Yin-Yang: I Am Paradox

I am rash.
I am not.
I’m a Paradox.

I’m smart.
I’m dumb.
I’m wicked.
I’m fun.

I’m pure.
I sin.
I lose.
I win.

I’m cold.
I’m hot.
I’m down.
I’m not.

I hate.
I love.
Both hurt.
Very much.

I’m mean.
I’m kind.
Please don’t
Take mind.

But if
You do,
I’ll for.
Give you.

The benefit,
Not doubt.
This requires much trust.
Pain is a must.

I’m scarred at heart.
I’m afraid at heart.
I’m full at heart
Even when empty.
My heart is perfect.

Paradoxing is the only Doxing that’s really Rocking!

Unless you can
Summon another,
Sister-Brother
Enemy-Friend.

The Eternal Love Affair of Day & Night, A Multiplied Story:

Part 1. It started with an Emerald Green Empress in Disguise

She was The Empress of the Day and she had green eyes. Plain old greenish-gray, but not hazel brown or any shade of blue. The most remarkable thing about those Pits of Maelstrom were the bright Emerald green they turned when welling with Emotion (which was often, so with a little Imagination, they were fiery and spectacular always). The Fluorescing green could be seen by Blind and Sighted equally; everyone but the Empress herself.

Beauty-blind (and sometimes transcendence-blind), she saw only mouse gray, pond scum, vomit green, emoji vomit green – for she was modern, too – cannabis leaf green, browning leaf green, mold green, and the artificial of squalor green in her own eyes.

She was so upset by the Tides of her Eyes, she forgot she held two priceless jewels affixed perfectly on her face, her reflection, and in her presentation.

Next Chapter: The God of Night sees the Kryptonite-like Rocks on TV on an Antiques Road Show episode and immediately recognizes them for the Uncut, Undiscovered, Rare Emeralds that they are. Stay tune for the juicy details as we wander far from our Sweet Spot.

Isn’t It Ironic?

Irony is simply something occurring to you in a whole different way later.

The realization ushers in a tide of emotion, which in those with the purest intentions,

Results in the Art of Self-Expression.

By reducing oneself to zero and becoming “self-deprecating,”

A person is able to experience things as a child again

Capable of capturing a “feeling” at its deepest intensity,

Pouring it into words or paint and begging to believe again.

To imagine again.

Even the ridiculous like Love at First Site.

P.S. Same goes for Sarcasm, so don’t give up on Me and my Fellow Dreamy Sarcastics❣️

(I could make the poem better, but it’s a love poem, and I wanted to capture it at its fullest intensity).

MAGNUM OPUS: The Last Five

Melting Shame

MAGNUM OPUS:
The Downward Spiral of The Last Five Ends in Joy


When I get out of balance (physical pain + emotional blows with no relief),
I start getting scared.
My perspective gets distorted by my own pain,
And I can’t tell my friends from my enemies.
The problem is, 99% of the time,
I am my Worst Enemy.
So in addition to being in “pain all over,”
My thoughts have no place to land.
This creates a toxic imbalance in my body, resulting in
Me in an Extended Version of the Emotional and Physical Fetal Position,
As if warding off cosmic blows.
It’s not the LEAST BIT comforting, though.

