I know a secret.

You keep it locked inside of you.

Your heart’s out here in the open, but there is one part that you keep well hidden.

There is an explosive light.

I may be fiery reds, pinks, and blues, but you are surely rose skies and rivers of champagne.

I wear that fire on the outside.

But you have a fire there too.

Stronger than any that rages from my broken insides.

You have a pale yellow outlined in a burning, bright gold.

A warmth of protection.

Hidden deep inside you.

It’s enveloped me.

And I swim in your liquid sun.

The canary died. There was running and screaming and light and dark. But before the bird died there was work. There was my father covered in soot. There was my father with lungs black with smoke. Lungs so caked with coal dust that with the right amount of pressure they’d turn precious and glittering. Instead, abused and worked to their limit. Unable to fill fully. Over worked and underpaid. There was my father with the bird and a light. His boots and a pick. There was the bird golden and slight. A beacon underground. There was my father and a bird and their last, gasping breaths buried underground. Lost between the light and the dark.

Dance like the devil will ask for the next one

Laugh till it echoes in your cerebellum

Lay your lines thick and careful

Every page could have ‘The End’ at the bottom

Take a breathe, do your best, leave regrets

With bridges burning brilliantly

Fake a smile, try it on for size, fits you best

I’m only half the man I wanna be

Familiar with tragedy

Made pain my glock and vest

Trained for war but never left love behind me

Tamed the jungle but not my family tree

Take what’s yours, you’re worth it, trust

I’ve seen mud and blood

Been around my block a million times

A million miles, I know every bump

Every white line on that highway

I’ve tested fate doing 90, drunk and high

Never did find my place

Found my people, kicking rocks at steeples

Giving middle fingers to authority

Easily bored by bullshit and evil

Don’t mind rain use to the pouring

Bring it, we’re dying to live anyway

Sing it, dance like tomorrow’s dead today

Fling it, all your fear to the wind

Then spread those wings; dirty feathers

Hurricanes will clean em up for heaven

Dance

Laugh, don’t forget to try; not give a damn

Stay on the lamb from your demons

Swing and miss don’t forget to swing again

Nothing wrong with a flask

Treat life like it’s your deejay

Dance

Art like Insanity

runs in the family

red as the ruffles of

an old fashioned Love,

left hanging from the valance

of childhood’s dilly dalliance;

Locked in the box of scraps

and faded photographs

Relations were buried

with caskets, still married;

These portraits down the hall

that wayward dogs would maul,

have eyes that never saw...

though they always follow

...and called back with Time

painting her place in line...

#SheCouldntCloseHerEyes #Challenge

Maybe someday

I can talk to the moon

and have her talk to

the stars and maybe they

can mention to the clouds

how beautiful I think they look

when they weep.

Gemnah Maley Bray

Some days I remember how I tattooed you across my lungs.

It’s then that I know why I can rarely breathe.

It’s then that I know the oxygen never hits my bloodstream.

Stops just short,

catching on your fingertips.

Burning and branding instead of filling and spilling.

It’s then that I remember how you’ll be choking me from inside, eternally.

Never letting me catch my breath.

Always just shy of full.

And now I breathe shallow,

just like you.

Hey. We need to talk.

Do you remember where you were the afternoon of November 3, 2015? At approximately 1:07pm?

Because I sure do.

You were in a crowded cafe, as rain poured outside and early 90s rock music played inside. You wore a tailored business suit, carried a brief case, and were clean shaven. You appeared to be a mature, intelligent adult.

But then you strolled up to the overworked cashier and spat out “spicy tuna salad on chocolate chip, please” as your order.

That was pretty fuckin’ weird.

I was the customer behind you. You probably don’t remember me — given that this was nearly three years ago, we never spoke, and I ordered a forgettable sesame bagel with plain, low-fat cream cheese.

How ya doin’, buddy?? Can I call you buddy? I thought about you a lot since that fateful day we almost met.

I’ve turned your decision over and over in my mind and have come up with only one logical explanation: you were trying to teach me a lesson.

Or lessonS, rather.

Here’s what I learned:

Never be afraid to ask for what you want. No one’s gonna just hand you a promotion, a day off, or a dollop of spicy salt water fish on sugary bread.

Be confident in knowing your own desires. Don’t settle for cream cheese when you’re really craving canned mackerel.

Get creative! Life is to short to solely mimic what others have done before you. It’s a vast world out there, filled with many protein choices and baked vessels to pair them with. Go out and explore!

Life is like a chocolate chip bagel with spicy tuna salad. Some parts are sweet, some parts are stinky, and some parts are gaping empty holes. Oh and it’ll probably make you gassy.

Don’t worry about what other people may think of you. So what if the neurotic girl behind you in the cafe line will judge you, waking up in a cold sweat for hundreds of consecutive days, remembering your actions and finally deciding on day number 935 to self-publish an essay about it? Not your problem.

Thank you for these incredible teachings, oh great one! You took a peculiar route to instill this knowledge in me but I respect it.

…or maybe you just really like mayo with chocolate? Sicko.

You've always been drawn to the broken,

Junkyard trash salvaged and transformed,

Dismantled and reassembled into perfection.

Maybe that's why you chose me,

Collecting my fractured pieces in jars

And storing them away for reassembly.

But I am no puzzle.

My pieces will never fit again flawlessly.

Jagged edges exposed and cracked surfaces

Leave you searching for the girl beneath the wreckage

As if the girl standing before you needs perfecting.

Can you not find the beauty in the damage?

Can you not see the strength in the stitches that bridge the cracks?

You're waving fragments like white flags,

Jars opened for operation,

But I never asked for reassembly.

I only wanted to know if you could love the scars.

#poetry #scars