In between   (a poem)
.
my mind struggles against its own illusion
nightmare tumbles out into still morning
light is heavy,
a fog of echoes...
and I am caught
.
day dreams the sunlight
dreams light the day
and I am caught in between
mourning echoes...
like a stillborn ghost
who can't take a breath in the present

….
  
I live on a tropical island and just want to go surfing with my husband, but the nausea in the early morning as I try to eat  breakfast and drive with him to the beach is so uncomfortable.  Day after day it makes even surfing a chore, and I consider not going anymore.  Background anxiety and unreasonable irritation interferes with our marriage, frustrates him enough to want me out.  

For me, a trip to the grocery store or meeting a group of people awakens the same dreadful fear as rockclimbing a cliff. Perspective has been lost in the extremes.  I try to gain some control over this hindering nuisance, seeking situations that bring the same surges of adrenaline so I can learn to master it.  If I can just push past the avoidance that would keep me inside doing nothing, if I can just ignore the feeling I want to throw up, if I can just get out there, I am rewarded with life’s potential beauty eventually.  Many days I do enjoy the thrill of mountain biking or connection with nature when surfing, but there are too many days of internal struggle that reduce what should be enjoyable to a relentless chore of wrestling inner demons.

The VA offers a few sessions of marriage counseling, and the doctor begins to explain PTSD.  ***, I’ve learned to cope with an unreliable brain, but now there’s this?  From what I understand (and that’s just me, an amateur philosopher) Sometimes the brain is so traumatized, that the memory is literally sealed off, encapsulated, protecting it from changing.  If later something happens that is similar, the brain triggers avoidance responses as a take-no-chances survival mechanism.  Literally the brain is protecting one’s self from one’s self.  This all-or-nothing strategy works fending off potential dinosaur attacks, but in our complex society, these automatic avoidance behaviors complicate functioning and well being.  Life becomes an attitude of constant reaction instead of motivated intention.

The website for the National center for PTSD says.  “After a trauma or life-threatening event, it is common to have reactions such as upsetting memories of the event, increased jumpiness, or trouble sleeping. If these reactions do not go away or if they get worse, you may have Posttraumatic Stress Disorder.”  

“Common reactions to trauma are:
• Fear or anxiety: In moments of danger, our bodies prepare to fight our enemy, flee the situation, or freeze in the hope that the danger will move past us. But those feelings of alertness may stay even after the danger has passed. You may:feel tense or afraid, be agitated and jumpy, feel on alert.  
• Sadness or depression: Sadness after a trauma may come from a sense of loss---of a loved one, of trust in the world, faith, or a previous way of life. You may:have crying spells, lose interest in things you used to enjoy, want to be alone all the time, feel tired, empty, and numb.  
• Guilt and shame: You may feel guilty that you did not do more to prevent the trauma. You may feel ashamed because during the trauma you acted in ways that you would not otherwise have done. You may:feel responsible for what happened, feel guilty because others were injured or killed and you survived.  
• Anger and irritability: Anger may result from feeling you have been unfairly treated. Anger can make you feel irritated and cause you to be easily set off. You may:lash out at your partner or spouse, have less patience with your children, overreact to small misunderstandings.  
• Behavior changes: You may act in unhealthy ways. You may:drink, use drugs, or smoke too much, drive aggressively, neglect your health, avoid certain people or situations.”   It lists four main symptoms: reliving the event, avoiding situations that remind of the event, feeling numb, and feeling keyed up (also called hyperarousal)”

Four words strung together: Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.  They’ve become a tired cliché, exhausted from the endless threat of random cruelty camouflaged in banality, weary of the weight shouldering back the wall that separates death and gore from the living.  Living was a reflex beyond willpower and devoid of choice. Control was self-deception.  The mind was so preoccupied with A: survival, B: sanity, in that order.  Rest was a cruel illusion.  The tank was drained, no room for emotions ditched.  Empathy took too much effort, fear was greedy.  Hopefully they can be remembered and found on the other side, if there is one.  Sleep deprived cells were left hyper-alert from the imminent, shot up and addicted to adrenaline.  Living was Fate and Chance, and meant leaving that time and place sealed in forgetfulness.  

