Mongrel

 I’m just a dog to you. That is me. I know all the tricks you’ve taught me to amuse you; sit, stay, beg, speak. I know how to make you smile. I devote my love to you and only you, because I am a dog. But, you cannot love a dog as you do a man. You love a dog like a dog, deeply perhaps, but with a love of friendship and ownership.

 You are my priority, while I am not even an option for you. I am your pet, to be done with as you please. I bask in the affection you give me, or I sit patiently and wait for your attention. I growl and bark at those people you choose over me, from jealousy or my need to protect you, I cannot say. But I am just a dog, you need pay me no mind.

 It doesn’t matter what I say, so long as I’m here when you return, your good little dog. Whether it’s to sit while you pet me and talk of your great day, or to hold me and cry in my fur as you tell me how you’ve been hurt again, I am here for it. What else can I do, after all? I cannot open the door myself. I cannot let myself free. I just live on the scraps of attention you give me from the table of your life. And that is enough, because I am just a dog.

Scar

It’s not her that bothers me, but her memory. Silent yet oppressive, it stabs at me from the darkened halls of my past. They are not fatal wounds, or even life threatening, but even minor wounds can weaken and destroy if they are not treated. But how do you treat annoyance. It’s like a scar that is no longer tender but is still constantly touched, or a callus in an abrasive place causing constant friction.

My memories of her are the scar, and I would forget it was even there if not for the people who come up again and again asking to see it, touch it, or talk about it. Even if I say no, the reminder is enough. I know it’s there again, and I have to deal with the memories it brings until I can forget it again.

It’s not her fault I was hurt, I do not blame her for anything. If I were to see her today I would thank her, because the scars I have from her taught me important lessons about life. She would not ask about the scars, she probably would not even see them, and for that I am grateful. That’s one less person to remind me. It’s not her that bothers me after all, just the scar.

Trust

 I want to be there for you, to hold your hand through your trials. It’s not my place, but I want it to be. I want to hold you when the nights are cold, to walk with you when the days are long. I want to take the weight of the world on my shoulders, to let you rest your weary back.

 I do not do this through any notion of self sacrifice. My motives are completely selfish. I want to be there with you, to hold your hand through all the good times. It’s not my place, but I want it to be. I want to hold you every night, to walk with you through every day. I want share every blessing that lifts you up.

 There will be good times and bad. There is no way to know what the next day may bring, whether the next sunrise brings with it good or ill. I want to be there for each of your sunrises, for every time, good and bad and everything in between.

 You can give me any title; call me by any name, just as long as you call on me. Let me into that place where you are hiding, share with me all your secrets. Trust me. I want only that you put your trust in me.

Breath

Inhale, exhale, in, out.

 Take deep and refreshing breaths, feel the rhythm of your heart and match it, excluding everything else. Just feel your heart beating, keeping time, and listen to the sound of air rushing past your lips.

 Inhale, exhale, in, out.

 Let the world slip, then fall away as you close your eyes and let the darkness take you. In that darkness, feel the throbbing of your heart, a dark red pulse in your vision, a beating drum in your mind. You can feel the air, a luminescence streaking across the darkness, ocean waves flowing through your mind.

 Inhale, exhale, in, out.

There is no pain. All of your suffering left with the world. The ocean tide fills your mind, bringing peace as the drum beat pulls you along the shoreline. Slow and steady, the drum keeps the rhythm as you drift, sleep settling in on your weary mind like frost on the ground.

Inhale, exhale, in, out.

Dream, let your mind and heart mingle and fill the darkness with color and light. Act out your fantasies and live the life you want, with all the comforts and joys that they entail. Let this world be your reality for a time, and the world you left behind be nothing more than a bad dream.

flame dance

 The flame moves along, a beautiful spirit dancing, her flowing hair flying in the heated air. The flame slides as her hips sway from side to side, growing as with the passion that her lithe body creates with each nimble and exotic gesture. Now she is a fire, joined by her sister spirits, all dancing and moving in ways that excite the mind and mesmerize the eyes. Before anything can be done she has grown to an inferno, all burns around her as she dances her devilish dance to a song only she can hear.

