Category: Theme Issues

“I do not know how to explain it, really. Once when I was younger, my family was having a barbeque in our backyard. My dad was cooking and my mom brought all the plates and condiments and whatnot outside. There was a little table thing next to the grill where my mom left out tongs and an oven mitt for my dad to use. After she went inside to get more of the stuff we needed for the meal, my father just looked at what my mom left him on the table and pushed it onto the patio table, annoyed. I was a kid and did not get why he was annoyed, so I asked. He just said, “Your mother is always doing goofy shit.” I did not think it was goofy shit. I thought she was nice for going out of her way to help him even when she has her own tasks to take care of before we could eat dinner together.”

I knew that this might make my father seem like an asshole, so I just concluded with, “I don’t know. I think about that sometimes, even today.”

“Okay, so why do you think it impacted you so much to the extent that you still think about it?” My therapist always annoyed me when she asked questions like this. Her name is Bonnie and she is old as shit and knows nothing about what I am talking about, but I promised I would go to at least five of these God-forsaken sessions.

So, I humored her, “Well, my mom does stuff like that. She goes out of the way to do nice things. Tries to get thoughtful gifts, randomly helps out and stuff. Dad never did that and apparently didn’t even appreciate it when she did.” I felt weird about telling her this and feel like she is going to judge my family. She doesn’t even know my family.

“Okay, now we are getting somewhere. Let’s explore this a little more. Did that incident change your outlook on love?” She scrawled in that stupid little, red notebook some fake-important notes about my unimportant, and quite frankly, irrelevant story. She was just doing her job and I know this, but I still have to resist the urge to tell her to fuck off.

Seriously though, my outlook on love? What is she even talking about? This is totally unrelated. But, again, this is my last session and there was about forty-five minutes left, so I relaxed and simply said, “It didn’t.”

But, I don’t know. Maybe it did.

No. No, it didn’t. This is how they get you to pay so much for these stupid things. They convince you that you’re so fucked up that you just have to keep coming back before you end up killing yourself.

Bonnie didn’t like my answer, as I suspected she wouldn’t, so she frowned ever-so-slightly and tried again, “Okay, so how has it impacted you?”

She sucks, man. I paid her to tell me this stuff. I sighed and decided to just start talking, thinking that hopefully I could babble on dramatically enough to waste enough time so that I could get out of there before she had the chance to ask anymore of her questions and could just diagnose me with something.

Doctors, well psychiatrists in this case, are never happy unless they give you some meds that you don’t need that will have so many side-effects that you were better off in your previous state. The system was mind-numbingly easy for me to comprehend, but hard to rebel against.

I look around her office a little and see smiling pictures of Bonnie’s family and friends who are probably just as messed up as I am in their own way and decide to focus on a picture of a vase of flowers, because at least flowers can’t smile, and started, “I don’t get it, is all. My mother showed her love in such obvious ways. She made it so that I could never question if she loved me. I knew without a doubt. My old man was gruff. He worked his ass off at a shitty job for his entire life for the family. I appreciated that, but that was all he gave us. How hard is it to say good job to someone? Or say that you are proud of someone?”

I stopped looking at the flowers and looked back to Bonnie. Suddenly I wasn’t even mad at her anymore.

“Matt, I am not sure if you noticed, but this story was not about your parents. It was about the way your dad treated you.” Bonnie looked excited about her little break-though. I wasn’t so impressed. I know that I hate my dad, but this lady isn’t allowed to. Okay, I guess I don’t really hate him. He just kind of sucks, but he is family and the cliché ‘only I can talk bad about my family’ is all too real. I was right back to being annoyed with Bonnie. Surprise, Surprise.

So, I tried to do some damage control.  “My dad is a good man.” I said this knowing that I believed it, kind of, but I resented him a lot too. My thoughts were always jumbled during these sessions and I just wanted to go home.

“You tell me he is a good man all the time, Matt. Other times you contradict yourself. That’s okay, honestly. I think we are getting somewhere because I am starting to get you thinking about ways to deal with your past, but we are almost out of time for today, so I have an exercise I would like you to try when you get home, okay?”

Dear God. I thought this lady was adorable for thinking I was ever going to think back to this experience, let alone do any homework. I am thirty-eight years old, for Christ’s sake. But, I knew she would try to keep me for more sessions and I didn’t want to deal with the struggle, so I just said, “Okay, I will.”

