Event Horizon
This poem was written from the heart, as the ink poured onto white paper tears formed in my eyes. It was painful to bring up feelings of unworthiness and unwantedness. Feelings I’d compressed inside my heart so that I did not have to face them. As they flowed like a babbling brook there was an instant relief -like when an infection subsides, and the lessening of pressure gives to instant relief. I’ve reread this poem a few times and the tears still well in my eyes.
Us as individuals are the only people who truly know who we are. No matter how long and intimate a relationship with another person might be, they will never know you like you know yourself. The harsh truth I’ve lived with is that I did not deserve the rejection, the abuse, the abandonment from a family that was tortured by generations of emotional immaturity. I did not deserve it in the relationships (friendship and romantic) that I sought throughout my life. Yet, life is not concerned with responsibility as much as it is concerned with accepting one’s path and making a conscience choice to be the best version going forward.
I can admit I have not always been the best version of myself -nor will I ever achieve such perfection, but I haven’t always accepted that I own the choice to change and to seek a better life than my ancestors left as my heritage. The most constant thing in all the known universe is that nothing alive remains in stasis: all matter is constantly evolving and changing. Humans get to change by choice. Embracing my talent as a writer, specifically a poet, and sharing them for any who wish to read (thank you for reading) is part of accepting my choice in my past, present, and future. If I can provide hope for just one simple soul by opening a window into my life, then my purpose here is accomplished.
I tried to share my feelings-
Show my darkness and my light-
Say when things hurt
Articulate when they filled me with light.
But all who listened turned a deaf ear,
Or, worse, left me cold and alone.
This, the story from childhood.
Played out over and over again:
That the star burning inside of me is too much.
That I am an ever present blight upon this earth:
Destined to be alone-
Abandoned, forsaken, even criticized for existing.
No one wanting to understand me.
That even those who say love me-
Will shun and ignore me-
Believing I harbor darkness
And they are afraid it will consume them.
I feel like a black hole:
None are able to see beyond my event horizon. I feel like a black hole,
None are able to see beyond my event horizon.
See me as a young child
Dressed in a red cowboy hat,
Chasing geese, those villains of the yard.
Pretending to rescue those in distress.
See a young man excited for trips to the library-
Where countless worlds of wonder abound!
Who rests his head against cold glass-
Watching trees whiz by on long road trips
Longing to be lost in the beauty of nature.
What is beyond my event horizon?
A man neglected and abandoned-
Whose will is to be seen and accepted:
For he has a sensitive heart and caring soul.
Able to inspire even the lowest of morales-
A wonderful soul who was taught to hide. -EJBFate Should Give
I wrote this poem in the winter of 08’. I woke up to freshly fallen snow lying atop tree branches and pines. They swayed mercilessly under the weight of the snow. The air was brisk, but not too cold. It was a beautiful morning, and even though I could see the beauty of the morning I was still filled with sadness that seemed to multiple being present in such beauty. The sadness I felt then has always been present in my life and I’ve not been very good at letting myself be comforted by my own hand or the hand of another. My ship of life seemingly traveled down a lonely river without a soul to be seen. The longing and sadness can be seen in this poem. I am posting it now because, after the last six months of facing demons and changing my perspective on life, I feel like this poem is no longer a ghost that haunts me, but reminds me of how far I have traveled in life and how much growth and progress has been made. I added the last two stanzas to reflect this growth.
Fate Should Give
The trees sway in pity,
As the snow crest ground portrays a false hope,
And the chill air proclaims despair.
Who am I to give in to this loss of humanity?
Who am I to grant pity her love?
Shall I fall into the black hole of despair?
Or weep away my childish cares?
Who can wipe away these feelings?
Who can show change the apparent dread of nature?
Whose features can fill my heart with care?
Whose words can make my blood feel alive?
Whose eyes can pierce my soul, and reveal the depths therein?
Whose touch can carry me away from this world?
Yea, must I wait in pity and despair?
Catch me when I fall,
This wait is more than fate can give,
Wipe my tears at night.
This wait is more than fate should give.
I waited.
I waited.
Waited for love.
Waited for a kind and gentle soul.
All I attracted were users:
Those who wanted me for what I gave.
Not who I was.
Then in pain,
Sorrow and despair,
I chose to show myself the love I so craved.
And in that cave of loneliness,
I was reborn,
A new man.
Given not to despair.
No pity to hold its renaissance fair.