 From outside they stand and watch her dancing, transfixed by her movements. The sounds they hear have their own music, cracking walls and whooshing air as the fire sucks in more and more to grow. With each breath of air in she breathes out smoke and heat, and she grows. Now she stands over the remains of the house as it burns down, and she spins and twirls, making the music rise as she catches another house on fire, and still she grows.

 The forest behind begins to glow, black smoke frames her as she moves along dancing to a constant beat, the beat of the heart of fire. She touches the sky now. For miles they can see her light, she is a star and every eye is on her. She will not stop on her own, she doesn't know how. She only knows the dance, and hears the music, because that is the nature of fire. And if the people look closely enough into the raging depths of the inferno, they might make her out as she dances along, moving and swaying with the rhythm of the flame.

Care Giver

 You are a hand to hold when they need a friend, a shoulder to lean on when they shed their tears. You carry their suffering in your heart as you lift their weight on your shoulders. In helping them do the things they cannot do themselves, you keep them clean and safe and well. You bring a smile to those who want to smile, and strength to those who need to be strong. It is your job, your duty to care for these people, but it is also your passion. To help others in any way you can, an angel of mercy. What you do for those people under your care is nothing short of a miracle. You give them a bit of their humanity, their dignity back. It is not always welcome, and there are times when it is thankless. You come home bruised and battered, exhausted and dirty. But you go back each day, put on your scrubs and do it all over again because of those moments when you get to touch another persons heart, to heal someone’s pain even if only for a while. When you sit there and calm someone down, while you hold his hand as the tests are being done and his world is revolving around a hospital bed, those are the moments that make it all worth it.

 So thank you from all those people who don’t know the troubles you go through to care for those people that we cannot. Thank you for your patience and your strength. Most of all, thank you for your compassion and your heart, that you share with those people who need it the most.

He Left

 His hasty departure was a red flag from the start. I wasn’t sorry to see him go, but the look on his face told me something was wrong. Some part of me knew I should find you. Walking down the hallway I noticed your door was open. I did not see you at first in the darkness, but I heard you. The quiet sniffles of a troubled heart. I whisper your name and the sniffles stop, you compose yourself quickly and stand.

“Everything ok?” A foolish question I know, but what else could I say as we stand there in the dark. My eyes have become accustomed to the lack of light and I see you, holding yourself tightly as if you want to pull yourself inward and disappear, and you nod your head slightly.

“What happened?”

“We kissed, and he left,” you say, your voice choked with tears.

 I gather you up in my arms, broken heart and all. Time stops as we stand together. Finally, you look up at me and I look down at you. I lose myself in you at that moment, trapped inside those beautiful eyes. Without a single thought towards the consequences or reprisals, I lean in and kiss you gently on the lips. For a heartbeat you don’t move, and the consequences come flooding back. What am I doing, I’m such a fool, you’ll never speak to me again, you’ll probably slap me. Then, bliss as I feel the pressure of your lips on mine. The moment lingers on and on. When we separate I look once more into your eyes and burn this moment forever into my memory.

“Never settle for anyone. Not for him and not for me.”

 You fake a smile and nod slightly, knowing it hurts me to say those words. We squeeze each other once more, end our embrace, and I leave your room. I lose my balance for a moment as the earth starts to spin again, and I walk out just as everyone thaws out of their moment frozen in time. Everything is as it was and the moment, no matter how long it was to me, is now just another moment past to the rest of the world.

Breathless

 The times that we're apart, those times when we've said we have to back off or slow down, is almost like a game to me. Like we're holding our breath to see who can last the longest. A simple contest but it fits perfectly. We each say go, we each wait as long as we can, and as soon as one breaks the other starts to breathe right away.

 The feeling’s the same as well. Our hearts beat faster and louder, filling our ears with the drumming. Our chest begins to ache from the pressure of not having that which we need. Our bodies cry for it, our lungs begin to burn from lack of it. Spots cover our eyes and blur our vision.

  Every time we hold it longer, until we can take no more. No matter how long we hold our breath for, and it seems to get slowly longer each time, eventually we will start to breathe again. I guess this is a silly way to say "you take my breath away."

Invisible man

 There was a time when I disappeared a time or two. I vanished from the people I care about and who care about me. I did it because I did not want them to be hurt, and yet doing so hurt them immeasurably.