I don’t even know how long these periods last some times.
It finally erupts into a Dark Place,
Both emotionally and physically.
I’ve never written about this before, but I have been diagnosed with a Neurovascular Disorder called Erythromelalgia.
It’s sometimes called “Man on Fire Disease” or “The Suicide Disease.”
And it’s earned its Title!
Sadly, it’s so exceptionally rare, you can’t find a neurologist whose even heard of it,
So there’s very little information out there. Which compounds my anxiety.
That’s the sad case with rare diseases.
With no Big Pharma backing, research dollars can’t be found.
It’s a disorder of the autonomous nervous system.
I “lost” the ability to release heat from my system about 5 years ago.
So, if I combine ambient heat with exertion (it’s extremely hot where I live),
I get heat stroke without realizing it.
Until I’ve got heat stroke.
Which keeps me indoors,
Avoiding life because of my fear of getting violently ill
Should I carry in too-many too-heavy bags of groceries from my car to my apartment.
It’s cooler in there, but it can be dark in there, and alone and scary in there.
Alone to feel shame at not being live like a “normal person,”
And not being able to regulate heat, can’t vent the shame
Without the shame surfacing as blushing fire through the skin
On too many parts of my body.
It’s very humiliating for me to write about,
But since there’s no cure or, in my case, effective treatment for Erythromelalgia,
And because I got off all anti-depressants, and pain meds and anti-anxiety only in emergency
And not for emotional coping,
You can see how my Poems and this blog have been my constant companions over the last year.
This was my last secret to write about,
Because it’s One Thing which has bested me
And nearly ruined me.
What with the limitations it imposes, I felt it made me “unworthy as a companion.”
So that took away my hopes for the happiness I hoped to one day find in the company of a partner.
Which used the be the “safe place where my thoughts would land” as a coping mechanism.
They have no idea how or why I acquired it (again, no research),
So they default to the overdose of highly neurotoxic chemo I had when I was 39 years old,
Fighting breast cancer.
But since I was given no “Why,”
I first switched to “Why Not” in an effort to “embrace the pain.”
That might work for some of you Mental Athletes, but this girl already HAD a frail state to begin!
Like: I was mentally and emotionally fried and too-feeling at the same time to handle “thought mastery!”
So, I decided to “burn the shame out of me,”
So I could at least feel safe inside my head.
I had to find a harbor for my mind or I would give up.
The only way I’ve been able to do this is through writing,
So I mean it when I say this blog has saved me life.
And I have discovered my own voice in the process!
It has been a 3000% net joyful experience for me,
Even if a painful and tearful one.
I’m re-writing a story without a pre-determined ending (see my poem, A Foregone Conclusion – or something like that! It was birthed in MUCHAS LAGRIMAS! Many tears!).
I actually believe in Miracles again.
I had totally forgotten about Miracles, having no recent or long term memory of them.
So anyway, final shame vented,
But I don’t care how anybody prices me!
My price is DOWN TO ME, and I DECIDED I’m PRICELESS.
That’s good enough for me!
So thank you, dear friends, for helping me discover my voice, discover my worth, and to re-grow my jaded belief in Miracles❣️

LOVER OF “HE”

(Thanks to @anniespratt for use of the image).

LOVER OF “HE”

He works behind the scenes,
Designing worlds of Magic
For his Precious Girl,
He sees the Princess in the Whirl
Winds her down to calm again.
His shoulder comforts at days’ end
Into nights where long
He longs to love-express
Be seen and loved for his Best Self.
He’s loved all day, it might not show
There’s just One Place he calls his Home.

LOVE OF “SHE”

LOVE OF “SHE”

Though her beauty is
unparalleled,
She doesn’t see herself.
More heart-on-sleeve
Than ice queen,
More You-ist
Than opportunist,
Unlike others but
Cares about others.
She’s extraordinary,
With a kind arm and
A soft word.
She’s superior,
A cut above the others,
She opens up to others.
She has a mango smell
And an intoxicating scent
Which compel
Towards her eyes,
Deep liquid sighs.
She shines too bright,
She’s filled with Light,
She spills it out,
She gifts, it spouts,
Transparency
She gives for free.
She’s beauty-blind,
She’s very kind,
She’s Femininity.

PSA: THE EMERGING STATE OF SINGLE INTIMACY IN 2022 📛


PSA: A MOVING SNAPSHOT OF THE STATE OF SINGLE INTIMACY IN 2022 ♨️♨️♨️

It’s not for the faint of heart,
So before you even begin to
CONTEMPLATE to
start the post,
I’ll
pre-advise you QUIT while still time;
That’s the most
WARNING I’ll provide.

I mean: I know it’s a Sunday,
But this Public Service Announcement
Comes at a high cost to ME,
So if you can’t withhold YOUR judgment
Or your morals to make the space
SO I can release the
Advice alien-ating out of
MY HEART onto MY PAGE,
Please keep your eyes on
Yours and Yours.

Not that any of respectful YOU
Has EVER even tried,
But in 2022,
Virtual and Reality are mixed,
And I’ve got a
Religious Persecution Complex
After a lifetime of abuse.

It all boils down to facts
As simple as this and that
I need be LISTENED TO!! So
“Grow up, You Old Idiot!
You’re as apparently as old as me,
So why can’t you see
That my telling YOU
Is an effort to relieve ME!?
I know ALL these pleas fall on deaf ears”
Pleads ‘Feels-Too-Muted’ Me.