She smiled a genuine smile and wrote something on her red notebook. I looked at the clock. It was exactly three minutes until I never had to see, hear, think of, or talk to Doctor Bonnie L. Schwanski again. I kept my eyes on the clock until she finished writing and handed me the paper.

I took it and read, “Call your dad.”

I haven’t seen my old man in years. Damn it, Bonnie.

I looked up after reading it and again said, “Okay.”

I felt like I had turned into a child who needed to listen to his parents. I noticed her glancing at the clock and as our eyes met she started to dismiss me from her office in order to mentally prepare for the next asshole that walked in here with some sob-story about how hard it is to live and be happy in the land of the free and the home of the brave. Blah, blah, blah. I guess sometimes people just can’t be happy even when they have every reason to be. I knew this because that person is me.

I got up to leave Bonnie. She started to wish me well and gave one last attempt to get me to keep coming back for more sessions, but I had to make sure I stopped her before she had the chance to finish. Sorry Bonnie, I can’t stay in this creepy little hospital room anymore.

I cut her off, “Thank you for everything. I will give my dad a call.”

I closed the door as soon as I got the words out and practically ran to my car. It is a seventeen year old car, barely runs, and needs to have the bumper fixed from an accident last year, but it has never looked so pretty to me. As I got in and started to drive the twenty-nine minute drive to get back to my crappy apartment, I thought about what Bonnie said, even though I tried hard to just drive and clear my mind.

I lit a cigarette and let the smoke roll out of the windows. Cigarettes help and I hate that. The wind in the car picked up as I accelerated and blew Bonnie’s little assignment around on the seat just a tad. It irritated me that I considered this to be a cosmic message from the universe, but only for a split second and then I came back to earth.

“Okay, relax.” I reminded myself out loud as I grabbed the note, stuffed it in the cup holder and put an old coffee thermos on top of it. I swear that I’m addicted to coffee. I get twitchy without the damn stuff. The cup reminded me that I am due for about my forth cup today, so I decided to treat myself and stop off at one of the little Indie places that I never go to. I liked the mainstream stuff, it was simple to order because it never changed, but I did not want to go out of my way and Starbucks was in the opposite direction. Besides, I needed a change and the place looked pretty empty. The last thing I wanted to deal with was people, especially those who were in need of coffee.

I noticed that the place was pretty nice as I entered. I walked up to the young, teenage girl at the counter. She was cute and happy, exactly what I was hoping to avoid. God, when did I become such a cynic and a pessimist?

I looked at the menu above her happy little head, even though I knew exactly what I wanted.

“How can I help you?” Heather, as her name tag indicated, asked me and cocked her head to the side.

What are you so happy about? You are at work and work sucks. Of course, I did not really say this. All I said in reply was, “Tall Espresso.”

I paid her and decided that I would sit down and actually drink my coffee in the shop for once. I never did this, but again, I justified this action with the hell I just put myself through for the last hour. Honestly, we barely scraped the surface of what I needed to talk about, so it’s good that I cut Bonnie off at five sessions. I would be broke soon if I kept it up. I also really needed to cut down on how much money I spend on coffee each week. It was pretty substantial. I was happy to find myself considering smaller problems that really could be solved with a little dose of self-control and allowed myself to get lost in this small victory. I had a sane moment and sipped my coffee and felt almost…happy.

I looked at the clock. It was five-thirty and I noticed that the 9-5ers were starting to come in and get their coffee on their way home. I felt their pain. Work really sucks, man. These people needed to stop and get some caffeine just to make it home semi-alert so they could be awake enough to eat dinner and then crash in front of the television at nine-thirty. The next morning they wake up and do the same damn thing over and over again. This had always been sad to me. We literally worked hard to accomplish our dreams only to find that we were worn out after a few years. The goals we worked so hard to achieve seem so mundane and meaningless that we eventually turned into zombies. I decided I needed to get out of the coffee shop now, before all the people rushed in to prove my cynicism true.

As I turned around to leave, I saw how the line had already grown and the perky cashier did not look as happy anymore. I am satisfied with my choice to leave and with her snap back to reality from whatever the fuck la-la land she was in when she took my order just a little while earlier.

I reach the door and nearly run over some short, stocky, balding man. I went to mumble a quick, “Sorry,” but I stopped in my tracks.

