i was almost called april.

It's very much like the weather here.

It's the end of april and nature is keeping the warmth just out of reach.

Maybe she's just bi-polar. giving a few days of spring-cum-summer…

followed by some violent outburst of a storm that brings a cold front.

She takes you on meaningless, taxing roller-coaster rides.

Much like the chosen lovers of so many good men.

Because they'd rather go in circles and on thrill rides through amusement parks than on adventures around the world.

Wait. Hold up. We were talking about weather.. warm days... ah yes.

Just when you thought you could get comfortable…

skin bathing in the sun…

mind running like children from a school building outside to recess.

All of them pulsating with a thousand ideas that are just one moment away from becoming a reality.

you know that feeling…

so simple, but you know it.

still.

the day off with nothing planned.

gaping like a blank canvas waiting to make your thoughts visible.

but we get scared and we book our days full of routine.

or never have a day off.

or get used to spending it alone.

'controlled'

disappearing in work.

in stimulants.

in depressants.

in escapes.

in people.

in the mundane.

in the meaningless.

in anyplace we don't have to show up.

or it rains.

and we find ourselves in this same old space.

and i think i just wanted not to be alone in this room.

with all these creature comforts that don't quite match the feel of nearness.

i spoke aloud just now and my voice quivered in a way i've never heard.

i didn't recognize it.

like every fibre is deteriorating.

like that forgotten gown hanging in the closet…

could you remind me that i'm not a novelty?

remind me that i'm not worthless.

remind me that i mean something.

and you'll have to repeat yourself, because i'm in the habit of believing lies.

i listened. my face lit up...

and i woke up an hour before the alarm clock just trembling for the cold front that has crept in, yet again.

left alone in this room, nothing new.

playing solitaire.

and they keep sliding messages under the door asking if i'm doing okay.

i'm tired of answering.

a chapter of a story summarized like a bad knockoff of cliff's notes.

you'd fail the course for reading it, of course. because the headlines spell out some catch phrase.

but to my heart nail down injustice.

the beat dropped and my middle finger went up.

and there was no one there to see it.

there was no one there to feel it crack.

because no one fights for me anymore, and with resignation, i'm walking away.

i've heard a thousand words. a million. all of those gorgeous well constructed sentences.

i've heard the verbal bullets fly…

but, darlings, there's no target.

and speaking behind backs, you just pretend you never said it.

all these words in an inflated economy.

worth less than the US penny.

there is no fort knox to back it up.

there is no accountability. no calling out.

just texting. just venting. just blogs and status updates.

just passive aggressive hot air.

a sharpened sword in the corner collecting dust.

i know you didn't mean to.

i know you meant well.

i know what happened was...

but i'm equally bored and wounded by your silence.

and then, actions speak far louder.

they scream at me like some drill sergeant's breath and sweat on my face.

it feels like it's coming to blows.

the bottom line driven across the lands of my heart like a cold war.

and every so often i can shut them out…

but only if i turn the music up loud enough.

it hurts again.

i had a dream a few weeks ago…

far less disturbing than the one i had last night, thankfully.

i thought if i could reach the highest height to get to some great force that they could fix it.

i thought if i could petition the 'adjustment bureau' … the divine at the top of the world…

if i could just have a moment, they would hear my case and step in.

my helicopter met a storm and had to land before i could get there.

in a world where equations run rampant…

where karma is revered

i question it.

because my 2 and 2 always make a five.

the guilty get off scott free, the innocent never looked more guilty

and in the meanwhile i am willing to take my lumps for both sides.

and defiant, i remain unmedicated, open, vulnerable, much/unafraid.

ever prying my hands away from the reigns of control…

desiring to love better.

reach out and then they slap my hands.

doors slammed in my face.

truth met with lies.

embraces lined with daggers.

my heart looted and defaced.

ignored.

forgotten.

passed over.

and for what?

all of this interwoven into this fabric…

all of these words making lines making this story that i'm in…

it has the markings of something incredible.

convinced it's a setup for something greater.

onward and upward

hope rises, much like the temperatures in springtime.

each disappointment met with hopeful expectation.

slow but sure, everything in bloom.

even i.

and then a violent storm… bringing back the remnants of winter.

and it all drops dead.

frost-bitten with shame.

and i beg of you to let me sleep beneath…

and rest here a while.

make it new or bury me with it.

because it all feels like the weather here.

and it's all wearing me out.