Love for myself, my new creed.
Tears of a Poet
At a bar in North Carolina on a quiet September eve I opened my poem book and put pen to paper, but I could not find a poem. After a moment of thought I decided I needed a poem that explained “Tears of a Poet” this is what flowed from pen to paper:
Tears of a poet:
My life’s story, in ink.
As if a boulder lay on my chest-
Pressure slowly becoming unbearable-
Pushing breath from my throat-
The sensation rising upward -
Into quivering jaw-
Vision blurs-
Eyes fill with tears.
Then, a moment, brief and still-
Tears holding fast as if on a precipice-
Suddenly, those tears of a poet fall-
An orgasmic release of comfort.
Le petit mort - the small death
Those tears of a poet-
Now a blurry reflection looking back from a mirror:
Eyes red-
Cheeks stained.
Throat dry and heart aching.
Those tears of a poet:
Blinding physically and emotionally.
Sadness now a veil.
Those tears of a poet.
A veil?
Those tears of a poet.
A curtain?
Those tears of a poet.
A partition?
Those tears of a poet.
Hiding—what?
Reality?
Perception is a destination.
Tears which may blind wash feelings that bind-
Those tears of a poet-
That small death of emotion,
A rebirth!
Those tears of a poet.
Those tears of a poet.
Those tears of a poet.
Those tears of a poet:
Drops of pain,
Drops of love,
Drops of loss,
Drops of triumph,
Tears of a poet?
My life’s story, in ink
When Silence is the Creed
A few months ago I sat down to write a poem about my journey as a man and discovering my own masculinity. Often young men are not taught what masculinity is: we are left to discover this on our own and in our wake a path of ignorant distraction is left. The poem eventually morphed into two different poems, one of which I am sharing today.
This poem is about the effects of silencing emotions and keeping our feelings inside. Men are taught this by fathers who were taught this from their fathers. I will not speculate on the reasons-psychology is doing an okay job with this, right now. I will say, growing up like this -and never seeing my own father cry- has made it incredibly difficult (even emotionally dangerous) for me to cry in front of anyone else. Which is a tragedy, as a highly sensitive person I feel much of everything around me and not always having the comfort of my own tears is a challenge. My hope is that through sharing my own experiences other men will have the courage to not only share their experience but face their inner self.
When Silence is the Creed
The indelible words of a wounded man,
Be tough! Men don’t cry! Suck it up!
The indelible words of a a wounded man,
That to be you is to ignore your feelings
Existing in this universe as a foreigner
Wanting to be a pet of the conversation-
But lacking understanding of the language.
The indelible words of a wounded man,
Be tough! Men don’t cry! Suck it up!
A child who fell and scraped his knee:
Tough little boys don’t cry-
The father says with wounded pride.
Out to play with friends:
Suck it up! Real men don’t cry!
They tease and bully, repeating the fathers words.
Teaching, silence is the creed.
How many tears fall in the cold dark of night-
None to hold you in a comforting embrace-
To hear you tell of your grief,
And in that moment, all your suffering release.
Happiness choked by immovable sadness.
Journeying the miracle of life a stoic of emotion.
Thus goes hope, when silence is the creed.
I Love, You. E
The purpose of my writings is to express my inner world: everything I write is an intimate conversation between pen and paper. The purpose of sharing these writings is to provide hope for anyone -even if it is just one person- who may be experiencing something similar. To feel alone in this vast universe is an unfortunate and harrowing experience. I should know, that I spent most of my life feeling alone and as if I didn’t belong. When I write I feel like I belong, like I have purpose: my life has meaning. Before I continue, thank you dear reader for embarking on this adventure with me. Sincerely, I thank you.
The last year and some odd months have been a period of great loss for me personally. The last year has also been a period of connecting with my inner self and acceptance and defense of self: a period of great discovery. This poem starts with some of the most hurtful and harsh words that were written for me. They were not intended to be harsh, or even hurtful. In fact, the author wrote them with love and their goal was to soothe. Yet, contradictory actions and those words would damage my heart and fill me with great emotional pain. Within that pain, I discovered myself.
Loss can either be an impenetrable mist hiding all things or a great light revealing great mysteries.
I Love You, E
“The world owes you a debt that cannot be paid… I see you… anyone that gets to is privileged.” -K
Privileged…
The scars on my skin are nothing compared to the scars covering my soul: sexually abused from 5-10; emotionally abused from birth to… physically abused by parents who said it was all in love. Abused by my own tongue and, hand.
