Sick
Literally sick to my stomach with the things I cannot say
Those thoughts have stolen my mind, and temporarily bonded my hands
so I sit around, looking lost and confused.
knowing that my verbal words will be misconstrued,
used against me and cause me to become subdued
I choose to remain silent.
Literally sick to the point that my cup runneth over
and I am threatening to spew as if I have a virus.
Mind locked up like bowels because I can't use my vowels.
in any second I am going to burst and i need towels
pad me down with tablets so that I may put this verbal vomit to use
and defecate on those who refuse to understand
that real art is what some may call " a whole lot of shit".
and its not my fault that you don't understand.
that I am literally sick,
sick from holding my tongue and being nice
when people are throwing salt and complimenting it with rice
How twisted is it
that we worry about others business b
sweeping around others doors
but refuse to wash down our on front porches?
I am literally sick
These words stuck in my throat,
these thoughts tied around my hands
and these feelings turning my stomach.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Uncle Hilton. #1/ The dream
Reality:
My uncle was killed in a truck accident. He was driving his Eighteen-wheeler, crashed into another truck (i believe it was another truck) and died. It was a Sunday... Mother's Day to be exact. I was on my way to work with a friend when my father called. I was on the highway, when I saw his number and name pop up on the screen. It was probably around eleven thirty. I remember it was around that time because I remember thinking that my father should have been in church by then.
I heard it in his voice before he even said it. I didn't know who had died but I knew somebody had to have been. In my family, a simple, "hey what are you doing?" sounds heavy with sorrow and sadness regardless of anybody's attempt to sound cheerful. He told me, right there on Highway 41 that my uncle had been killed in an accident.
A few minutes later I called him back to ask the details. His truck had been on fire a long time. I can't remember how many hours it burned. That one detail managed to slip my mind and I'm thankful for it.
I cried for three days. Every second I got alone I cried. Not so much because he was no longer here on Earth because I already knew that my uncle had a seat in the kingdom. I cried out of selfishness, confusion and something else I can't really identify.
Why do bad things happen to good people?
THE DREAM:
I don't dream about him much. In the years he has been gone I've only dreamed of him twice. The other morning I woke up, chest tight like I had been holding my breath. I scared myself and snatched my phone charger out of the wall. The last thing I remembered was my uncle being in a hospital bed, telling me goodbye and I was crying. It was a belly aching, tantrum throwing, screaming, arms flailing cry... I was clawing at the floor and screaming but i don't remember anything he said to me before that. I just know that a heavy, nervous feeling has been on my head ever since...and now I feel like I'm waiting for the last shoe to drop or something.
My uncle was killed in a truck accident. He was driving his Eighteen-wheeler, crashed into another truck (i believe it was another truck) and died. It was a Sunday... Mother's Day to be exact. I was on my way to work with a friend when my father called. I was on the highway, when I saw his number and name pop up on the screen. It was probably around eleven thirty. I remember it was around that time because I remember thinking that my father should have been in church by then.
I heard it in his voice before he even said it. I didn't know who had died but I knew somebody had to have been. In my family, a simple, "hey what are you doing?" sounds heavy with sorrow and sadness regardless of anybody's attempt to sound cheerful. He told me, right there on Highway 41 that my uncle had been killed in an accident.
A few minutes later I called him back to ask the details. His truck had been on fire a long time. I can't remember how many hours it burned. That one detail managed to slip my mind and I'm thankful for it.
I cried for three days. Every second I got alone I cried. Not so much because he was no longer here on Earth because I already knew that my uncle had a seat in the kingdom. I cried out of selfishness, confusion and something else I can't really identify.
Why do bad things happen to good people?
THE DREAM:
I don't dream about him much. In the years he has been gone I've only dreamed of him twice. The other morning I woke up, chest tight like I had been holding my breath. I scared myself and snatched my phone charger out of the wall. The last thing I remembered was my uncle being in a hospital bed, telling me goodbye and I was crying. It was a belly aching, tantrum throwing, screaming, arms flailing cry... I was clawing at the floor and screaming but i don't remember anything he said to me before that. I just know that a heavy, nervous feeling has been on my head ever since...and now I feel like I'm waiting for the last shoe to drop or something.
The lamp
Before I moved into this apartment, I went to Ikea and purchased a curvy, white, paper lamp that required two bulbs. I only bought it because it was cute. At the time I didn't care if it was bright enough. I didn't care if it would fit the decor, or even if anybody else would like it. I just knew that it was funky and I wanted it.
I walked past that same lamp today and remembered upon moving in, those things I didn't care about became an immediate concern. What if it wasn't bright enough? What if I needed more light? What if it didn't fit in with the decor of the apartment? What if people thought it looked tacky or that it wasn't nice?
It must have been the nervousness that caused me to second guess my first decision. Instead of getting another lamp, I insisted on letting that one lamp stand by itself, convincing myself that it was perfect and enough light. The thought occured to me today, that just like my fear that the light I adored before was suddenly not enough light was about more than about just a light.
That lamp is a lot like me... I think. Sometimes I'm so sure that my light is enough to shine and fix what is going on with others or enough to fix what is wrong within myself that I don't mind sitting in the dark for a while.I would rather stand dim than depend on someone else whose voltage may not last as long, (which was the reason I gave myself for not buying another lamp. I was concerned that it would be a waste of electricity because I would have to use them both and the other one would die faster which would mean the lamp would be left all alone in the end anyway).
I'm that lamp... People are the other form of light. I'm sure that though my light may be dim, I know its energy saving powers, and I'm "just enough" light to get by while those other forms of light are probably going to be more trouble than they are worth.
I don't know where this came from. It just randomly popped into my head. Maybe this makes sense and maybe it doesn't. However, my mind is full and this just took off the first sip to keep it from overflowing.
I walked past that same lamp today and remembered upon moving in, those things I didn't care about became an immediate concern. What if it wasn't bright enough? What if I needed more light? What if it didn't fit in with the decor of the apartment? What if people thought it looked tacky or that it wasn't nice?
It must have been the nervousness that caused me to second guess my first decision. Instead of getting another lamp, I insisted on letting that one lamp stand by itself, convincing myself that it was perfect and enough light. The thought occured to me today, that just like my fear that the light I adored before was suddenly not enough light was about more than about just a light.
That lamp is a lot like me... I think. Sometimes I'm so sure that my light is enough to shine and fix what is going on with others or enough to fix what is wrong within myself that I don't mind sitting in the dark for a while.I would rather stand dim than depend on someone else whose voltage may not last as long, (which was the reason I gave myself for not buying another lamp. I was concerned that it would be a waste of electricity because I would have to use them both and the other one would die faster which would mean the lamp would be left all alone in the end anyway).
I'm that lamp... People are the other form of light. I'm sure that though my light may be dim, I know its energy saving powers, and I'm "just enough" light to get by while those other forms of light are probably going to be more trouble than they are worth.
I don't know where this came from. It just randomly popped into my head. Maybe this makes sense and maybe it doesn't. However, my mind is full and this just took off the first sip to keep it from overflowing.
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