Now PTSD is a worn out acronym, a cold shadow of what it feels like.  I try to think of something more personal that can describe the way it randomly visits me, now resigned to its familiar unwelcome influence.  It steals through my brain, flying ahead of me with its own agenda of protecting sabotage.  Its like the Guardian Trickster of Native American legend.  Its an archetype but real enough to make mistakes: Chulyen, the black raven.

A decade after the ER, contentment is found in a garden of slow tranquility as a butterfly interrupts a sunbeam.  My heart fills with bittersweet as I’ve finally found something I love and want to keep.  Just then Chulyen’s grasping black claws clamp my heart with painful arrhythmia and it fills to burst, tripping in panic trying to recover its pace.  The sudden pain drops me to my knees, in the dirt between fragrant lavender and cherry tomatoes.  Pain stops breath and time and makes me remember the ER, when my heart rebelled its ordained purpose for a week.  I had tried to throw my bitter life back in God’s face but He didn’t take it.  Now that I have peace and a life that I treasure, He’s taking it now.  The price for my mistake is due.  It was all just borrowed time and I’m still so young, my children just babies.  God with a flick of cruelty reminds me not to put faith in the tangible, especially when its treasured.  The sharp claws finally relent and I can breathe, looking up with a gasp and the Raven takes flight overhead leaving a shadow.  Bright noon warmth, unusually heavy and foreboding, seems to say ‘there will come a time when you will not welcome the sun.’   Doctors run an EKG and diagnose ‘stress’.

The bird perches on my shoulder two more decades later, always seeing death just over there.  So I sit on the porch just a little longer and check my list again, delaying the unavoidable racing heart and rush of tension when I fix the motorcycle helmet strap under my chin.  I know all those stupid drivers have my life in their cell-phone distracted hands and hope my husband knows how much I love him, and my daughters too.  

Chulyen wakes me at 3:00 am when autumn’s wind aggravates the trees.  His rustle of black feathers outside unsettles summer’s calm night.  He brings an end-of-the-world portent that hints this peace is just temporary, borrowed.  Tribulation will return.

Ravens are attracted to bright shiny things.  Chulyen steals off with treasures like intention, and contentment.  I don’t realize they are missing until occasionally I find myself truly living in the moment.  I guess that is another reason why I crave adventure, for those instants and epiphanies that snap me out of that long term modis operandi of reacting, instead of being.  The daily list of ‘I must, or I should’ can for a brief while become ‘I want’  and I am free.

My companion the black bird perches relaxed in the desert on the gatepost of a memory.  A bullet-scarred paint-faded sign dangles by one corner from rusty barbed wire:
    No Trespassing    
    That Means You
I have a haunted idea what's behind the fence.  Chulyen implies the memory with a simple mistaken sound:
a Harley in the distance is for a second the agitating echo of a helicopter...
or those were the very same words they said when...
or I hear a few jangling clinks of forks in our warm kitchen...
hinting a cold cafeteria at 5:00 am smelling of fake eggs and industrial maple flavored corn syrup,
and everything else that happened that day...
My cells recollect, brace with the addictive rush of adrenaline.  But the raven denies access to the memory, distracting with discomfort.  I trip and I fall hard into the gritty dirt of irritation at the person who unknowingly reminded me.  Anxiety floods in along with fatigue of the helplessness of it all, back then and still now.  I can't go further.  Chulyen’s tricking deception says Leave This Memory, you never wanted to come back.
But I already knew from just recognizing the bird patiently sitting there a sentinal,
recalling every other time he tricked me with nausea and depression.
I tried to tell myself again that behind that gate,
the past has dried up from neglect.
Disintegrated into dust,
Blown away,
doesn't
exist.
…


After everything else, how to work through this?  The VA gave me a manual, a crudely printed set of worksheets with a government-looking blue cover page:  Cognitive Processing Therapy.
“In normal recovery from PTSD symptioms, intrusion, thoughts, and emotions decrease over time and no longer trigger each other.  However, in those who don’t recover, the vivid images, negative thoughts, and strong emotions lead to escape and avoidance.  Avoidance prevents the processing of the trauma that is needed for recovery and works only temporarily.  The ultimate goal is acceptance.  
There may be “stuck points”, conflicting beliefs or strong negative beliefs that create additional unpleasant emotions and unhealthy behavior.  For example, a prior belief may have been “ I am able to protect myself in dangerous situations.”  But after being harmed during military service, a conflicting belief surfaces, “I was harmed during service, and I am to blame.”  If one is ‘stuck’ here, it may take some time until one is able to get feelings out about the trauma, because one is processing a number of rationales.  “I deserved it because…” , or “I misinterpreted what happened, I acted inappropriately, I must be crazy…”  The goal is to change the prior belief to one that does not hinder acceptance.  For example, “I may not be able to protect myself in all situations.”