At the threshold of the coffee shop was my old man. He was older and uglier, but still just as familiar as ever.

I stared blankly for a moment and he was the first to speak.

“Hi, son.”

Pause.

“Hi, dad.”

For a moment I was not sure where to go from there, but I ended up saying, “Do you want to get some coffee?” before I had the chance to stop myself.

He smiled an actual smile.

“Okay.”

I turned around and we walked in together.

Under my breath I sighed and mumbled, “Fuck you, Bonnie.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Multifaceted

Oculars, blue frame teeters

Hyaline wings flit.

Prey surface, skimming swamp, buzzing bog,

Dining Dragonfly, stalking skeeters.

Stunning, gorgeous,

Allay me with compliments.

Melt my heart,

Pour my mind into elation

Tingling, breathless

Sensations from the marvel of your words

Scuttle down to the tips of your fingers

From when you trace me,

To the moment we were expected to let go

You are a quest; a story to be divulged

My brand new home; with a smell of an old book.

And I am,

Forever yours.

 

Break Up- Hook Up

I could just lock my eyes,

And go flip into reverse

To a place where I misplace me

 

Now rather faintly be in a place

Where I can amuse my melancholy

With the same track over and over…

 

An indulging, grave echo that bawls

From my delicate lashes

And a brakeless stare reminding me

 

That little voice everyone talks about…

I shut it out that morning

Like you shut me out for months.

 

But that didn’t matter then

Cause all it was, just you and I

And the 7:30 sun flashing on us through

 

Though two pieces of the puzzle were put into place,

I could feel the rest of the picture just fall apart and break.

That picture that took me so long to formulate,

 

The pieces just flew, flimsy, weightlessly.

They broke like a flame dying

And the ashes expel to the sky.

 

If I feel like I am in the right place,

Then why is everything shattering around me?

 

 

 

 

“What do you know of demons?”

The Enchantress sat at the hearth, incense smoke tracing spirals in the air.  I stood behind her, silent, struggling to answer the words she had muttered.  I had stood there in silence for longer than I realized, and her words rung through me like a bell.

“Nothing,” I said.  She looked into the embers, the remnants of the fire that had burned bright when I had first arrived, and laughed.

“I figured as much,” she answered, lighting another stick of incense.  “No one who comes to ask knows them as much as I.  Those who know them as much as I do,” she trailed off.  “Well, they’re too afraid to ask.  Why’d you come here?”

I looked around the room.  Tapestries laced with knots and sigils in the form of beasts and wicker men stared at me from every wall.  The shelves were all laden with idols and trinkets, all turned toward the place where I stood, empty eyes fixed upon me.  I shook my head, wondering myself why I’d come.  “I was curious,” I said.  She was still.  “People say this house is haunted.”

“It is.”

“With what? There are rumors all through the town of this place. People are scared, but they don’t do anything about it.  There has to be a reason.”

“There is.” She still watched the embers die, and it struck me that I hadn’t seen her face since I came.  She hadn’t moved.

I shivered.  It was like time had gone into a trance.  I didn’t know how long I’d stood there, watching her light her candles, humming an off-key tune.

“This place is haunted,” she said. The sound startled me. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.  It’s not haunted with the spirits of the dead, though.” She laughed.  “No, even the dead don’t want anything to do with what’s in this house.”

“What, then? What are they so afraid of? I came here for answers, and all I’ve heard are riddles.  All I’ve seen here are tricks.”

“Tricks aren’t what scare the people away,” she answered, coldly.  “The tricks bring people in.  It’s the other things that scare the dead away.  The tricks are just to appease them.”

She lit another candle, throwing a clump of herbs into the fire.  Acrid smoke filled the room, and I felt as though a thousand eyes were on my back.  I turned around, and saw only the trinkets I’d seen before.

“Demons?” I asked, my chest hollow.  I couldn’t tell how long it had been since I last spoke.  “Is that what’s in this house?”

“You are learning, then.”  The woman snuffed a candle, then drew a circle on the hearth. A hasty hand etched a symbol inside it, upon which she promptly placed a pile of ashes.   Colored candles with colored flames placed around the circle’s edge, she began to hum again, and I began to feel faint.

“No one’s disappeared here.” My voice sounded distant.  “Nothing bad has ever happened here, and yet no one talks about it.  It’s a question everyone in town has had for years, but no one will even speak it.”