 I have felt like a ghost in the real world, gliding along touching peoples’ lives but not really being a part of them. This was true for quite some time; I was invisible for so long, half remembered and quickly forgotten, that it started to feel right, like this is how it should be for me. And then, for whatever reason, I was seen. I was noticed and approached, I made acquaintances, and in some cases, friends. And then I found I had made true friends, real friends. Friends that were there for me whenever I needed them and who I wanted to be there for. I was happy to have them, overjoyed in fact, because they accepted my ridiculous thoughts and my odd demeanor. They took me as I was. I was happy.

 Then I left, and the old feelings came back. They were my friends, and I cared for them dearly, but my mind saw them as a danger. Someone I could hurt, and thus hurt myself. They were roots holding me in place which, when you’ve floated so long, was a scary feeling. So I cut loose, disappearing again, as I had so many times before. I was sure, I told myself, that they would forget me, and move on as all the others did.

 But they didn’t, and when I came back they were here. They continued to live their lives, but those bonds they had made for me, not chains to hold down but ropes to hold together, were still there, waiting for me to grab them. So I did, and I learned that this feels more right than anything I've known. We may not speak daily, weekly, or monthly, but I can always feel them through our bond.

 I never thought twice about the pain I might have caused, I thought I had done no wrong. It took my dearest friend slapping me in the face to open my eyes and, through the sting, see my folly. I had hurt someone. I had hurt people I had cared for deeply. My disappearance served no one. It hurt them not to hear from me, and it hurt me to be away from them. I caused such foolish pain in that. But now I see, and I know the pain that disappearing can bring. I cannot promise that I will not do it again. It is something I have done so long that I sense it even now at times, a slight urge to pull away and fade to black. But when I begin to, I hope my friends will see it and, with as little pleasure as possible, slap me back to my senses. Because I don’t want to let go of these bonds, I want to be seen by them. I no longer need to be the invisible man.



Thank you to my dear friends, for seeing me, and accepting me. For enduring the pain I put you through with my foolish disappearances and being there when I came back.

The Ballroom

 Walking into the brightly lit room from the darkness of the night leaves you blinking, first to let your eyes become acclimated, then in wonder as you stare at the enormous dance hall. Grand windows line the two walls, thick red drapes framing each, held open by large gold cords. Pillars between the windows hold a domed ceiling high overhead, large chandeliers hanging down to provide light for all the dancers on the floor. And then you see the dancers! There are hundreds of people, moving and laughing, dancing or sitting or walking along. The whole room is alive with movement. A sliver of fear tickles your spine at the sight of so many people, the white dress you thought was so beautiful now feels too tight, too big, too everything. What are you doing here, you wonder, you should never have accepted the invitation, you don’t belong here among all these beautiful people. You want to leave, to turn and run back out the doors and into the comfort of the dark night. Just as you are about to turn a familiar voice whispers in your ear as you feel a hand press against your hip holding you in place.

“Relax, breathe, smile. They can smell fear you know.”

 The feel of his breath on your skin as he speaks softly into your ear has you heart racing and his hand on your hip feels like a fire that fills your body. You smile, not just from his words, but because he is there, and he is close.

“Much better,” he says as he comes around to face you, your prince charming. Dressed in a tuxedo and bow tie like everyone else, he still looks better somehow. The way his hair shines in the light, the way he stands so straight but still seems so relaxed, and the look in his eyes that makes your knees weak and your heart race.

“Shall we?” He asks as he offers his arm. You take it, and your skin tingles at the touch. The crowd seems to part before you as he guides you through the throng of people to the middle of the dance floor. Then he turns you and, taking your hand in his, he begins dancing. A new song begins, as if they were waiting for him, and the two of you glide along the floor together. It’s like walking on clouds as his sure hands and steady steps lead you through the motions. There are others dancing as well, dozens of couples falling in line with the music playing. But you only have eyes for him, and as you dance along he talks and smiles and laughs, the room spins and the clocks chime. Before you know it hours have passed. He leads you away to the refreshments table and hands you a glass of punch, taking one for him as well.

