Home, Hostile, Home

Home!

Funny, odd, queer, with its anger.

Ham fist-ed jokes never given in moderation.

Games of…

monopoly…no dice.

Frisbee’s tight lipped and tainted black for playing at night.

Puns? A lead pipe to encourage all players to…think twice

The, I Was Only Joking, trophy, next to Home, Sweet, Home, place-mats, to adorn the holes in the wall.

Mad Jester, the biggest joker of us all.

Pastime of full contact Slap Jack.

Paperbacks left in the rain.

Simon Says, it is a never ending riddle.

Wisecracking those who wish to remain sane.

Every Woman’s Anthem

Cuz no one knows me no one ever will
if I don’t say something, take that dry blue pill
they may see that monster, they may run away
But I have to do this, do it anyway…

I Can’t Keep…QUIET

I had this nightmare that turned into a victorious dream. I was reenacting things that happened in my childhood, but then I would flip the script in my dream. So, I was getting hit, and there was someone watching me get hit. It was a very theatrical look. It was this black, New York theater. It was like, the spotlight. And the abuser and I were in the spotlight. The observer was on the side. As I was getting hit, I looked up at the observer like, “We have to do something. This isn’t right.” That never happened before. I’ve never said, “This is not right. We need to do something.” And the observer said what I had heard my whole life: “Don’t say anything. You’re going to make things worse if you say anything. So just let it happen and then you’ll be OK in a little bit.”

I looked at her, and I was like, “I can’t keep quiet.” And then I woke. It was such a vivid and violent dream, but then at the end, it was kind of this positive dream. 

MILCK

 

 

 

Fractured Like Me

Angry tears rain upon abandon houses.

It is here comfort feels at home…most.

Ghastly stairwells replace stubbed toes.

Eerie bulkheads surrounded with infected weeds replaced by the belt and the knee.

Heroic crosses dressed in blood replaced by screams louder than nothingness.

What is not replaced…

The uneven sunrises and the awkward sunsets.

Cannot you see,

‘they are fractured just like me.’

Fragments and figments of is left…

these are the buildings…

these are the visions…

that understand me best.

 

Understanding the Blues

The screams would never jostle me awake.

Loud torrents of torment would lull me to sleep.

Mind over matter came with no consistency.

Games of pretend came and went…offering little tranquility.

My bed became a soft rock…providing little cover.

Wild words…a free for all.

Enough so that…I could understand the blues.

Trap Doors

I am reminded of a place imperfect.

A setting of…’do not touch.’

Redemption songs on the radio…

unlit glory candles in shaded windows…

ill-mannered saviors on fabricated thrones.

Table scraps weak.100_1313

One way exits…wrong.

Just a cedar wall, splintered and used…I had never been that strong.

The voices…all…violently singing, ‘those were the days.’

Darker than dark.

Nights were ever so long.

Pastoral and enchanting…looking in.

Inside out, was I rummaging around trap doors with no key.