Streams Of Consciousness | 6.25.15

I am here weightless. Ear tuned to every sound. The fireworks are starting. A week filled with the explosions of war. I despise the celebration of generations who’ve been traumatized by genocide. Headphones. I’m trying to stabilize.

Can I float off away from this place yet? Work to do, but goddamn, I’m tired. Inside. Down in the caves where the seaweed waves in water. She, there, that siren; she is tired inside her liquid soul.

Outside, my body pushes. My face smiles, forced because maybe if I push at it fiercely it turns into the real real. The sounds of fans whirring above me. It’s heated evenings with the shades pulled up to catch the breezes.

Life moves on. Can’t do shit to change that except to feel it all. Face forward. Eyes on the prize, girl, eyes on the prize. Actualize. My destiny has arrived.

Which looks like….

A settled sunset in a camp chair around a beach bonfire,

A triumphant glow in the eyes of a child who has escaped the pain and healed,

A human holding accountability softly in their palms saying, “I fucked this up. I deserve to carry this, not you.”

An acceptance,
A sag of the shoulders and
A rest before the next climb.

They say don’t expect too much from people. It gives way to disappointment. I say that goes along with all the other ways a victim is left to carry the blame. No. The shame belongs solely to the asshole who throws away lives without a care. Don’t blame us.

Here is YOUR Diagnoses:

Apathy, Chronic
Envy, Unresolved
Greed, Chronic Satiation, Level OCD
Selfishness, Harmful Ideation

Everything with you motherfuckers is about money. It temporarily numbs the pain like drugs, and when that plug is pulled, what’s left but the abscess to drain endless,

Your chosen mental madness,
Your fucking sadness,
The voices in your head
Telling you that you ain’t shit;
I know all about it.
I used to be a pro
At telling myself no,
Instead of attending
To my precious soul.

Thinking about it makes my stomach sick. I’d rather live a thousand lives of loneliness than ever give in to anyone again.

I say yes to this right here; the silence; the peace; the ability to freely be me. And fuck the gurus and the controllers, the betrayals and the disloyal. It’s a journey of suffering embraced like a blanket and the shit ain’t mine this time. I get to leave it all behind.

So, I am weightless on this bed. Thinking about communion style wafers of white chocolate and laughter that fled at the sight of action and accountability, because standing on your own two feet ain’t never been a strength when you care more about Vera Wang than your own ability to become better and change.

Lying and manipulation is the crutch of your existence,

And me? I’m just weightless. I’m just feeling, dealing and healing. Because that’s what I do. Live my truth. Even if the self hating critics keep the rest of you in prison, I have escaped to never, ever return to that gate even if it grows flowers;

Unless I have a mallet
To knock down the malice.

Anesthetize

You stand there in your
White smock,
Arms crossed over the chest,
Same smile fifteen years later.

I wonder who you are anymore
As your voice echoes
Dismissive screams
Disguised as suggestions
For my wailing.

“Hop a bus to the Harbor,”
You say
“Over a bridge.
Live a little
But just in case you can’t…”

Medicate

I stand small in my boots,
A dandelion inside of weeds
Smashed by every brain
Who dismisses my needs;
Who doesn’t see
Things are different for me.

I fade off beyond the windows
To the skyline.
There’s a blue beneath the clouds
That could be ocean.
I swim there as his voice becomes a whisper,
And I float
As he tries to care.

Medicate

There are answers unaccepted
Even for sadness unexpected.
There’s no more bend in my back.
I’ve walked upside down
Using mirrors for balance.
Those days are long gone.

And I stared
At the scrape on your head
Wondering if you fell
Because you’re aging
And just don’t care anymore.

Not a lost heart,
But a man tired
From carrying the remnants
Of sickness hung around his neck,
Seeped into his stethoscope
Beginning to squeeze his throat.

They don’t use it, you know.
It just looks…
Doctory.

Medicate

I laugh for you.
What a beautiful mask,
All brilliant glow of teeth,
Age lines posing as dimples
Make sideways jokes
A temporary anecdote.

I am a dipping bird
Desperate for worms,
And you are watching as if
My flying is a dance
While I hope for chances.
I nose dive
Into the hive.

I count emotion as it passes.

Anger
Despair
Confusion
Weariness

My body is consumed
As your fingers type out scripts
Because letters spell loneliness
And your scientific ride
Is the most toxic drift.

Medicate

Here we go.
Papers pressed in hands,
Urgent goodbyes;
I inhale in the parking lot
Staring at the setting sun
I’m just another one
Last lock for the day.

Nothing in this is changing,
Just passing by and waving.

When a heart has been danced upon
Until it is trodden earth,
When indifference becomes
The script to numb the hurt
When you can’t see the answer
Is the atmosphere that

Where I breathe
I die.
Where I breathe
I am alive.

And you
Want to anesthetize it,
Like purity holds no power,
Pain should be pacified,
And all the while I am just
Frozen inside these boots.

So tell me, doctor, what would you do?

Medicate?

Vennie Kocsis
©venniekocsis.com