 He talks some more as you sip your punch and watch him intently. He looks at you as he is about to say something and stops. Looking down at you, a strand of hair framing your face, a flush to your cheeks from the warmth and the dancing, the happiness in your eyes as you stare squarely into his before you turn away, he has never seen anything more beautiful. Taking your cup from your hand and setting it on the table, he presses his hand to your cheek and lifts your face so that you look into his eyes once more. Leaning forward, he moves closer until his mouth is hovering over yours, you can feel his heart beating fast from the pulse in his hand, it matches your own. Throwing caution to the wind, you bring your hand up to his cheek, rise up on your toes and touch your lips to his. Explosions sound and people ooh and aah as you kiss each other softly. You see flashing light and more explosions, and it takes a moment for the thought to get through the blissful haze you’re in that its fireworks. Reluctantly, you pull away and look into his eyes once more. He is smiling, looking more like a school boy than a grown man, but still the most handsome person you’ve ever seen. He takes your hand and pulls you to the windows, where he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you to his side as you both watch as lights flash and the crowd cheers. You lean against him, knowing that this is what fairy tales are for.

I am...

I am an as needed friend

 a standby buddy.

 A doll placed on a shelf and left to collect dust

until nostalgia or boredom brings me back to mind.

I am an afterthought

a single glance.

More easily forgotten than remembered

I fade away as quickly as a drop of water in the desert.

Soul searching

   Floating through the stream of time, ethereal beings waiting for corporeal hosts, we drift along unaware of the world moving on without us. Without bodies there are no senses to interpret the constant passing of time. There is no feeling of touch, no sense of smell or taste, nothing to hear or see. I imagine it is like lights reflected on a river. The current may change, the river may rise or fall, but none of this will affect the lights as they shine no matter what happens to the river. They are part of the river in appearance alone. That is the relation between souls and time. Souls are reflected upon time but not changed by its passing.

  Souls are all the same in the ethereal realm, except for one difference. They are connected. Not every soul to the other like an intricate web, but one soul to another, a pair of souls passing through time. When one is brought into the world, the other follows. The moment is not exact, the length of time between the one leaving and the other following could be seconds or years in the ever changing flow of time, but they always follow. That is one reason people have souls, to be connected to another, through a bond that cannot be seen but can be felt, a connection that can never be severed, no matter how far apart, in miles or years, the two are.

  Will they find each other every time? I cannot say. There are no certainties in the mortal world. They will meet other people, may fall in love with someone else, have families, live long lives and die without ever crossing paths. But when they do cross paths, when the mountains between them are climbed and the chasms separating them closed, the feeling will be there. At the first meeting it will rekindle, a long dormant need relighting like a single ember becoming flame once more, and from there it will grow. It will grow without any help from either person. It will grow until it is a fire, and then a blaze burning deep within each person. It will grow until it is an inferno, unignorable, undeniable, threatening to incinerate the worlds they knew and force them to start over. The flames can be fought, suppressed with a force of will, but never completely quenched.

  It is a hard thing to live with that connection and not accept it, to not allow themselves the joy of being with their soul mate. It would be like trying to stop their heart from beating so often, stop themselves from needing breath so much. Hardship is not a strong enough word to describe it, nor is sadness able to describe the feeling when it must be done. To be tethered to someone they cannot have, to force their soul mate away even as they bring them happiness. It may be necessary, but it is definitely painful, and the walls that must be built to hold them apart must always be maintained, the fire always dampened or it will burst quickly and crumble the walls that were so painstakingly erected.

  In the end, whether they find each other or not, whether they come together or force themselves apart, the souls will always come back together when their time on Earth has ended. When they make it back to the river of time, they will once more float along unaware of the passing of time, without senses or thoughts, with only the feeling of the other, connected forever. And when the time comes for them to come back to the world, they will be born again, live again, and hopefully find each other again.

  So may your hunt for your soul mate be an easy one, without too many mountains to climb and chasms to cross. Let there be no obstacles between you when you find one another. Let the fire consume your lives so that you are reborn, still two souls and two people, but with one heart and one life, together.

Whirlwind

 It scours through my mind like a whirlwind across an open plain. The whirlwind rolls along, knocking over the careful piles of my thoughts along its haphazard journey. Then it picks up the remnants of my scattered thoughts and lifts them into the air, tumbling and jumbling against each other as my mind spins. This effect, so small to start, quickly becomes a twister, tearing away at my thoughts, thrashing and moaning as it picks up speed. Then it is gone, as quickly as it had come. The winds die down and my thoughts fall around me like debris. As you walk past me all this happens, and then I am left to assemble and reorganize the tattered pieces that were once words to say to you, or gestures to be made. Once again you walk away and I have said and done nothing to stop you. Once again the winds in my head are silent, and my mind is filled with new thoughts of what to say when next we meet.