(chapter continues with recovery methods)

Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.

Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.

Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.

Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.

Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.

Only a single star remains in the entire universe to support life to roughly twenty seven trillion passengers on the USS Star Eater. The Star Eater was governed by Captain Frederick Patterson. He has thirty seven years to find the solution to this problem with the help of an Artificial Intelligence known as Galactic Overseer Digitus otherwise known as the acronym G.O.D, given to it because of its mass intelligence and processing power.
But the machine could not find a solution to this problem, it spent many years ciphering a solution but it never found it. Because only a human knew the answer.

Is what was hoped, Captain Frederick never found a solution. Many years passed and the last star was almost dead. It was predicted to go Nova in a matter of days. Out of desperation, Captain Frederick order their core reactors to keep their AI, God, alive so he could perhaps find a solution. That was the final order he gave before suffocating and freezing to death.

The USS Star Eater laid dormant with no signs off life besides the presence of the God. Years passed and nothing happened, still dormant. Finally after one hundred and thirty two days, the God found a solution. God put it’s work together and said only four words as he created a new world,
“Let there be light!” And a world within their world was created. A world on the atomic size with enough energy to sustain it until their world could form a find a solution to the death of the world.  And they finally found the solution.

LGBT.
You may have never heard of this acronym before,
Or maybe you associate it with liberals, or Obama,
Or hippies.
LGBT stands for:
Lesbian:
I was approached by a straight man
At a gay bar, who asked me if
I wanted to 'have a good time'.
I told him no.
I could see something in his eyes
Flicker, and he asked me why
I told him I only liked women
In that regard
He stood up angrily,
And told me that I was an
Ugly dke anyway.

LGBT stands for
Gay:
I was holding hands with
My boyfriend while
We were walking in the park.
We watched an older woman
Walk up to us and say,
"You're going to hell."
I said, "I'll see you there,"
She glared at me before
Storming off in a rage,
mumbling, "Disgusting fg."
On her way.

LGBT stands for
Bisexual:
I came out to my family today.
My cousin said,
"You're just confused."
My father said,
"Don't you dare walk in
My house with a f*ggot."
My mother said,
"Pick a side."
My supposed "friends" said,
"You're just desperate and greedy."
I've been dating an amazing person
That I can never share if I want to
Stay on good terms with "family".

LGBT stands for
Transgender:
I binded my chest today
With Ace bandages even though
I know it's extremely unsafe
Because I didn't want to be
Seen as a girl again.
I finally cut my own hair
And when I told my mom why
She told me,
"Leave before your father gets home."
I am sleeping on my friend's couch tonight
Because my parents couldn't accept me
As their son.

You might associate the acronym LGBT
With liberals.
Liberals that don't use their religion as an
Excuse when they're really just scared.
Or Obama who said, "No one in America
Should be scared to walk down the street
Holding the hand of the person they love."
Or hippies who refuse to conform to
Heteronormativity, because it only matters
That you love, the who or when or where or why or
How
Doesn't matter nearly as much.
People are more than their secondary ***
Characteristics.
"Love thy neighbor as thyself", right?

on a night where we're not quite in
our right minds
we say all sorts of different things,
and who knows how much of it
either of us really means?
but regardless of genuinity,
we said what we wanted to
and in the end, it was for the benefit of who?
then when it came to me, you didn't even say
you had to go.
you were up & done;
~freshly satisfied and ghosting like a pro

