I can feel it
A burn
An itch
Just under my watch band
The thud of a pulse waiting to bleed
A voice in my head saying
Set yourself
And set yourself free

They don’t know I’m already dead
Just a lost soul tripping through this purgatory called life
A whisper on the wind
A shrinking violet in the harsh sun
Shriveling and desiccating to nothingness
A wilting summer rose in the fall left with only spiny pinpricks
A forgotten memory of a happier time
Cynical, cold, envious

Original Poetry by ©2014 Pamela N. Brown

You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.

Robin Williams
Sleeping Beauty

Sleeping Beauty


It’s too late now. Gravity has begun pulling at my bones, twisting and tearing at muscles and tendons, stretching them until they feel as if they will split. Sinew creaks and groans with every movement, sounding like old leather preparing for that eminent snap. Skin has begun to sag, wrinkle, and dry to an ashen pallor. A ruddy undertone, which darkens the freckling and birthmarks, fights its way through the snow white film cracking and peeling at the surface. The fissures in each heel have grown painful, rough, corse, and no amount of potions, oils, balms, tonics, emollients, or lotions can fill the crevices to heal the burn of air brushing against tips of nerves. Nails of fingertips and toes thicken, flake, rip, and tear despite careful manicures and clippings.

The right leg has begun to pull to the right as steps are made from one place to another. The mass of the flesh, tissue, and bone hinder the use of the hip, and muscles alone cannot lift the dangling meat below. With every misstep, with every pop of the joint in the socket, the raw nerves shoot pains to the ankle and into the bow of my back. Limping has become a daily routine, and often dragging the foot behind me is all I can manage. Muscles shiver and shake until all control is lost and the body tumbles to the ground. The weight of the fleshing piling upon flesh brings about thick purple and green knots upon the surface of the skin. At times, the use of arms is non-existent, as the shuddering has taken over and the heaviness of a simple writing utensil resembles that of a ten pound barbell. The heft of my bulk presses into my lungs and throat closing off oxygen leaving me gasping for a breath.

The right shoulder aches from day to day. A constant dull throb deep within between the blades of my shoulders is seldom acknowledged, as the hump on my back has continued to grow in width, girth, and height, stretching the skin. The stabbing pulsations are with me every minute of every hour of every day. Muscles pull at tender, raw nerves that wrap around my skull and into the tissue of the brain, drawing gasps. Gravity presses down on me building pressure behind my right eye. Every sliver of light sneaking through eyelids increases the throbbing in within my skull, builds the pressure behind my eye that draws the sensation that the swollen orb will explode from the socket. The spasms bounce on my nerves that reach deep within my gut, causing a swirling within the recesses of my stomach. I fight to hold down the bubbling bile creeping up my esophagus. I twist my body into my blankets like a cocoon with my curtains pulled tight shutting the brilliant light of day and busy world outside. Every minute noise of the outside world echos within my ears, dancing upon the nerves until amplified to a deafening roar.

The dark spot in the center of my left eye is growing, impeding my vision and pulling at my right. Vision often fractures into a crystalized rainbow through which only color is recognizable. The ringing in my right ear has intensified over the years to a constant and steady chiming that haunts my every waking moment until the time comes that the ringing stops but taking with it every sound of the world around me. For minutes and sometimes hours, tones escape me until the ringing returns only to become a magnified reverberation. I strain to hear words spoken softly or sounds that drift upon the air around me, seldom able to make out the conversations resonating around me.

Though this is my life, I still force myself to wake from the sweet slumber in which I can escape all suffering. I still roll from my warm cocoon and unleash my battered body unto the world. I still find happiness and beauty through all of the pain.

The largest genocide of human history.

The largest genocide of human history.

Man, I just saw some pictures of government housing, and I became jealous. Why do I have to work so hard to pay for such a dinky apartment?

The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.

Edgar Allan Poe
Happy pi day. Did you know that a year from now will be the most true pi day for 100 years?

Happy pi day. Did you know that a year from now will be the most true pi day for 100 years?

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.

Edgar Allan Poe

Who Am I?

I am Damien and Dylan’s mom. I am their buddy, their pal, their confidant, their disciplinarian. I am the person who bathed them, fed them, and powdered their bottoms. I am the person that they depended on for survival. I am the person that taught them how to walk, talk, and use the toilet. I am their advocate, and I helped them learn to stand up for themselves in times when backing down would be much, much easier. I am the person who has prepared them to leap from the nest every now and again before the day that will come when they leap just once more down their own paths and adventures. And, then, I will still be their mom, but lacking in their company and the endless responsibilities that consume my every day.

