*Trippage ||* 06/28/2015
For the citizens that need to feel "better-than": the Christians that need to prove their fake religion is realer than someone elses fake religion.
Prison populations stagnant. Even though many die at the hands of the homicidal state. Because Theres always that son or daughter. That one, being groomed for chains, who feels good and bad intensely.
The enemy?
Emotion?
The ups and downs of life looked down upon. The rights and wrongs in beliefs. Proofs and disproofs. Common sense verses the common goose-step which is us. The U.$. Kkkalifornicated.
Kkkamouflageicated.
Seeing stars in homicidal soldiers. Black and white demons in the koncentration kamp khaki blues.
And damn if he or she becomes upset and slams a door or two. Damn if you can't control.
Damn the bumps in your road, please, as we perfect the art of road removal. See the bumps as fixable. Ignore until its too late.
Says he at the hands of this pristine, maintained, poetic jackhammer.
Its nothing. Swear it.
Just a little pothole. . .

*This Time* 06/14/2015

Corrosive cornucopia of caring
Sexing constantly

Seeing that this that was always wanted
Causes this weakness

To begin at endings
Knowing its all constant continuation
And nothing stops just changes
Contradictions contradicting repeatedly

Too much not enough
Enough too much
Causing heart hurt from over exertion
Or pains from loneliness
Overgiving or underliving

You should see her though
The way her hips sing songs
Her eyes speak in tongues
About lost tribes sculpturing meaning
Upon this rock of meaninglessness

Skin that hurts in its softness
Anger that heals in its fierceness
Slaps and hugs and claspings
Letting go only to hold on

So much we've been through
And its only been six months
More emotions than six years in a cell
In just six minutes of looking in each others eyes

June 16th. One month shy
Of two years out
Missed one day of work
This whole time
And it was her birthday
My reason. She's become
Reason

" I want to go home to Mexico"
Crestfallen. Her children
Her parents she's missing
I'm the tether that holds her she says
But I'm wrist chained
Waist wrapped
Around her sweet existence
Grasping

Never felt this tear clouded smiling
This sickness of heart that causes butterflies
This lifting and falling of feeling

I'm lost
Tossed upon her waves
Curled up in her hair like feminine finger
Tracing the stubble along jawline

Thinking maybe
Maybe this time
This month this cycle
A baby
Our baby

Maybe...

*Dear Heart* 06/13/2015

Its been six months since i switched jobs from the truck stop to the pig farms. On the day i interviewed i met this international Mexican girl. We've been inseparable ever since. We've got ourselves a place. Been living together two months. But...

Its driving me crazy. The worry. The constant wondering about if this is real. If what we have is reality or just some illusion. Like , have i built myself this castle in the sand that's already washed away and I'm just seeing the mirage of what once was.

Its all in the fact that I've got no life. She says. I mean, not meanly does she say it but its that I've cut off my life ive built, since getting out of prison two years ago, just for her. Left my dad and brother to fend for themselves. Gave up the addition id built onto my fathers house, in order to pay rent on a Trailor house in town. Town. I hate living in town. I hate not having time for myself.

Its like all i gave up for her was all that she saw in me to like. And six months to the day, in two days exactly, its all going to end. I feel it. We're done. Through.

And all i can think is " WHEW" . "That was wild and fun yet trying as all hell and I'm glad its over."

Its time to return to the cedar trees and the solitude. My solitude. My writing. My mind.

I've missed you. . .