Privileged…
All I ever wanted, since a child, was someone to hold me, to be there, never to leave me. A person who would not pity, but respect the person I am -regardless of my flaws.
Privileged…
Flaws that I did not ask for-wounds I could not protect myself from. Yet, all of them, the reaction to, I am responsible for.
Privileged…
If you want to walk by my side throw your pity to the swine.
All I want is someone who will say-
“The world owes you a debt that cannot be paid. And I am privileged to be a part of your story. I see you. I love you. I support you.” -EJB
For, those are the words I tell myself.
I see you, E!
I love you, E!
I support you, E!
I LOVE YOU, E!
-EJB.
Wanted, Never
This poem is a reflection of overlooking a problem within a relationship and how my childhood messages influenced my thinking that this was acceptable. If a person who loves you -and the woman this poem is about deeply loved me- tells you, in whatever sequence of words, that they did not want you and they do not follow that statement with validation that their view has changed do the hardest thing you’ll ever do and leave. The relationship is doomed if both parties don’t want it, and that will ebb and flow: it is natural to question yourself in any relationship, but ultimately for the relationship to continue one must continue to choose the other and want them. You should be with a person you want and they want you. The woman who spoke these words to me was not intentionally aiming to harm, she knew not what she was saying and I am convinced if she had the reference point to understand this she should have validated her love -that understanding is partly why I overlooked this egregious statement. Her childhood teachings were that her feelings and desires were scary and would lead to her being hurt, no matter how good they were for her. Dear reader, I caution you not to carry the burden of healing and growth for other people longer than you can bear, because in doing so you abandon your own healing and growth. Our love was a tragedy, but from any tragedy can come some of the most beautiful things.
Wanted, Never
We lay next to each other:
Those were always my fondest moments,
Foreheads touching as we held deep discussions,
Hands held tightly as we existed together in silence,
This time you told me words that tore,
I never wanted you.
My heart stopped, understanding ceased;
As if you knew -the cruelty of your words-
Thank my friend, she convinced me.
That was it- no validation, no change of heart,
I knew, in that moment, we were doomed.
Time had set on our future -
Would that I had left that night:
Protecting my heart from the destruction wrought.
But I stayed, having been taught as a child-
I was not wanted.
Since that moment I gave you all of me:
Slowly you gave less of yourself.
Now we stand continents apart-
Torn to pieces by our love you never wanted.
Getting to Know You
I wanted to get to know you,
Everything about you:
The things you laughed at,
Loved to do with your spare time-
The reason you curled your nose-
The food you enjoyed to cook the most-
I wanted to know what made you angry
What made you sad and teary-eyed-
The things that made you happy and glad.
All these and so much more were my goal to discover.
Like a pioneer to be the first to learn.
Your triggers that scared-
The comforts that chased the scary’s away.
What you endured as a child, a teenager, and adult.
How I could make space for all versions of you.
I chose to love you no matter the day-
I was hoping to get to know you:
That’s why I called and asked what you needed-
To stop seeing each other is what you said.
It is no wonder I was so hurt,
I could not let go of you:
I was betrayed at the very moment,
I was professing my deep love for you.
Fireflies
At a high school graduation, I remember a beautiful girl asking me if I wanted to catch fireflies with her. If you knew me now you’d be shocked I turned down her offer-I was being a good Christian young man. That moment is one of those regrets I hold with me. The regret of experiencing an innocent moment of life with another human being.
a few months ago I looked out the kitchen window and saw fireflies dancing in the night air. A few moments later I wrote this poem. Inevitably the poem ends with the same question I’ve often asked since that summer night of 09’, “who wants to experience life’s innocent moments with me”?
I saw fireflies at dusk,
Glowing by their little butts.
We never got to spend time together in summer,
Would you have caught fireflies with me -
Lie in the evening grass by my side,
Lightning bugs glowing in our jar of glass,
Holding hands as we looked up to the stars?
Wishing upon the universe this moment lasts -forever?
I saw fireflies at dusk,
Thought of you in denim overalls-
Laughing together, catching those magical bugs
Two adults playing like children
Existing as if they were the only two alive.
My heart smiled as it released your hold.
That magical glow enough for me,
Will either find a soul as fit as us to each other?
Only time will tell, as—
Fireflies glow in the waning light.