In The Middle

I'm amused all the time
I, a soldier in life, of life.
I, a corpse in death.
I, a smile in a memory.
I, fade within a memory.
I, stand on a one way road.
I, lie quiet in the ground.
I, travel fast in life, through living.
I, can't walk the wrong way down the road.
I, in the middle of today,yesterday, and tomorrow.
I'm lit for dreams.

The Road

   All along that dusty road.
I hear the silence, I've come to know.
   I feel so far away from home.
I'm all alone in this barrened road.
   I seek the people, I've always known.
To help me find, my way back home.
   To see the smiles, I've loved and lost.
In this big world, I'll find home.
   I find my loneliness stretch, miles and miles.
I'm choking on soot stained motel rooms.
   I can fly out of my body on ash wings.
All along that dusty road to find my love.
   On dampened, broken wings that can barely hover.
Stuck on stormy shores looking for my way.

   It's in my love's, pure brown eye's.

I find my smile in true miles.

 

I Feel The Stigma

   I realize the stigma burned into my head. A differing opinion is formed as soon as soon as these words are uttered, " Schizo-affective ". I feel a frantic need to keep mental illness a secret. I don't know about you , but I hate people that look down on you. By other's not understanding that even though I'm different in a way. I'm not any less than you. I'm also not any better either. I'm prejudiced against my own just like you are. I say this as more than likely. I'm not you! I feel awful about it. I'm trying to realize, that I'm not harmful, and others like me, are probably not harmful either. I've only met one, that I purposefully distanced myself from. Most, now this a generalization are not comfortable around others like themselves. This goes for generic population too. People can't stand to be around others to much like themselves. For to watch themselves and what they do, or can do is more than they can bear to see, hear, etc.etc. That's why the best friend's are similar, but apparently different. The same goes for others with sometimes pronounced differences. It is to much for a hardworking system to stay abreast of,  or can be. Please face the stigmatized crawling, and try to put it of mind. The mentally ill, are just people swimming upstream against a little stronger current in the same river as you. So smile, and give the person a chance. If they botch that up. Then form an opinion, that you find is fair. Not on what someone told you, or someone's else friend told them. Do that and you are becoming a little less prejudiced every single person, and day. Kudos to you! 

Mahalo.

"Door's Of Perception"

"Beyond the doors of perception,
Lies a Banquet.
So feast your eyes, my friends,
and share the vision!"

                                    By: James Dewitt

Feeling Like Frankenstein Being Held Together By String

 I have stitches in the tip of my index finger that are Frankenstein in nature(accidental cut). I feel and know that now that with a patchwork finger, my haphazard existence shows. I'm held together by strings and now wallah, people can see a little bit of myself. I don't think that it should matter to anyone but me, and it probably does.
  If your held together by string, and illness or not you probably are. Bark like a dog, howl at the mailman, pop a frigging balloon, do something absurd, right now! Crimmeney!  join the madness that is life.
Mental illness or not, LIFE IS CRAZY GET ON THE GRAVY TRAIN! Sadly I know that you won't stick your ass on the window to moon passerby's, or make a slushy while scrapping the freezer clean, by defrosting life's content. Seriously, don't do the last one, it's gross, probably work with some frosty syrup, but nevertheless gross. Fish stick crumbs and God knows what else. I however will go on feeling like Frankenstein, regardless of the rest. In being held together by string, if you look close enough. You will notice the colors that form you, and bind you together. So raise a glass or kiss my ass. Which ever you'd prefer. Personally, I'd rather you didn't kiss my ass, and are you probably like minded? I don't know, such is life.

Mahalo.

Pauldrons Of Light

   Pauldrons of light cascade from this divine river.
It creeps and carves the landscape into poppy fields of farmers gold.
In a trigger of dusted measured memory.
I do find solace, if only temporary.
The break is swift and clean.
I find no blame to be given that is not my own.
I try to comfort the group standing ear to ear on rivers shore.
The breath I hear is not my own.
I feel uncomfortable and crowded.
I stand still, my breath sounds in nearest ear.
I'm sure it's has quickened, and surely will be noticed.
I feel that a push at any moment would cause a stumble out,
and into the unknown river of which I stand so near.
In this river no one swims for long.
I've never seen a head bob up to gasp.
Even a last breath is never taken, or perhaps given.
Life is question, on every breath, spoken,
unspoken and quickly,easily forgotten too.
I forget, if it allows life to grow inside.
You tell me.

The Scholars

Bald heads forgetful of their sins,
Old, learned, respectable bald heads
Edit and annotate the lines
That young men, tossing on their beds,
Rhymed out in love's despair
To flatter beauty's ignorant ear.

All shuffle there; all cough in ink;
All wear the carpet with their shoes;
All think what other people think;
All know the man their neighbor knows.
Lord, what would they say
Did their Catullus walk that way?
                                                      By: W.B. Yeats