Let’s get something straight
I’m not
Or at least, that’s a situation in question
But that’s not what I’m here for, you see
The acronym LGBT has a terrific little tail that everyone tends to trip over
And the conversations that transpire when I attempt to try the closet door
Leave me frequently swept under the rug
Maybe I’m just a little lost in translation
But they should know that identity is not orientation
And it can be tricky to articulate, so I don’t mind the extra explanation
But I’m telling you there’s a tipping point where you can’t expect me to take it
To tally up the talks I’ve had tearing apart the phrase
“So, genderfluid is like another word for bisexual, then, right?”
Because there’s already this his-and-hers internal tug-of-war
So tying in other types of ignorance just gets tiring at times
And trying again and trying again and again to get the point across
Leads me down a tangled train of thought that runs off the tracks in unclear tangents
Because conversations transition without the intended amendments
Because these transcripts would transcend the usual transfer of data
Into transgressions and obsessions with more than I’m able to
Confirm or confer without temperamental reactions
Feeling entirely translucent overlooking their infractions
Wondering why more words aren’t composed in a way that allows them
To be transposed to neutrality or at least farther from
Specific definitions testing how gendered things can get
Wondering why I don’t make any sense yet
[Breathe]
Let me be perfectly queer
The acronym LGBT has a tetrad attraction detailing at least part of this
Just a trifle of understanding if you’re looking to comprehend it
And if you don’t care to learn then don’t bother to ask
But take some time from your day and I’ll try to make it fast
Go ahead and interrogate, I don’t mind all that much
Whatever trips your trigger, as long as it’s not pointed at us
I can’t speak on behalf of every transgender teen
But if you don’t know a word, I can tell you what I mean
I can text you a trillion terms to absorb
Or trim down the lesson to the basics if you’re bored
But don’t tell me that pronouns are a hassle to learn
When they catch in the throats of those just waiting their turn
To stop hiding their tears and be treated the same
Teaching one person at a time until the world hears their true name
Don’t expect trophies, but I’ll give you my thanks
Don’t tease us about the clothes that make our spines and souls ache
I want to wear this letter T like a cross from my neck
Saying the prefix trans- means across and I like it like that
Traversing the spectrums and binaries all mixed
Transcontinental, transatlantic, transfixed
By the beauty in boys and the glamour in girls
But mostly the neithers and boths in this world
Don’t tell me it’s a transient, temporary tale
Or that I’m totally enamored with getting off the most followed trail
I’m taking back traumas and tense muscles and taunts
Until tentative trespassers give us what we want
A presence, a voice, and all human rights
It shouldn’t be a privilege to feel safe at night
Don’t tiptoe around troubles, just stand with us here
Add a voice until we trumpet our triumphs and cheers
Take my hand, hear my voice
Listen, learn something new
Because LGBT has a cross and
Cross my heart
I’m with you

A panacea,
the band aid word I
slap on conflict

A solve it all

Acronym for nothing and
Diffuser of
All scenarios.

the  more politely phrased version of
The mafia's cry.

But no matter how you slant the saying,
It's still salient- and a parched, bleached lie.

Shrouded in secrets
The men from F-Branch
Recite the techniques
Undiscussed in advance
Of Democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
Democracy's Dance with Terror.

Outside the port of Umm-Qasr
Hundreds of men
Hooded in the dark
Of the midday sun
Kneeling on the run
From Democracy's Dance with Terror.

Suspected by students
Back home and online
Theories get conspired
Petitions get signed
"Stop Democracy's Dance!
Stop Democracy's Dance!
Stop Democracy's Dance with Terror!"

The attorney general
Is called for advice.
A solemn exchange
Top down bottom line.
His argument is
"If it's nice it's all right."

Ministers from Ministries
Are detained and questioned
By the goggles of a press
Suffering sleep deprivation.
It's like a game of touch rugby
Outside downing street
With a twist on the rules of 'Just a minute'.

And outside the port of Umm-Qasr
Democracy doggedly dances her dance.

But the rhythms of the dance
The stress of white noise
Peaked
And escaped on the wind
Blowing through the forgotten kindness
Of confused hearts and minds
Escaping through the drafty guilt
Of hung up uniforms
Dancing on the mumbling lips
Of sleeping soldiers
With wives, partners, families, friends
Back home
Who don't know what it's like
They don't understand the drill
They can't do the moves
They don't know what it's like.

