Memory Stains

from a distance
of years
decades
nearly half decade
I stare
down the tunnel of time
at the stains of childhood
the dirt and detritus
sweat, tears and smiles
The songs remain
to lift the heart
a snapshot in time
like dandilion fluff
stuck to grape jelly kisses
angry words
that cut way deeper
than the merely physical
they stay too
haunt the memory
had I been born in a cream can
rather than what a bird shit on the steps
I would there remain
The smell of sunshine
the taste of lies
I hold in my hand
in my mind
my heart
the memories
snapshots in time
a shoe
stone (Andy Bandyman’s Shoe)
Hand drawn birthday cards
blanket
puked on and stained
they live
in me
and they color
me
my vision
the way
I veiw
all
spilling out
from my eyes
from my pen
to the page
and bloom
in the beauty
for me to remember and treasure

Laundry

Laundry

 

The smell

Linen Cotton Silks

line dried in the sun

the promise of

a beautiful new day.

Fold and tuck

fold and tuck

into the waiting vessel

laundry basket

growing fat and full

at my feet

relieve the tension

revel in the tedium

Down come the dried

sweet smelling chores

safe before the storm

And I

I don the freshly smell

of my afternoon’s work

and abandon all pretense

that chores

are but work.

Being Aspie

I hate being aspie

I hate

caring about how things smell

like towels

and the sink

and my clothes

I hate caring

about how things taste

like coffee

and tea

and almost furry strawberries

and the air

when the air is stale

or heavy with smoke

or worse

I hate that it matters

that the spoons and bowls

are not quite clean

that the towels

on the car seats

are messed up

but only

after you drive

that I have to care

how you want to spend YOUR vacation

but that it never matters

that I want to spend just five

just five little minutes

listening to the sea

I know you don’t care

I know you don’t understand

I KNOW it isn’t fun for you

I know it’s your vacation

I know I don’t count

or matter

or most of the time

actually exist

I know

I hate

the snuffle noise of you sucking up your phone

the banging noise of dinner cooking

when I don’t matter enough

to not care that I can’t hear

if I turn down the volume enough

not NOT hear the snuffle sucking banging tearing

but have to say huh when you don’t talk

lound enough to hear

I hate

always having to be entertaining

after very long days

when YOU are lonely

but i have to be on and on and on and on

and I can’t

I just CAN’T

I hate

most of anything

that you don’t

can’t

won’t

understand

because I know it doesn’t matter

enough to understand

that I’m not just being a bitch

that I’m not just trying to get out of a job

that I”m not just trying to get rid of you

I just can’t

and it will never matter

I hate

that

you can’t ever be alone

because you are lonely

and need to be fed

and I need to be alone

and can’t be

because you need

your ego fed

I hate

that people

laugh

and yell

and ridicule

and jeer

because

I don’t care

about their lame litlte problems

I’m not paid

to hear

about your marvy new media room

your wife’s car

your hot date without your wife

in town

I don’t care

I don’t have to care

I hate

I hate

I hate

I hate

 

and yet

 

I love being an aspie

because

I can smell the tea

and instantly

be back

at the kitchen table

shaving the bark

from the sassafrass root

I’m back in the barn

smelling the shit

I can tell

cow from horse from pig from chicken

is that weird

I never realized

I can smell

one crunchy leafe

and be back

jumping in the piles of my childood

I can taste

flat rootbeer

and be back

at Grandma’s house

at the chipped steel and granite counters

drinking

from aluminum glasses

teal and blue and purple and lime green

I can read a book

and hear the voice

of the author reading it in my head

if I’ve heard the author ever speak

I can hear the sea

and see the shore

and smell the spray

and feel the sun

rising

silently

and hear

the cry of the gulls

daning in the waves

I can taste

the strawberries

of my youth

feel the ice of the creek

behind Laura’s house

by hearing the sound

of the wind sighing in the trees

 

I will not use

aspie as an excuse

any more than

I will use it as a crutch

it is who I am

it is the way my mind

my soul

my everything

works

it is all that I am

all that I’ve

ever been

It’s the dyslexia

and the way I can understand

what no one can see

It is the freak

and the creativity

the ability to not fear

the aloneness

that sometimes creep into your life

and makes me fear

the aloneness

that sometimes

creeps into your life

all at the same time

 

I struggle with the lables

and strive

to live up to

Einstein and Tom Hanks and Miccelangelo and Gates

while all the time

trying

to fade

into the background

the insignificance

the judgement

of others

of the me

Looking Glass

Twisting and turning

Tumbling

Through space

Through time

When is a dream

Not a dream

When it’s the reality

Of ice cold

Glass shards

Lying on the floor

No more Alice

Behind the looking glass

The looking glass

Is no more

Falling and Failing

Falling and failing

Tumbling and flailing

Into the silence

Into the darkness

Into nothingness

I close my eyes and I see

Nightmares chasing dreams

Lightning striking

The peaceful glassy calm

Of the mirror

Reflecting me

Shattering it into

Shards and slivers

That stab through the silence

And brings with it

Nothing

Wednesday Fog

Drive away the silence
Lost in the gloom
No breeze to blow away the fog
It settles
Twists it’s tendrils round
Brain and imagination
Crack wide the world open
Hear the birds sing
Shrilly cutting through the breaking dawn
Ice cold calls grating on the chalkboard of the mind
Long for the wind to come
To clear out the grime, the scum, the milk glass
And let in the warm cashmere of
Clear thinking days

Imperfect

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I am perfectly
imperfect
the sum of all
of the imperfections
and yet
more than even the sum
of all put together and multiplied

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My beauty
soul
spirit
dreams
Stems entirely from
all of my imperfections

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A sorry lonely world
it would be
if everyone
were the perfect
sweet scented
flawlessness
Same

It is the imperfections
that bring the interesting
to an otherwise
sterile perfect world

Gone (reworked over time)

Will I hurt you
Do I care
When I say I’m gone
I won’t be back
My life has changed
Evolution in progress
The change, unwelcome I know
but My change
Accept me?
Will you ever accept me
the me that I really am
or will I always remain
the me of your wish it could be?
I don’t fit in
Never did
Can’t
I never really wanted to
Me? never really wanted, I know
but where I am now
miles and decades away
I find
me.

Tilt my heart

I know every line
Every crease
every stitch
in the toes of my shoes
every crack in the sidewalk
that I walk every day
I count
the blades of grass
and see the ants
as they creep through their day
my neck is sunburned
my face pale
from avoiding the sun
looking down
viewing the world
from its trash and shadows
tears as they fall
leave shorter tracks
when they only fall from
the bridge of my nose
and few people bother to see
the tracks that hide in your glasses
I hide
the ache in my heart
behind the foolishness
pain in my eyes
behind laughter, giggles and almost smiles.

Fight to look
to the stars
to the clouds
fight to remind my heart
that it has
the right to fly
not hide
okay to be
the me of my dreams