Our Roads

 As we follow the roads that are our lives, we drift towards and away from each other. Sometimes we are close, our roads merge and we walk together down a peaceful path, gently winding through hills and fields. Then there are times when we are so far apart that I cannot see you at all. I yell and shout but there is no answer. The fields are replaced by deserts, and the rolling hills become treacherous mountains. Those are sad and lonely times.

 Then I see you, going your way, and it seems like you did not even notice I was gone. Like my presence is of little importance to you. The fields still roll in front of you and the hills do not change. I want so badly to ask you if you feel the way I do, but I cannot find the words to express the joy in my heart at the sight of you, or how wide the smile on my face is at the thought of you. It is your beauty and grace, your caring ways, all those things that make you who you are, that draw me ever closer to you. I know that you are the sun in my darkened world. You are the light that penetrates the clouds.

 It is not our path we are walking when I am with you. You are sharing your path with me, letting me enjoy the happiness that is your life and your company before I return to the harshness of my own. But that is how it must be, I suppose. Because there will be mountains in your path, and deserts for you to walk through. And when that happens, I will be your guide. We will scale your mountains together, and I will be your safety line, I will be your climbing tools. We will walk those deserts and I will be the water to sustain you, I will be the compass to guide you. And should you need it I will be the one to carry you through.

 And when it is over, when your trials have been passed and there are blue skies and green fields once more, I will walk on that path with you awhile.  Then our paths will separate once more, and I will continue down mine, climbing the mountains and walking the deserts, knowing that you may one day need me again. I am still sad and alone, but I am also determined and steadfast.

Sunrise

Moving East, driving into the sunrise as the suns' rays cut into the inky black of night. First gray, then purple, then the purple is held only by the clouds as the sky warms into reds, oranges, and yellows and the sun slides over the horizon to usher in a new day. The beauty of it is overwhelming, and as I watch this natural beauty my thoughts turn to you. I think of you as the new day comes through the window, shining onto the edge of the bed, gliding across your bare shoulder and touching lightly on your face before continuing on into the room, leaving you to your restful slumber. You, for your part, do not turn, do not avoid the light, you continue to breathe the slow, steady breath of a deep, undisturbed sleep. Your lips curl in a gentle smile, as if the sun’s rays have made their way into your dreams, causing the beauty you hide within to blossom into that small gesture that could stop a man in his tracks. It is a gesture that could mean angelic serenity or devilish desires. This smile is what I think of as I continue east and away from you, away from your smile, and into the dawn of a new day.

Rebuild

   Now is the time to rebuild. To put up those walls you so easily brought down with your smile. To begin the arduous task of re-freezing the heart that you melted with your touch. All my defenses are gone, a chill wind blows across the surface of my heart. Where once there was a fortress of stone and ice, then a paradise of colorful flowers, beautiful waterfalls, and mammoth trees, now stands nothing but a bleak and lifeless landscape. Those same trees have withered and now look like mangled fingers reaching out of the rocky, rubble strewn earth towards a sky full of waterless clouds. For no rain falls here, nor sunlight shines, nothing lives in this wasteland, nothing even tries.

   Stone by stone, I build my walls again. I use myself as mortar, my blood, sweat and unshed tears fitting each block into place. The work is hard, but no harder than letting you go. As the wall circles my heart I begin to see you on the other side. A vision of beauty, you walk with me, watch me as I place stone after stone. I can hear your voice, but your mouth never moves.  The voice I am hearing is from the past, moments that cling to my subconscious. The voice gives way to memories that you play out right before my eyes. More than once I have to catch myself before I step over the now knee high wall and back into those memories. The voice begins to subside as the wall reaches my waist. Your skin begins to pale; your eyes lose their beautiful luster and dim. The smile you have kept this whole time begins to slip. At chest height you are a ghost in the ether. I can see through you to the gray world beyond.

   At last I finish my wall. It circles my heart entirely, with the exception of one point. No matter what you have inside the fortress, no matter how high the walls, you must always have a door to come and go.  This is where your memory made its last stand. I could see you again, but more than that, I could smell you, and hear you. If I reached out my hand I could touch you. And I put my lips to yours I would taste your sweet kiss. This was no memory. It is you standing there before me as I build the archway and set in the door. The words come from your mouth as you speak of old times and happy memories. And as I finish and am about to close the door and seal you out once more, the tears come from your eyes as you look at me for the last time.