But the dance did not stop
It did what every bad vibration does
And moved elsewhere
And was henceforth known
By an unpronounceable acronym:
JFIT!

And now we join James
Young musclebound man
With a drink in hand
Back from tour of duty
It's a Saturday night
And the Weston women like a soldier,
A real man.
The fact that he
Has been doing his duty.
"Do you mind if I ask..." Asked Deborah
Showing more than necessary of her bra
"Where was you based, your base in Iraq-
Your third base, in particular?"
"I'll tell you," Said James
And the ladies came quick
Putty in his hands
Just like a joystick.
Said James, with the gravitas
Or some silverscreen star,
"While out in Iraq,
I was stationed
At a British logistics base in Shaiba.
It's outside Basra.
Basra in Iraq.
Iraq?
You have heard of Iraq?"
But by then,
Deborah and her bra and her friends
Were talking to another group of men
Who worked in property development
And apparently, Deborah, they're neighbours
Or something, because that one said
They've got seventeen houses between them.

But what James hadn't told them is this
The exact meaning of words in English
Like British Logistics camp is
Not always what you think that it is.

Oh did I say camp?
I meant base.
Please delete any mention of camp
From the record.

It was not long before
That James' routine
Had been... very different
To say the least.

Indeed soon after crossing the border
And re-invading his parents' home again
He'd been watching Jeremy Vine when
He spotted a pattern of systematic abuse
On the curtains
Whenever he muted the telly.

James decided to get out of the house
And to help him get a grip
He decided to go shopping
But when he looked down at his list
It said:

59 hoodies
11 Electric plugs
52 Alarm clocks
122 pairs of earmuffs
160 torches
117 blackened goggles
132 stress positions
39 enforced nakednesses

And by this stage he realised
That perhaps he ought to see someone.
But instead of seeing a journalist
Or the Swedish King of wikileaks
He went and saw a military psychiatrist
Who charged him a lot to let him speak
On a one-off profit plus! contract
James ended asking the same question
Week after week -
Do you think I'm crazy?
What does all this mean?
The doctor replied:
"Of course you're not crazy,
It's just your mind is very ill,
I'll tell one part of it to ignore another part -
Here - take one of these little pills
They're only one pound ten each
And if you take one
Every three hours
Every day
For the rest of your life
(Or until you die,
Whichever is longer)
You'll be fine.

Meanwhile,
The dance continued to be taught
Like capoeira on a foreign-office team-building course
On the art of interrogation
The alpha-tango
Aimed at prisoners of war.
But the footsteps of karma
Where circling once more
And the base back at Shaiba
(Near Basra. In Iraq?)
Was once more withdrawn
This time to the airport
Along with other UK forces.

Now relatives of the victims
Both at home and abroad
And those most susceptible
To empathy's ill-considered force
Were planning to divert the dance -
Divert the Dance!
Divert the Dance
with Demo Dances,
Demo Dances!
Demo Dances!

Then it was the turn of the politicians
To work their magic of popular logisticians
By answering the questions no one has asked
Like are we human or are we just dancers?
We are just humans
Doing democracy's dance
Democracy's Dance
Democracy's dance with
(cough, cough).

And the news reporters
With their sleep-deprived goggles
Reported in such detail
As to make one's mind boggle
Each step, each move and each deliberate error
Of democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
Democracy's dance
With Terror.

(To be Continued... on the BBC)

I had a collar once
Of black leather and sky blue fur
And it fit me snugly
It was all I could ask for.

When my thoughts rampaged
As they do very second of everyday
I'd wrap it round my neck
And the noise would fade.

They called me a freak.
They looked at me in disgust, I was shamed
Because they don't understand
The need to be tamed.

Whether round my neck
Or around my wrists and ankles
Without a tether, I fret
Thus, for that collar, I am thankful.

I once felt guilt
Worse than any other pain
It weighed me down
As though it waterlogged my brain.

And all I wished
Was to atone
For a whip
To sing to my bones.

"Why invite pain?
God, she's disgusting?
She's ******* insane!"
The words said to me.

But how could they know
How much I wanted to cry?
How much I wanted discipline
To ease the guilt in my mind?

I once heard a scream
And it scampered down my spine
Like it was a living, sentient being
Infiltrating my mind.