I am Darren’s wife. I am his best friend, his balance, his equal, his intimate. I am committed to my life with him and bathe him in ceaseless doting. I am his lover, and together we reach the heights of passion and ecstasy and delve to the depths of the abyss in which to drown our sorrows. Together we share our thoughts, ideals, minds, values. I am the person that taught him not to fear love and how to trust. I am honest in my opinions and share with him even though we may not agree. I am his steadfast, loyal, devoted companion. I give him space when needed and join with him in our conquests of the obstacles in our lives. Together we are one power, but in his absence, I am still whole.

I am a daughter, a sister, a niece, an aunt, a granddaughter, and a friend. I confide, disclose, declare, confess. I am the person that will listen when an ear is needed. I use my words when advice is warranted. I am vigilant in my assertions and gentle in my opinions. I am a shoulder on which to cry and in need of a shoulder every now and again. I love, hold, cry, and remember. I am a caretaker, a friend, a master chef, and the life of the party. I am a wallflower drawn down in a corner and the nut hiding deep within its shell. I am just like the others and not like anyone else.

I am part of the people that permeate my innermost circles, and they a part of me. I carry them with me as I traverse my rocky path. At times they are the rocks on which I stub my toe, and others I am the sharp burr that penetrates their skin, but together concessions are made, and we smooth to tranquil pebbles, cool against the skin. I am a pocket of pebbles smoothed throughout the years. I learn and grow because of them and despite of them. I change, for I am malleable, complaisant, rebellious, consistent, erratic. I am common and conventional, embellished in my liberal eccentricities. I am a walking contradiction, a conformed antithesis to myself.

But, who am I?

The things that define me are the things that constrain me, as well as the things that allow me to run free. I am spiritual, one with nature, one against nature. I am a thinker, a student, a teacher, a philosopher. I am rambunctious. I am meek. I am alone, surrounded by those who love me. I want only peace, harmony, love. I want love. I want love. I want love. I am at odds with myself.

But, who am I?

I am an entity filling space amongst atoms sitting upon atoms bound by a tiny charge. I am protons and electrons floating through air. I am flesh and blood with a heart that beats spreading the life-force throughout my limbs. I am the breath that rides upon the wind, without which I will cease. I am a stockpile of minerals that consume Earth, and to minerals, I will return. I am millions of cells held together by tissue bonds. I am a DNA code unique to myself. I am a collection of electrical impulses jumping from synapse to receptor. I am ideas, notions, impressions, feelings, judgments dangling from each dendrite in hopes of being noticed before lost forever. I am the neuron that charges every movement.

I am the frontal lobe, emotional, unpredictable, convergent. I am upper management and a disheveled mess. I am a wordsmith, a scribe, a pencil pusher. I am the parietal lobe, clumsy, awkward, graceful, elegant, steady, strong. I am the assemblage of all I see, perceive, catch from the corner of my eye. I am all that I hear and all that I am deaf to, the low hum of the world around me that I have long forgotten. I consist of every song, every word, every thought, every smell, every touch that has invaded my every sense. I am a multitude of memories, hopes, dreams, fantasies, realities. I am every award, every achievement, every goal conquered. I am every mistake I ever made.

But, who am I?

I honestly do not believe I can tell you, for I cannot even tell myself. The best I can say is that I am me.

Our Map

The map of our lives takes us down many roads like a heartbeat in the light
we chug roughly around each bend no matter how treacherous the road
no matter how long or hard, I will always travel it with you

we bullet across long stretches of desert highways
we choke on earth spewed from our tires kicking rocks off caliche roads
we test sharp twists and turns of mesas
we cruise through canopied forests, blind to dangers within
we slam to stops, just to rev up and go again
we rush through busy cities, jumping from one place to the next
we jam up in traffic, white knuckled and sore
we feel fury breathing down our necks when we have no drive
we fly to the tops of rollercoasters only to fall back down again
we stumble over rocky roads and slide across sharp crags
we travel unknown terrain through forbidden alcoves
we find hidden trails with secret treasures
we ponder forks and intersections
we take many u-turns
we’ve been here before

but, no matter how long or hard, I will always travel it with you

©Pamela N. Brown 02172014