“Sometimes,” she said, scrawling symbols into the ash, and then scratching them out.  Scrawling, scratching, scrawling, and scratching.  “It’s the things no one sees that are the most dangerous.  Sometimes there are forces at work beyond the human perception that affect a man’s soul and make it at ease or on edge.  It’s those forces that inhabit this house, and they have been alone here for time uncounted.”  She placed a bowl on the ashes, covering the intricate symbol she had spent so long creating, and filled it with black water.  The room reeked of death, and I took a step back.  The candles had halfway disappeared by the time I realized it, and again, I wondered how long I’d been standing there.  “Sometimes, they live to terrorize.  Other times, they wish to be left alone, and will do anything to keep it that way.”

I tried to form a response, but I found myself mesmerized by the embers.  When I looked at them, I could see patterns appearing and vanishing—faces, creatures, images.  It was stunningly beautiful, yet somehow unsettling.  “Other times yet,” I heard her say. “They act innocuous, but have their own dark agendas.  Demons are beings of perception, you see.  They can be observed however they want to be—that’s how so many things go unnoticed here.  They can veil their appearance from you…” She waved her hand over the tallest of the candles. It went out.  “Or they can show themselves full-force.”  The candle exploded into green flames.  “Whether the plot is simple or complex, those affected will never know it happened.”

Terrified, I tried to turn and run, but I was transfixed by whatever magic she had created, pinned where I stood like an insect on a board.  I tried to speak, but my mouth went numb.  It felt as though my teeth were rotting in my skull.  The woman moved aside, and I saw the black water, churning, roiling, and then completely still.  I saw my reflection on its surface, but it wasn’t as I remembered it.  I had withered, body crumbling around me.  It was then that I saw around me—there were others in the room—other people, all standing around me, as motionless as I was, oblivious to the march of time.

I saw the enchantress’ face.  It was contorted into a hideous smile, her eyes black orbs in her skull, her skin pale and lifeless.  She erupted into a column of black flame before me, hand reaching out toward me, paralyzed, to touch me.  A lone, wiry finger touched me between the eyes, and I watched my body leave me, animated by some evil magic.  I saw it, young, eyes black like hers, leave through the door I’d entered through, and humming the same off-key tune the woman had been humming.  And I stood there, I suspect, as a soul, stripped from its body, powerless to move or fight the demon’s hold, knowing it, like everyone else in the town, would never speak of what had happened.  All around me were translucent souls, fixed in place like my own, watching with helpless anger.  A few sobbed.

Then, the moment the door slammed behind my body, the woman returned to her previous state.  She sat before the fire, lighting her candles as though nothing had ever happened at all.

 

 

 

 

 

Blank Pages

Empty lines

Seems I’ve been sitting for ages.

Points of pencils seem so fine.

 

Inspiration light

Mind bursts

The paper and pencil fight

My heart is immersed

 

Beautiful stanzas

Perfect breaks

Words dance with such extravaganza

Making my readers minds quake

 

Graceful rhymes

Feeling the tone

Revising takes the most time

I won’t stop until the lines flow

 

Scratched words

Side Notes

Changing words that sound absurd

And ending with the glossy coat

 

Rewritten perfectly

Final copy

Everything seems so correct

And no longer sloppy

 

Heart’s satisfied

Hands ache

But I hold with such pride

My words that are awake

 

 

 

 

We loved each other before we knew anything. When we were still just souls, drifting in another world where there is no gender or race or even species. We were content to simply be together.

Everything changed the day the messengers came to us. They told us that it was our time to fulfill our destinies, to be given physical forms and start a new life on a planet that the native species called ‘Earth.’ We knew nothing of such a place, and at first we were distraught. I remember comforting you in your fear.

The messengers told us that they would be kind to us and send us to Earth at around the same time, so that we could be together there. They warned us it would be hard, that they had no control over where we would be sent. Countries and borders meant nothing to us in the Otherworld. We would have trouble finding each other.

They sent me before they sent you, at my request. I knew you’d be frightened to go first.

But the messengers unknowingly damned us the day they sent you. They had no way of knowing the cultural customs of Earth, none of them having lived there themselves. How could they have known we would be shunned, that people would want to keep us apart? How could they have known it was a cultural taboo, that they had done the same to millions of souls before us?

For you see, they made us both human men.