Social Media; Being Simultaneously “Confusing” and “Therapeutic”

For the record, I didn’t even know there
COULD be more than two viewers
To a “Private Story!”
Maybe in your fantastical stories,
Laden with Rote Artificiality,
But not in mine, and at least for now,
NEVER in me!

THE DIRTY TRUTH ♨️♨️📛⛔️🛑

THE DIRTY TRUTH

That takes its toll in shame
And whose admission
Causes literal pain
Is this:
In order to feel like
More than One,
I suck my thumb
When I masturbate.

The lengths I go
To feel like Two
Might disgust you
And humiliate me,

But I know in some
The thought would rise
A need to replace
My thumb
With something else.

This tea of truth
Somehow liberates me
And sets me free,
So I spilled it for you
To find its spark
In Someone New
Or the drive
In Someone Else.

How to reply?
I don’t know!
No one ever
TOLD ME!!

I’ve had to figure out
EVERYTHING BY MYSELF!!

LIFE SUMMARY: ABRIDGED


LIFE SUMMARY: ABRIDGED

At a very young age (around aged 3), I developed an “insecure attachment style.”

Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

10,000, 000 hours of therapy and “self-help practices” later,

The pattern is repeating itself.

The only difference is I’m aware The pattern is repeating itself.

It’s a GREAT START, though! It makes me feel more “sane and secure” when I’m aware History is trying to repeat itself.

The patterns color my history, but my awareness of them shows ME how strong I’ve been the entire time.

I’m not shooting for “happily ever after,” but rather “hopefully-awareful-and-content.”

DOMESTIC GONE WILD

DOMESTIC GONE WILD

She’s just being Fire.
She makes a fiery dance through everyday items.
It’s her need to fully course through
To ash, especially to ash.

Thinking herself Fire,
Even if it’s futile, she needs to burn herself out.

KNOW IDEA


KNOW IDEA

You have no idea
How many “No”s I’ve said
Along Life’s Way
To even be ABLE to say
“Yes” to you Today…


Regardless of the way.

THE TALE OF POST-CINDERELLA

THE TALE OF POST-CINDERELLA

She tired of being a step,
The toil and aloneness.
She dreamt of being a princess
Before midnight.
Sadly, only frogs arrived,
Their magic never tricking her,
Damning her to shine,
Under cloak of Darkness,
During Its wee hours,
Leaving her a pile of cinder
With the return of every sun.

She thought it was her only Ending,
Making It “The Only One.”
Now she’s been returned to Step,
Only below where she first begun.

It fills her mouth with ash,
Shreds her heart to trash:
This hope to be a part of Sum
Instead of “Only One.”

A Disney Princess With A Daisy Crown

A Disney Princess With A Daisy Crown

I build.
I grow.
I foster.
I adopt.
I create.
I birth.
I develop.
I encourage.
I nurture.
I’m kind.
I’m compassionate.
I’m wonderful!
I’m so much more than that!
I’m EVERYONE’S DREAM!
Whether Nocturnal or “Wish I was like!”
I’m a living Disney Princess!
I’ll get a cool name out of it, too.
One name, not a symbol.
More Prince than Prince-When-??

I guess this is my fancy way
Of re-stating the cliche:
In my story,
I’m the Author of
My Own Story.

DAMNED EITHER WAY

Photo Credit: Elected Officials at Work

DAMNED EITHER WAY: YOU CAN’T REASON WITH HATE

Regardless of color of race,
Political shade,
Or which if ANY binary side
I choose to take,
The only thing I hate is
Hate-for-Hate’s-Sake.

I think YOU must confuse
Hate with Simple Observation,
I know my view is probably too
Objective for your Political Palate,
So you twist it and spin it,
Then turn-so-you-can-spurn
My comment into Political Hate,
Thereby Converting MY Objective
To YOUR Subjective!

Perhaps there’s no other way
To cope in our collective state
Than to pick A Side To Take,
Embrace it til your Dying Day,
Grow a bunch of angry hate,
And turn EVERYTHING into a
Political Debate!
JUST so I can argue with YOU!!
Especially since it’s such
A fruitful thing to do!

As for me, I’ve got Bigger Fish to fry,
But for the political record,
I, too, was told to “Pick a Side.”
I did it for too long a time!
But somewhere along The Ugly Way,
I DECLINED.
For this heretical act,
I’ve been denied and descried
By my FORMER Side.

