Birthday Wish

I wish I had remembered to forgive myself for things that weren’t my fault, and the things that were.

I wish I could’ve seen through the false intentions and scream to myself to run away.

I wish I could’ve known better than to be taken advantage of.

What I wish the most is that I would’ve been more kind to my heart for all the aches it weaved around itself like a defence mechanism. A scar so fresh it could barely stretch away.

I wish I could’ve known better than to carry it like a weight on my shoulders. A shadow underneath my whispers. A guilt that lingered with every passing and coming happiness. A void that fed on speculations of a mind that had wandered for days on end with no sleep to cloak over it with a peaceful mindfulness.

I wish I had become my own savior sooner.

I wish I would’ve acknowledged that I too am human and I too am flawed and that I too am capable of breaking hearts … even if that meant my own.

I wish I could go back to the day we met. I would have left her there.

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For the record

It was my fault.

Everything I had i lost because of my own actions.

Ain’t no one in here that’s left to blame but me.

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These Hands

I don’t remember this myself, but my mother used to tell me that when I was very young I would stand with my hands outstretched trying to touch the Moon. I was convinced that when I got just a little bit bigger I would be able to catch it in my tiny hands.
My favorite toys were marbles and crayons. Colors captivated me of course, it was what I could do with them in my hands that fascinated me. I would spend hours coloring, drawing in new lines. Taking my aggressions out on the page rather than acting them out more physically.

It’s been years … in fact I cannot remember the last time that I balled my hands into fists because of rage. That doesn’t feel like the right thing to do with them.

My hands have felt extreme cold and extreme heat, and have put those feelings onto paper with ink.

My hands have held my son, and my daughters. They birthed all four into this world: Two by catching and two by pulling and guiding. One of them actually wedged herself in by turning her head at the wrong time and jamming her ear. Just for a moment, and then  hands freed her and she came, gasping and angry.

My hands have purposefully ended two (non-human) lives. I took their lives out of Mercy, and I cried bitterly after each. My hands turned off the machine keeping my mother alive, and signed the papers that let her killer go free. My darkest self believes I have a murderer’s hands.

My hands have been broken, bloodied, chained, and cuffed.

They have worn wedding rings and scars. Nail polish tattoos of a broken and false loyalty.

My hands have been trained to fight. My hands have been trained to heal. My hands have done the devil’s work, and they have been thrown to the sky in praise of a God. I stretched them on the boards for self-righteous mock crucifixion. They have been clasped together until they went numb, begging for an end to the pain of heartbreak.

My hands remember the feeling of caressing the face of my lover. The gentle curve of her cheek, the gentle curve of her hip. They recall the silk-smooth skin of her back. They remind me of the pads of our fingers pressing gently together, and the careful moving of a wisp of her hair from her eyes.

My hands let me speak the words of my heart in magic. They wield the instruments of my craft and turn them into art.

My hands have earned everything that I own. They have saved my life, and they have saved the lives of others.
They have made life a little bit better for countless souls.

The gift I have been given is not my hands, rather the gift I have been given is in my hands. My life’s goal is to honor the giver of the gift by using it.
Until it’s gone.

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Trauma (My Mother was Murdered)

1992.

I might have saved her, had I listened to the warnings in my heart. (and yeah: I know that’s just not true.)

I’m going to succumb to a nap, and try and silence these voices. I’m sad, I’m frustrated, i’m angry.

Mostly, I’m sad. Mostly, I miss my Mom.
She never, ever got to see me perform magic.

She went to every performance she could when I was an actor, when I was a singer. She insisted on video tapes when she couldn’t.

She would have adored Grace and Braiden.
She would have lit up when i took her to the Castle …

Fuck … this hurts. Life isn’t fair, but my Mother always taught me to love it, anyway. And to channel that love outward.

Thank you for listening.

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Last Friday 3/29/19

Life and Stuff. Happens

My car was totaled this morning before I fully got out of bed.
On the phone when I heard the bang and thenthe squealing tires.

Collision, propulsion, collision.
My car slammed into Eddie’s.
Both cars wrecks.

Missed and important meeting and an important lunch.

Friends uplifted and encouraged and She was there, her voice in my ear telling me all would be well, and She was glad I was okay.
And the anxiety faded.

I allowed it flow over, through, and past me.

And I held my meeting over the phone and it was good. Really good. Life changing opportunities and … well, tell you all about it in time. Just remember that I said “Overlook”.

And someone had a car to sell. Better (far better) than I expected … and at an amazing price. Dude is a friend so he’s going to allow me to go ahead and take possession and pay what and when i can. I simply need to come up with $2000. Which sounds daunting, I know, but … the universe is showing me to have faith in the gift and the ability. Somehow, everything is going to be okay.  I can make that by just busking for a month or two … the gift gives back.

I am physically okay. And it was proven to me today by the outpouring of care that I am surroundedby love.

Dismal lows and breathtaking highs. In less than 12 hours.
Life is hard and unfair … but it is good.
I am mightily blessed and I vow to keep on passing that blessing forward. No matter what.

Edited to add: This was not intended as a plea for financial assistance, You are all contributing to my journey and i am immensely grateful. I’m waiting for the Universe to move. With work, preferably. I have faith it will come.
Thank you.

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it’s just a car

Just a hunk of scrap metal now, really.

There’s an empty space in the street where my car used to be. A gift in a desperate time. Never gave me much trouble at all. Got me from here to there. I brought it with me from NC when my life changed.

One of the few ties I had, really.
A few minutes ago a man chained it up and drove it away. Forever.
Now there’s just an empty space. Except for some busted glass and plastic.

I guess I’ll get a little money from the insurance company.
And i have the memories of friends and lovers who rode with me on my adventures and quests.

And the ghost of the giant who used to drive it.

But right now all I see is the empty space.

Another loss in the tally-book.

It’s Dawn’s birthday, and there was snow there. I know that made her happy.

It’s just a car.
It’s just an empty space.

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Accident

My car was totaled this morning by a high driver who was texting and driving through my neighborhood. My car was parked in front of my house, no one was hurt, including the driver. My car was catapulted into my roommate’s car, which is also totaled.

I have more thoughts, but right now: that car was a gift in a real time of need. It was gifted to me by a dear friend. It had belonged to her husband, who had tragically died a few weeks prior. She gave it to me. She said that he would have wanted it to be that way.

A kind, super-generous soul gave me that car and it served me so very well. I had plans on buying a newer car and finding someone to give the current car to. Someone in need. Paying it forward.

That was crushed by a texting driver.
It could have been so much worse.

But I’m still pissed that I cannot give that gift.

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