   I could feel the walls tremble as each tear hit the ground. Flowers spring up as each droplet touched the parched earth, but died just as swiftly. I hold the door firmly in a white knuckled grip, a war raging within me. The armies of my head go charging down my arm to slam the door and shut you out once and for all. The tattered remains of the defenders of my heart are holding firm in my hand, keeping the door steady and open, hoping for a miracle. The thoughts in my head are many, all based on facts, but the feelings from my heart are weathered veterans of this war. They have fought for years to defend my heart, through pain after pain, and though now they are outnumbered, beaten back by the savage blow that was your goodbye, they still stand firm.

   The door wavers to and fro, back and forth. I can feel the anguish deep within. This battle may tear my very self apart if I do not put a stop to it. I look into your eyes, those eyes that captured me so long ago. They are alive again, it is you there before me. The tears have stopped and there is a whisper of a smile on your lips. You open your mouth then.

“I love you.”

   I scream with fury and rage, my heart surrenders to those words and my arm goes numb from the force I use to slam the door. Every part of me is thrown into that door to push it closed on the pain and the ache those words bring. But even as the door touches the archway, closing you away forever, sealing my heart from love, from happiness, from life, your words finally reach the depths of my heart where you love has always resided. The effect is instant. The door and archway slam together and the walls come crashing down once more. All around me is dust and rock as all my hard work to keep you out comes undone. All that remains is the archway and the door. My body, weak from the exertion used to shut the door, now leans against it for support. With what little strength I have left I push away. The door swings open and falls, the archway collapsing around it. I stand staring into the cloud of dust as it settles; looking at place where I last saw you. I wait for you to come to me, to hold me, to say those words again. But as the dust falls to the floor and the air clears, all that remains before me is a flower rising out of the desolate ground in defiance. I am lost, as I watch the clouds part slightly and let down a few rays of light upon this small, fragile thing. This is where it starts.

   I pick up a rock, stand over the flower and thrust down. I grab another rock, and another. It’s time to rebuild. Stone by stone I build the wall again. You are no longer there to watch me on the other side of the wall as it rises higher and higher. There is no more ghostly image, no haunting voice, no painful memories, only the flower, safe inside the wall, as I seal us in once more.

Bird of Prey

  I once was a falcon, flying free and proud. I would glide above the world, undisturbed by what lay beneath me. I would land only to eat and rest. Any other time you could find me soaring among the clouds.

  One day, as I sat upon a tree branch resting my wings, I saw a young girl skip her way into the garden where the tree stood. I watched her for a moment before turning to leave, when a sound caught my attention. It was beautiful, and I was captivated by it. I could not leave without knowing what could make such a melodious note. But there were no song birds in the garden, nothing that I could see other than the girl. She was watching me now, as I moved along the branch in search of some living thing that could sound so lovely. She pointed and smiled; her mouth opened, and from it came that same amazing sound. She was talking to me, "here birdie," she said. I answered her, saying no in my shrill voice, better meant for putting fear into my prey than making pleasant conversation. She just giggled, patted the ground, and said "come sit with me, and let us talk about life." I cannot say why, but I could not refuse such a simple request from such a sweet voice. So down I went, floating to the ground. I landed on the stone bench she was sitting on, my claws clicking on the hard surface. Still smiling, she slipped onto the grass so that we were eye to eye.

