dignity

how to be wild

how to be proud

do we owe it to each other

to be the fullest self

to search and dig

through the grit and rock

till fingernails break

and palms are blistered

but what we uncover on the way

we keep

we store within our soul

in layers shallow and deep

and don’t we owe it to each other

to fight to discover ourselves

for if we fail to do that

what would we ever learn?

truth(s)

i have forgotten

what it means to be real.

I have forgotten that skin and flesh

and soul and mind

belong to each other.

I have forgotten that my universe

and my surroundings

depend on each other.

I have been juggling two truths.

What my eyes see

and my skin feels

versus my imaginations interpretation.

whirled and battered is my internal perspective.

how could everything be so clear and clean and polished in my vision

yet chaotic and fluid

— where gravity pulls and twists

the matter of my thoughts

with such intense velocity

that a strand of sense is impossible

to grasp within my mind?

how does one make sense

of such a harsh contradiction?

that the reality my fingers brush

is so rigid and secure

but my reality

where i will infinitely reside

collapses only to re-morph

with every dash of truth it is confronted with

how am i to know which is real then?

free

there was a moment

when i decided to save myself.

when i thought: enough.

enough pity

enough fear

enough excuses

when i realized that being kind to myself

did not mean

following impulses

basing decisions off convenience

and there is no love without challenge

no reward without bravery

and as i suddenly decided to attack everything that scared me

my terror evaporated and melted into the dewy sponge of my past

and my phantom fear was just a stain in my memories

and I’m soaring.

19

kick me when I’m down

i want you to

throw stones at my soft flesh

until you bruise a beating heart

rock me and sway me

make me lose my balance

betray me until i’m left to wonder

if we are all just enemies

i welcome you to feast on my fear

i invite you to enable me to make myself proud

and i warn you

you will be disappointed

i am not an easy target

my passive days are passed

i will fiercely protect myself

and i will gladly argue darkness with light.

Toothbrush

I have many times had been made to feel like a toothbrush. One appreciates his toothbrush. One uses his toothbrush how he pleases, when he pleases. One cares for his toothbrush, but only because it works to his advantage to do so. One does not worry about what’s going on with his toothbrush, or if his toothbrush is having a bad day. One actually completely forgets about his toothbrush whenever he doesn’t need it. But if the toothbrush does work as well as usual or doesn’t give him that minty fresh feeling right after he spits, he may show concern. One doesn’t think much of his toothbrush being there every morning and night, but if it wasn’t he would feel frustrated, as if his life was vacant of something of great value. One would certainly care very much if someone else used his toothbrush. And when the bristles of a toothbrush begin to round and grow coarse, or the body of the toothbrush snaps and holding it is now an inconvenience, then he throws the toothbrush in the trash, and gets a new one.

I have been a loyal toothbrush that served my purpose for years. I would make him feel clean and satisfied. I sometimes didn’t even mind digging into his back molars and pulling out the remanence of his dinner. I was glad to dig the pulled pork out from the crevice between his gums, or to smooth the moist hamburger bun out the dip of the teeth in the back of his mouth. I cleaned up the messes that nobody else knew of or could possibly notice. That only he felt, and weighed intensely on him, but were essentially invisible to anyone besides the two of them. I was his only remedy to feel comfortable again. I didn’t mind being his toothbrush, it gave me purpose, and was satisfied to do my job right and feel his gratitude.

I was only important to them relative to them. I was a counterpart to their life, not a human in my own right. As genuinely as their care for me seemed, it was really just care for themselves. As a toothbrush to one’s dental hygiene. The only point of a toothbrush is to make one feel good. Nobody cares how the toothbrush feels.

So, if I stopped making their teeth feel pearly and fresh morning and night, a new toothbrush they would find.