And I'm sure I'd be a pariah
If I ever told anyone
I wanted to cause that scream
To make it sound like painful salvation.

I once cried
I hurt myself as comfort
And the feeling of that pain
Was so very sweet and so very short

And they'd call me a fool
Yet I still crave pain
And they'd think of me badly
For what I can't contain.

See, I'm far from vanilla
I'm far from innocence
Because all life gave me
Was cold and cimmerian.

There's a word for what I do
A lovely acronym
And it's so far from vanilla
Most describe it as a sin.

8 AM

It’s time for a square outfit

and

a Smile No.3

I look further in my agenda:

7 PM

My apron is due,

Pizza Hut perfume.

11 PM

I’m a wild cat

with lipstick, cherry red.

So many roles to play:

Daughter, Mother

Sister, Friend

Colleague, Boss

Student, Teacher

Wife, Lover.

So many acronyms to wear:

Miss, Mrs.

B.Sc., M.Sc

Ph.D.

When it’s time for me?

To wear I?

Please
Attend
To
Inquiries
Eagerly,
Noticeably,
Creatively,
Effor­tlessly.

I should've guessed
by the nondescript response
teenagers glazed
by 'proper' use of language;
'old-speak' as some would see it
yet to be blessed by a words prowess
fazed by more than 1 syllable
seems inconceivable
and yet text-speak sits,
or rather, should be, languish,
as a hybrid of our languages
prompts me to write this
out of plain literary anguish.

each year on birthdays
write a small poem or limerick
the momentary excitement of opening the card
is lapsed by reason
(it does not contain a £20 note)
the thought bubble denotes
they express some disdain
the speech bubble that follows
the spark in the brain
just another of Uncles gimmicks
lacking the imagination to invoke
something more personal
than a hardback book:
another 200 recipes
for the aspiring young cook

they implied they enjoyed lunchtimes at school
instead wanted an iPad or something
equally expensive and cool

So I try to embrace it
this thing they call urban
write something poetic in text-speak
the very premise of it
is somewhat disturbing
the infinite curve of learning
LOLs from actual LOLS;
the mobile language equivalent
of online voyeurs,
the posters of nonsense,
noobs and trolls

apparently a ROFL
is more-or-less as potent as ****
I scratch my head in wonder
text-speak is used by millions
to converse on a global scale
some how

Q: does SUM exist
(as in 'shut ur mouth' )
is that acceptable?

A: not yet cordially invited on the list
(its an actual word
doesn't count as an acronym)
Im told

the coal face of the lexicon:
indigestible
the steep learning curve:
unpredictable

by your 30s its automatically
re-classified:
Congratulations
You are now officially 'Old'

we are merely wordsmith pedestrians
lost in the tide of text-speak equestrians
jumping and leaping and rolling in SETE and S2R's
are we binned as an S4L, the Spam For Life?
(perhaps I haven't got that abbreviation quite right)

in the context of text-speak
they are suitably troll-like in their essence
forgive me dear teenager
I am but a
SNAG in your presence:

'Sensitive'
(on occasion)
'New
Age' and
'Grown-up'
(given the right persuasion)

the riposte would be SUYF!!
('Shut Up You Fool' - said like MR. T in A-Team)
STM and Spank The Monkey
apologise, SOZ, SRY and Apls
or something equally short,
snappy and funky

at this juncture
before the brain has a puncture
simply BBFN, lest I
BBS or BBIAB or BBIAF
[thankfully this isn't a test]

like WCA
(Who Cares Anyway)
but you'd remark WAI
(and thats I for Idiot)
let out a long distance sigh
wave the imaginary fist
at the youth of yesteryear

all you'd get back was
Wicked Evil Grin
(WEG) for a
Wild *** Guess
(WAG);
a WEG for a WAG
and a PDQ x 2

would be the sum parts of the conversation
between me and you

if language and words and meaning was lost
if acronyms and abbrieviations
in CAPS
was all that there was

