I am Your Nightmare…Radio Edit

I am your nightmare.

That monster that will never cease.

The reminder that life

is only fragile

if you lack scar tissue.

I am a waking nightmare

trapped in a body

that can never express

fear or sorrow.

I am a fearsome beast.

A dragon guised as a butterfly.

I snarl with laughter.

I stalk with a skip.

I flash my fangs in a smile.

I am your nightmare.

The personification of

political correctness,

but only out of occupational obligation.

Which of course comes with

self-loathing.

For what beast is really complete

without self-loathing?

To never freely say

or do what I want,

because this monster

dreads ramifications.

This monster that has

forbidden herself

to show how ugly she feels inside,

only wanting others to see

what they want to see,

and feel good about themselves.

This monster cannot

smash with reckless abandon

as humans can.

Humans who’s opinion,

so inflated by

self-righteousness

that it should pop

like a cheap party balloon,

unfortunately are the opinions

that stick to the mind

like a crusty lollypop stick,

but with the weight

of an naval destroyer.

So I guess it’s really

the humans that should

worry you.

Always pushing the monsters

deeper in the forest.

What happened to the days

when monsters were accepted

and appreciated?

Oh well, as the humans say,

‘That’s life.’

I’ll simply endure,

as always.

Growing thicker scars

as I try and assure myself

that political correctness,

and the general anxiety

for selfish progress

that is the human condition,

haven’t murdered

the essence of art.

Breathe.

That’s what I always

tell myself when humans

get me down.

They are just humans,

and I am but a monster.

Each of us imperfect

in our way.

The only thing to do

is to endeavor to not

roast anyone with my breath.

No promises.

I am a smiling dragon after all.

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Fallen Giant

ImageImage

I saw the fallen giant

as the snow came down.

His roots an intricate tapestry

of shallow beauty.

If only they had dug deeper.

If only they had fought

the icy winds of deception

that convinced the giant to

take it’s face from the heavens

and rest it’s head on the ground.

The snaky vines probably attacked

as soon as the giant clumsily

let it’s body hit the soggy moss

laden tree-coffin.

I wonder if they whispered

comforting words as they

tied the giant down.

I wonder if he even

realizes that he will never

touch the sky,

or talk to the clouds again.

Thank you God for giving

me roots that dig

deep into rich earth.

I know that when the

tempting winds of deception

come and try to

bend me beyond repair,

a branch or two may

break, but I will

never fall.

The knots of my life

are the scars that

remind me to keep

my eyes on you.

What Is This?

Is it that which

Tempts the monsters to rest?

Or a ghost to sing you to sleep?

It couldn’t possibly be

The first smile of a baby,

The kiss of fresh rain on soil,

Or the embrace of a breeze on a scorching day.

It is my unexpected,

and undeserved felicity

that makes me want to dance

from the confusion of

this most needed peace

that brings such chaos

to my heart.

Thank you.

Silent Stalker

“Death arrives among all that sound like a shoe

with no foot in it,”

-Pablo Neruda

sinking in the armchairs

of the waiting room. Death is written in the eyes

of the nurses as they ask the family to step

into a private room.

It likes to be announced from the lips

of knowledgeable doctors suggesting

the logical move. It caresses all the other faces

that stare at the bright yellow doors

waiting for a miraculous recovery.

Death lingers in the walls

it flickers with the lights

it rises with each machine-assisted breath

it sways to the singing of family members

before it steals the last dance.

Death slips into the brain as the switches

are flipped to OFF, and it fights animal

instincts as the mortal body convulses

with the effort of breathing with no

support. Death wins.

The singing, praying and tears of loved ones

will not stop death from stealing the last forced gasp

of air.

It is the thief that will take

the soul out of your bones, and the robber

of your loved ones.

Sparkled and Spiked

I glint and smile back

With the fury of confidence she

sometimes is without.

I have all the strength and grace

Of a shark, and the beguiling appearance of a

Tiger.

As your finger glides over my luxurious

Soft hide you may think me

Delicate, but there is no

Achilles heel here;

Only the tips of warriors’

Spears, and the jewels of royalty.

I support her as she steps out,

Shield her from the arrows

Of self doubt, and past memories.

I prop her up higher as she falters.

I am what my master would be

If she too was made of leather,

Rhinestones, and spikes.

Listen to my flirtatious clinking as I walk by.

Look at my shining pride as she saunters

Tall and brave.

I am no glass slipper.

I am her battle cry.