  As she sat there speaking with me like I was an old friend, I stared into her eyes and listened to her voice. I watched her lips move from smile to word and back again without fault. She was perfect as the new fallen snow. Looking at her made me yearn to be near her always, even as I felt the familiar itch in my wings that comes when I am grounded too long. That feeling that fingers of roots, grass, and stones are sliding over my wings preparing to hold me down and keep me from the free sky, for I am a creature of wind, of air and freedom. But her voice, so lyrical it’s as though she were singing each word to me, was mesmerizing me. I was drawn to the sound, unable to clear my mind and pull myself free as I should have, to fly up and away from her. I was so entranced that when she held her arm out I stepped upon it without thinking, only wanting to get closer to her. I didn't even flinch as she slid her other hand down my back, stroking my plumage. Or when she rose carrying me out of the garden.  Still talking, always talking, she walked into a building. The confinement clawed at me, panic running though my feathers as I became surrounded by stone and mortar and was no longer able to see the sky. But even then I would not leave her, the sing song voice she used changed slightly, soothing me, caressing me with sweet sounds, cooing to me, as if she felt the tension that came over me as we entered her home. It was a web of distraction, holding me fast and stripping me of my instinctual defenses, all of which are screaming that something is wrong. Why is she so calm carrying a dangerous beast such as myself, with claws to tear flesh and a beak that cracks bones? Why does she seem so sure, as if this is everyday and common place? What is that sound? at first it was no more than an annoying buzz, but now it is a constant chatter underlying every word she says, and its getting louder with each step. All of these questions and more rise up only to fade away as they reach that web.

  Even before we enter the room I realize what the sounds are. Birds. Birds of every shape and size, every color and style. All cawing or squawking or cooing or singing. Gilded cages fill the room, and while there are some that are empty, the majority are filled with flapping wings and gnashing beaks. Those warnings are now an alarm running through every part of me. "FLY!" the alarm screams as she walks toward the center of the room where a large cage stands open and waiting. "Run!" it yells as she sets me inside, nudging me onto a swing in the center of the cage. "Escape!" shout the birds as they flap and cry, trying to break the hypnosis I am under. They should know it will not help. Many have watched their brethren enter the same way, as they entered themselves. They know that not until the door closes will I be able to see or hear anything but her, and then it will be too late. But still they try, still they cry. And when she removes her hand and closes the door, the small click of latch into lock snaps the threads of her web and I explode into movement! Wings flapping, claws reaching, beak snapping as I screech out in anger. To be trapped so easily, without bloodshed, a struggle, any fight at all. I thrash against my prison, strain against the bars, bite and claw the open air in rage and despair.

  She does not notice, does not care. She has turned her back on me and gone over to the other cages, still talking in that hypnotic voice, calming her other prisoners, offering bits of food or running a finger along a wing or swinging a swing. Soon there is quiet. The birds have surrendered again, their spirits broken. Only I struggle now, reaching for her with talons outstretched as she lifts the cage by a ring at the top. Out of the prison and down the hall, all the while I flap and claw and screech, fighting against my confinement, my loss of freedom, but to no avail. At the end of the hall there is a much smaller room, full of beautiful colors and open windows. It is her room, where she lives and sleeps. In the center of this room is a large stand with a single hook coming from it. Lifting me up and onto the hook I am now eye level with her. I reach for those eyes, that face, but she knows better. She steps back easily and begins to talk, to weave her web. "You will be a wonderful song bird" she says, "You will learn to make beautiful music."

  She did not touch me, or hit me, or starve me, she only spoke. Day after day, she spoke to me of anything and everything. At first I rebelled, screeching and clawing at every word she spoke. But she continued relentlessly, until I could no longer fight her words. I gave in, surrendered. She knew I had, could see and hear the change. I began to respond to her words, instead of fighting them. Before long, I was completely beaten. She was the master, and I the willing pet. I spoke when she told me too, listened when she spoke, cooed when she sang to me. I was a bird of prey, but now I am no more than a song bird, never to see the skies again.

My introduction

 Every sad moment in life is like another lash to bear. Time will ease the pain and slowly heal the wound, but the scar will always remain. Every scar is different, some shallow and small while others are deep and long, some disappear with time while others never fully heal. We do everything we can to hide our scars with fake smiles and false words. We put on our masks and adorn them with all the good we do, hoping that no one will try to look deeper, to see past all our defenses and find the real us. Because it is through our scars that we truly know each other. Without knowing the pain we’ve suffered and the burdens we carry, no one could possibly hope to understand us. They must see the bad that is hidden by the good we show to the world.

Here I will show the good, the masks that we all wear from time to time to hide our scars, and then I will remove those masks and show the scars that we carry. You are free to join me, or comment. The only thing I enjoy more than writing is hearing what people think, not only about my writing, but about everything. There is no such thing as a foolish thought or useless memory. All things matter in some way or another.

 So tell me what you think, how you feel, what you know, and what you wish you knew. Together we may find some truths we never knew were lost, and find answers before we even ask the questions.