Talk about HATE!!
You get it from both sides,
No matter which you take,
No matter what you say.

MEN: A Song For Some


SOME ROMANTIC PARTNERS & A FEW “FRIENDS”

Some want to come over and “visit.”
Some I just want to stay home.
Some are clearly “My Type,”
Though I possess no type of my own.
Some can’t bear any weight,
But can rabble to throw a gravel of stones.

Some are always and easily-bored,
Yet Some are boring themselves.
There ARE indeed A Few of Some
Who are too-often tested
AND too-harshly scored;
But Some get fried because they’re stupid.
Some couldn’t pass a test if they tried,
And with Some, you can prove it!

Some think they’re ‘The Best in the Bunch,’
When they’re only ‘One of The Rest’.
Some are content to find
“Anyone Better than Any,”
But Most are searching for
“The Best Of The Rest”.
I think Some think too highly of themselves,
Especially since the sum of Some
Is less than the sum of Many.

Some enjoy to prowl and hunt,
Hoping to discover an indecent lover
Lurking under their OWN bedcovers.
Some steal your starry sighs,
Some “only” your moon.

Some steal hard-earned property
To proclaim it as their own.
Some will steal YOUR song
And sing it in THEIR tune.
Some treat Others properly,
But for Most of Some,
Kindness is an anomaly,
Not a regular quality,
So Most of Some are best disowned.

In short:
Some contribute Nothing,
But Most contribute Something,
And Gender doesn’t affect Contribution.

I know Most don’t concern themselves
With such silly matters,
But in Matters Concerning Me,
And in Matters Which Matter Most,
Most of these truisms
I’ve already proven,
So the truth of the matter
Leads to this conclusion:

If not for All, at least for Some,
Men are often a disappointment,
A fly in Life’s ointment,
But, in the end, and even when alone,
SOME are STILL better than NONE.

PERFECT CARRIAGE

PERFECT CARRIAGE: MINE

A child who succumbs to miscarriage
May only exist in his host’s Imagination,
But he freely thrives in every tense:
Imagined Past,
Imagined Present,
Imagined Future, and
Imagined Perfect.

Maybe this sheds some sense
On why I’m so grateful to Tense?


THE PERFECT SHADE

Photo courtesy &timtanzy

Everything is a matter of lighting.

My hair looks one color in the salon and another color at home. The top I ordered online looks purple on my iPhone and blue in my hands. I suppose I’m clinically plagued by lighting. In fact, lighting goes from adequate-to-horrible the closer it gets to me until
📸 OLD-FASHIONED FLASHBULB GOING OFF📸!!

I’m suddenly struck unbearably unphotogenic!!

You’d fully realize The Tragedy if you knew how 1) photogenic and 2) yes, even TELEGENIC I used to be!

For SO many years, in SO many different situations, and on multiple multiple (is that exponential?) occasions!!

Now, there are actually times (don’t tell anyone, please: it’s confidential), I can barely pull off A Gorgeous Face, A Shapely Shape, And A Nonpareil Smile. Don’t tell my fans, please. I don’t want them to worry about my struggles behind closed doors.

So I DO pull off A Gorgeous Face, A Shapely Shape, And A Nonpareil Smile.

I do it every damned day, ALL DAY, and I do it for KEEPS, and I do it ALL THE WAY THROUGH!!

Like this is The Last Moment in My Entire Life I’ll ever have A Gorgeous Face, A Shapely Shape, And A Nonpareil Smile!!

As if!! As if ANY moment could EVER be the LAST moment I’D ever have A Gorgeous Face, A Shapely Shape, And A Nonpareil Smile!!

And another “As If”:

As if ANY PRESENCE, ENTITY, ENTIRETY, CORPORATION, LEAGUE OF NATIONS, CONSORTIA, AGENDA AND/OR CONGLOMERATES,

Or as if a highly-annoying traffic situation (and some of those?) could dim my megawatt grin? It brightens so high,

I RELY on its dazzle

As well the dazzling green of my eyes to drive me through the night, since I’m officially “night-blind.”

If it weren’t for these long-lashed, greenish-gray (bright emerald green when I cry) sparkling seducers, gaze-lockers, and gaze-fixers of a pair of glamorous eyes,

How would I save My Very Own Life?

