482. Take a Deep Breath

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How to explain it? I have not the words.

My brain and body, they are cowards.

How do I explain that feeling inside,

When I’m with others it hurts not to hide;

To run away to the comfort of alone.

The feeling is one that I’ve always known.

A tension…A pain locked in the chest,

Which may only find release and rest,

When solitude (the oldest of friends),

Returns to assuage and make amends.

I long to feel comfort and connection,

Rather, I feel distress and rejection.

Nothing need be said or done,

Yet my head feels pressed against a loaded gun.

The nerves,…the discomfort…the body responds.

The same human body which should create bonds,

Tells me I’m crazy for sticking around;

That there is nothing here to be found.

If only optimism and love were the cure.

Yet no matter how thoughtful, caring, or pure…

The feeling never goes away,…just hides,…

Behind masks and smiles it resides;

Twisting the stomach and wrenching the heart,

‘Til again I lose, and fall apart.

Strength and optimism have their rewards,

Though do not mistake toothpicks for swords.

Strength keeps me going. Optimism’s my friend.

Howe’er there are things they too can not mend.

Please excuse me while I try not to show,

How hard it is to be human and know,…

The pain of never being at ease,

With connections, moments, synergies.

How to explain it? I have not the words.

My brain and body, they are cowards.

As my thoughts live and fight on,

I take a deep breath, and continue along.

K. Aldaya, 7/23/19

Picture: By: Melanie Wasser on Unsplash ;https://unsplash.com/photos/j8a-TEakg78

479. System Overload

Feeble…Faint…

It’s not real…not real;

Yet your legs have grown weaker,

Finding it best not to feel.

Panic…Pain…

The illusion clears.

No one’s coming to save you.

There is no use for those tears.

Terror…Fear…

That pain in your chest…

It tells you it’s not over.

For a victim, there’s no rest.

Horror…Loss…

There’s no going back.

The program’s installed…running…

And insanity’s the hack.

Empty…Numb…

A system with eyes,

Which carries out instructions…

As it’s humanity dies.

K. Aldaya, 7/10/19

Picture: From Humans; Emily Berrington as Niska; https://giphy.com/gifs/experience-amc-humans-sXhM9f1UIgYW4

470. It’s Only Fair

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They say that life,…it isn’t fair.

That the best of us die young;

And men who live until old age,

Still die with songs unsung.

Yet tears give life to the Earth,

And the dead find a place to lie.

You raped me, but it’s alright;

‘Cause I,… I watched you die.

It’s said that there is a plan,…

Some meaning to it all.

Yet I find it hard to sleep at night,

As people rise and fall.

Will anyone remember you?

Will they laugh or will they cry?

You raped me, and it’s not alright,

Yet I…, maybe I should feel glad,…

For I,…I watched you die.

Did the angels ever get to fly or is it just a tale,

Told by early men who died by both monster and sail?

I do not know much of it,

Though I fear it’s all comforting lie.

Those who hurt, rape, and kill,…

One day they too will die.

Is death the great equalizer?

In death is all made right?

Will the criminals and the victims,

Go together toward the light?

All men are born victims,

And even criminals cry;

And even though you hurt me,

I didn’t want you to die.

K. Aldaya, 3/24/19

Picture: Original Source Unknown; http://favim.com/image/356563/

441. PTSD

The world is so busying telling me,

How I should feel and who I should be,

That it’s never, even once, stopped to think,

Whether I’m not exactly who I’m meant to be.

Maybe I will never be like you.

Maybe I’m not supposed to.

Maybe asking me to be something else,

Is the reason I can’t get through.

Maybe I would be okay,

If the world accepted what’s different.

Though, no matter how accepting it claims to be,

Some of us leave too much of an imprint.

We make a mess. Stand out too much.

Cops trail us and build up a case.

“It’s odd you were at the crime scene,

Even odder that your prints were all over the place!

Guilty by association, my child.

You’re guilty for showing-up: time and again.

You’re a victim, but perhaps an accomplice as well.

Did you not know it would drive you insane?

Now you are just as responsible.

Only criminals return to the crime!

You could have been normal…like us,

Instead, you’ve wasted this courts precious time.”

Yet, if we may speak to this court, sir.

We feel guilty and shameful each day,…

That we haven’t moved on…couldn’t move on…

And fell down, and apart, and astray.

We didn’t know how. We still don’t know now,

How to escape from that place,

Though if we could one day do so,

As you’ve stated, we’ve already left our trace;

A trace of guilt. A trace of our crimes,…

Of guilt by association.

No matter what we may say to these crimes,

The world will ne’er forgive the implication.

The implication that we are criminals.

That not being like you. Not living like you,

Is a bloody-bed of our own making;

For there’s only acceptance for crimes you live through,

But ones which stay, fester, and remain,

Which turn us wretched, and drive us insane,

Are the ones which society won’t accept.

And refuse to consider,…o’erlooking the brain.

Yes, the world is so busy telling me,

How I should feel and who I should be,

Yet has it ever wondered why we’re not free,

To be who life has made us to be?

No, I am not like you or them,

And no, I will never be in the end;

Though just because I am different,

Must I be rejected ’til the end?

Placed up on trial again, and again to defend…

Why I am the way I am?

I’m a lifetime of sounds and sights you can’t see.

Yet, men like to spurn what they don’t understand,

And charge for the crime of PTSD.

K. Aldaya, 5/23/18

Picture: By: Bill Oxford on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/OXGhu60NwxU

226. The Basement is My Home

The basement is my home.

It haunts me when I’m away,

And chills me to the bone.

The basement is where ‘she’ lives,

And where the ‘demon’ lives.

I’ve heard dog bark at his voice;

Though near the door will never roam.

The basement is my home.

I close doors to hideaway,

But the voices won’t leave me alone.

The basement is where ‘her’ voice,

And where the voice of horror echoes;

Whispering: “I’m still here…..hear?….

Come down to my vast catacomb!

The basement is my home,

And home to silent screams.

A dark penetrating moan,

And horrid silence….a silent drone.

Frozen with fear: dead-inside,

I forever roam…..

A world of endless doors,

All leading to my basement home.

One day I’ll have to return home,

Chained for all time,

Afraid and alone.

K. Aldaya, 01/03/12

Picture: “Creepy Basement” by DevilishInk on Deviant Art; http://devilishink.deviantart.com/art/Creepy-Basement-267035411