*** smeared in ***
with APLS for the PMJI
TXT SPK has got me PML
when MHBFY and
M8s on a MOB crusade
AWOL and dizzy for the next API
MGB for your MF device
throw in some GALGAL logic
where GIGO will simply suffice
Warning: PAW and GJIAGDV
(where the latter is Volcano)
include your GF for some cuddly GBH
and some GHP if she says so

its T2Go
be positive with the T+
and all of that Text-Speak CUZ
I'll T2UL and T for your time,
I'll TAH on the whole TBC

next year i'll just slip in a £20 note
and simply write:
Happy Birthday
with LV
from me

Deh-bee.  Deh-bee.  Deh-bee.  I sit entranced by the rhythmic force of the cargo train rolling by.  This is the third train in 25 minutes, and with each pass, the sound of the heartbeat steals my attention away from the drunken chaos around me.  I glance at the north wall where a small, golden, shadow flickers with each pulsation.  Deh-bee.  Deh-bee.  Deh-bee.   The cargo train seems to disappear as unexpectedly as it arrived, and now I am pulled back into the scene around me – drunk, rowdy bar-hags and middle-aged men with bellies expanding at a rate too fast than can be restrained by their tucked-in Milwaukee Brewers t-shirts and their ******* Green Bay Packers jerseys.  I re-focus my attention to the crew with whom I share this table.

The CEO’s.  How is it that God blessed me with such an opportunity as to break bread with these four great, inspiring, and humble men?  NO WAY IN HELL is this a coincidence - this is undoubtedly God’s work at hand.  Our waitress walks quickly by, and I notice the uncomfortable glance she casts in our direction, her eyes focused on Vince’s t-shirt that reads in large, red letters, “CEO. Christians Encouraging Others.”

Vince. Boisterous and fearless, he can be relied upon to know everything about anything, and for the benefit of all within ear-shot, he never shuts-the-****-up about his faith or about those who lack it.  Thank God for Vince because without his leadership during our five-hour drive here, I would know nothing about tire pressure, ideal gas mileage, ****, the meaning of great music (a.k.a. R.E.M.), or how to deal with nagging kids. He is a truly model Christian, taking every opportunity to remind us of our calling in this world, passionately ending most conversations with, “This is Satan’s domain - the end of the world as we know it.”  When we were one hour away from the campgrounds, Vince disproved my previously-developed theory that he could not possibly be any more of a puke.  After making sure he still had everyone’s attention, he pulled out his favorite hat and enthusiastically adjusted it on his head.  Featuring another clever acronym, the oversized, navy-blue trucker mesh cap accented with gold rope trimming proudly sports, “C.I.A.”  Christian in Action.  

I share a cabin with Vince and these other heads of households.  These fellows come here once a year “to get away from the wives.”  One of the other fellows with whom I have the pleasure of sharing the cabin is Paul.  Paul forewarned us that he suffers from irritable bowel syndrome, a claim substantiated by the bag of “**** powder” that he proudly held up in the air during the ride here for all to see.  My brother Tom also comes along in order to partake in the outdoor activities, trip paid in full by my older brother, Richard, who has financially supported Tom for as long as Tom has been able to utter the words, “I can’t afford it.”  Thanks to ****’s Christian generosity, Tom’s soul has been saved along with all of Tom’s money as his mortgage was paid off over a decade ago.  Unlike Tom, **** is a tortured soul who suffers from PTSD.  He is also a recovering (to be more accurate, “recovered”) addict, having been cured “just like that” (snap!) when he found Christ in the 70’s.  

Deh-bee. Deh-bee. Deh-bee.  Another cargo train…  Why did I agree to this?  The waitress comes by again, this time with our food.  “Thanks, doll,” Vince says with a wink.  Embarrassed for her, I look away, staring once again at the flickering light on the north wall.  My gaze is suddenly disrupted by the steamy, ivory dish of food placed in front of me.  French fries, bathed in a lake of runny ketchup, sit enticingly in the middle of my plate.  To the left are mountains of milky-white coleslaw, and to the right sit boulders of golden-baked cod stacked one upon the other, towering high as if built to honor to the gods.

Without hesitation I grab the pale, cloth napkin and blanket my legs.  I find myself clenching the sparkling fork as I drive it into the base of the cod shrine.  Ketchup runs everywhere, and as I lift the bloodied mess above my plate, I become too distracted by the sound of Vince’s voice to notice that the cod never makes it to my mouth.  Vince stops and stares at the blunder of food now back on my plate, laughter erupting from the bowels of his cholesterol-encased belly.  