To finish my apparently-so-important-I’d-drive-while-night-blind-AND-night Drive to Who and God Only Knows Where?

And how could I See The Light if not for these hypnotic, poetically baiting and alluring, delightfully disturbing, emerald palace of a pair of glittering green eyes?

How could I discern My Days from My Nights if not for for the mascara’d-until-lavish, extravagantly long and lush, luxy, eyelashes providing protection to
My perfectly-shaded, perfect shade of perfectly green eyes?

I’ll bet, with the right equipment, my eyes could turn ALL SHADES OF GREEN.

For too long to count (a little over-exposure isn’t always bad). You couldn’t KEEP count, anyway, having been Absinthed into a sentimental stupor by the little fogs of gray around my retinas. They’ve been known to harm and disarm!

Like I’ve said on multiple occasions this evening alone: I know I have A Gorgeous Face, Shapely Shape, And A Nonpareil Smile,

But it’s STILL ALL a matter of Lighting.

A MULTI-HUED FOOL, Retooled & Re-pared (down a little)

None of it matters,
None of it happened,
No one was hurt, and
No one ever has been,
Except, apparently
THIS “has-been,”
Who isn’t now, nor will ever be,
Cut out for long-term memories.

No matter how you slice it,
In this minor situation,
I was major-stupid,
And a clueless fool was I
100% of the time.
I’d even hazard-to-say
I played The Fool in every game.
Yahtzee, Poker, and Parchisi?
Being foolish was so easy!

Under cover of darkness,
And everywhere under the sun;
From before its rise,
Through it’s eye-squinting setting,
My foolishness became record-setting,
Hoisting and foisting foolish me

High Upon and into a Dunce’s Corner,
So I could “get myself in order,”
Growing This Fool into
An Anti-Hero or Villain,
Not the Ingenue I’d assumed
You’d stuff into
During Your Bedtime Story.

But since you never told it,
I slept and dreamt
I was a Drooling Idiot,
Waking to find
I didn’t pretend it.

I’ll say it again:
Your character isn’t convincing.
Not that you TRIED to convince me;
It’s why I did all the gift-giving, up-lifting,
And emotional heavy-hitting.
Now I’m ashes-sifting.

As for any fireworks shared,
They’ve grown so cold,
The only stars Memory serves
Were laid and laced into Constellations
I couldn’t find again;
Couldn’t find to BEGIN.

I was also an Artistic Fool,
Swayed by the poetic words
Colorfully shaded by Me,
But Foolishly written for You.
I know in my bones YOUR favorite hue,
When NOT painting me from Memory,
Is “foolish” (if not garish & ghoulish).

I also know IF you had a favorite shade of Degrade
For the egg upon MY face,
It’s Arrow-Marked by a Neon-Dart,
Buzzing, blinking, and endlessly repeating
“STUPID FOOL.” “STUPID YOU.”

The situation is dire
And the hour is dour;
It’s time to do ‘Everything Required’
To dislodge the extra Stupid I’ve acquired.
I’ve become foolishly situated,
And my mind forcibly evacuated
In order to grant YOU Your Time & Space,
Since somewhere between
Alone and Beside Another
Is your favorite Time-Hiding Place.

This Foolishness I’ve found myself in?
It’s past-time for it to end.
So, I’ll simply sum it up:
I stooped too low,
I got too thin,
I cut too close,
And I let Stupid in.
But you can solace in my promise
It won’t happen again.

It May Tell You Where You Are But Never Helps You Escape


TEMPTATION = an Immoral Compass

It leads the way and shows the how you often want to go sometimes (frequently NOW).

It seduces, arouses, amps the sound in, and baits clear through.

And should The Source be right?

It can make you high like birds wafting through star-soaked, bouncy, so-rare and so-fine, airy and shiny, glittered days and glamorous nights.

But should you find while still alive, The Source is wrong?

It will pursue and haunt you, eat your meat and sinew. It will flaunt and taunt you, crush and trash all that’s in you, until your Only Soul is gone,

All the while Selling You and Telling You “This PARTICULAR HELL is Where YOU Belong; your official condemnation, bought and paid for, Your soul not made for anything but torture.”

Then, “My, But How Unfortunate!” are Stupid-Dummy, Idiotic Wrong-Source Tempted You!