the benefit of consciousness is to perceive and be often amused by the twists and turns of events, the highs and lows, the triumphs and failures.

Observe--and be amused.

Cars

Cars shelter us from people.

Cars protect you from interaction.

Cars shield you from life happening.

Cars put your mind in neutral, your awareness in autopilot.

Cars consume gas, money, oil.

Cars line up every morning, every night.

They stand at attention, and in a perfect grid, they creepy-crawl back and forth

They idle while maintaining a perfect 72° interior temperature and an external global CO2 greenhouse

Cars are comfortable, but life isn't meant to be.

Cars eliminate the variables...

Cars sanitize your life.

Cars kill possibilities, -- so much that doesn't happen because of the mini-jails we climb into every morning, every night.