Be Gentle With Yourself

  Same Sidewalk.  As Yesterday.  It catches you by surprise.   But today. They are here. Either smell or sight and you are called out. Silky petals. Our female elders peeking out with their violet irises The smell, oh the smell.  It swirls in your chest trying to coat your lungs, for just a little bit longer. Same Sidewalk. As Yesterday. You see the crispy. The sun held them just a little bit too long. Close enough, the smell sits still.  But the drops have drifted. Toasted and broiled. It’s gone so fast. Sad and True. I mourn for those that missed it. For those that will forget.  Same Sidewalk.  As Yesterday. Their abode remains season to season. Empty and forgotten Their graceful presence is now a brief memory. Every now and again, I remember what was once. And what will be again.

 Dear Anger, I don’t know where you are hiding. Or why you are there. But you are. And you’re strong. I don’t consider myself an angry person, I forgive quickly and easily. You come out in my dreams, violent, dark, twisted, full of death and pain. Bludgeoning those I love, screaming with no words coming out. Unable to get my point across, nobody gets it. A constant block felt in sleep, waking up with unresolved feelings and unspoken words. Confused at their meaning, challenged to talk to those I love dearly, but were the source of my pain at night. You come out when I’m drunk, to myself, to others, to someone that looks at me wrong. To that man that decides tonight is the night to hit on me...it’s not the night, and it won’t ever be the night. I want to hit things, I want to smoke a cigarette in anger drawing the line of smoke in like a line of cocaine. I want to shoot whiskey and write inflamed words on a paper. At first glance, yes, I guess I might have some anger. I’m angry at the w