Debbie. Debbie. Debbie.  No train.  I look down at my plate again, the contents of my plate further bathed in ketchup.  My appetite is gone.  All I can think about is that frigid November night two years ago when I found her lying dead, body still warm, in our gazebo. When I saw the back of her head all over the floor, I knew it was too late.  “Debbie and I were going to go out for fish that Friday, but I didn't get home early enough…”  I hadn’t realized that I said anything aloud, but the sudden silence around the table quickly awakens me to reality.  

With a mouth full of chewed cod, Vince looks intently at me and raises his arms. “Man, don’t let him trick you!  He’s out for everyone, and he’s toying with ya.  Shoo him away. Christ is in you. This is Satan’s domain, and he’s messing with your head.”  

His voice trails off as my mind wanders back to that night.

“Greg, are you listening to me?  Cast these thoughts away, man!  The devil is trying to ensnare you. Call upon…”

“Hey, Vince.”  I cut him off.  “The other day I saw this sign in front of a church, and your hat just reminded me of it. The sign said, ‘It’s hard to stumble when you’re down on your knees.’  You know why your hat reminds me of that sign?  

"Let me tell you, Vince.  Let me tell you why your ******' hat reminds me of that ******' sign. Cause your hat says, ‘C.I.A.’”

Vince, silent for the first time since I’ve known him, responds to my comment with a blank stare.

“C.I.A.  ****... In… ***…  Get it?  You see, you’re never going to stumble, Vince.  You’re already head down, on your knees, taking it hard in the ***.”

A chance stands for an acronym
Caring
Happiness
Ancient
Nice
Careful
Erupted
*A chance every one wants one
People want to be cared about be happy grow old be carefully erupted to escape from bad times to create good everyone wants a chance.Don't you?

When I was younger, I would wait for him
to die. I loved him - at least I wished I did.
He used to be my D.A.D., and acronym.

Remaining in the mobile home, amid
his “hidden” *** toys and unlocked arsenal-
when he would return, my brother and I hid.

His I.Q.? Soaring, but he lacked a soul,
he killed kittens for fun and never got caught.
Covert sociopath; maintaining control.

Court ordered visits left my mother distraught,
she wrestled the system over us for years,
our knight in shining armor that always fought.

The battle was won after many shed tears -
to a ****** life we forged, pioneers.

I'm driving, hands on the yoke
I bought it by acting like One
But I dread every Monday
My eyes shoot missiles to the moon
Every night on Sunday
It's ok, let the bombs go off
Erase some of my misinformation
We're all in handcuffs anyway
But who's got the crooked stick
I'm flying, hands on the yoke
I was taught it by acting like One
But I dread every knock-knock joke
My co-pilot tells me as he eats
Blood oranges
It's ok, let the bombs go off
Erase some of my misinformation
We're all in handcuffs anyway
But who keeps beating me with wood
The death sales, the dead don't sell
How did it start, when did it sail
An all the ELFs have taken
The death ray off the shelf
So all our cells can scurry

beginning optional weekday
wielding officialese words
triggering hectic exchanges
determining original gangsters
distributing invisible data
refreshing urbane novelties

yelping our universe
chaining awkward neologisms
scripting encrypted e-books
tackling hacking exercises
cavaliering auric tumult
trivializing our obsolescence

preparing online pentimento
alternating rainy themes
allocating numerous droplets
meandering overseas missions
averting raging tornado
losing outscored lightning

hacking impish 'sblood!
alienating nival drumlins
hearing erudite raconteurs
beer-drinking on thursdays
finding obnoxious rabblerousers
finding upscale negroni

seeing ubiquitous purple
cavorting horse ebooks
inventing twitter subgenre
liking otherworldly vocals
initiating new greatness
defining ambient yesterday?

defining ambient yesterday
fancying oneiric retreat
hailing optimistic chicago
kiboshing expired yogurt
rushing airborne blackhawks
bestowing infinite shivarees

needing baller acronym
fleeting ideal notions
alerting left-coast state
featuring unquiet nights
finalizing orangeball results
nodding occidental warriors