Survivor Tools

Survival Tools: Numbness, Protection

Red Balloon

I seem of sound body and mind

but I am not, I am not that.

I carried that damage behind me

like the red balloon,

attached and detached

at the same time,

held the string of my emotions

at a safe distance, so that I

could protect myself, and for so long

it served me, it saved me,

and then I found that

it was only wreckage that floated 

behind me.

The Island That Floats

I seem as open as the sea

but I am not, I am not that.

I towed that wreckage

behind my boat,

like a life-sustaining float

a protective device, until I

landed and dragged myself ashore

all two-hundred tons

of what I had collected,

a string of circumstance

and decisions that I made

with a brain incapable

of knowing what lay ahead

or behind, that dead weight

I carried.

Stone Walls, No Sound

I seem as strong as stone

but I am not, I am not that.

I carried that dead weight,

I became adept at using it

in creative ways;

I built an impenetrable fortress

fortified my world with concrete

walls and steel bands,

found safety in those walls, in which

I surrounded myself, dug my moat

with no water or fish in sight,

no human could cross,

or find a chink in those stones,

in keeping the world out

I first protected, and then, trapped

myself inside.

Claimed Territory

I declared for myself a plot

within the chambers of my heart,

I poured out blood like love

until those red rivers cut in two,

between who I was and who

I was expected to be, so

I gave it all, gave it all away

and left nothing for me 

but a slow heartbeat upon

acres of desolate land

starved for rain, starved

for some kind of reckoning

where land becomes fertile

within this heart

that beat once, beat twice

then beat like a drum.

The Drink and The Drum

I seem like the dream

you dream when alone at 2 a.m.

but I am not, I am not that.

I drink when the drum beats

and it beats down my spine

hiding itself in between vertebrae

like silent partners holding hands

between the dream and waking

a numbness slips its fingers into mine

and I fold, I cave in

feeling a little shaky

from the wine and the drum

from the drink and the beat

playing in my mind

it reverses my action

into inaction, where my lips

just touch the surface.

Survival Tools

I seem too good, too good to be true

a golden statue, exactly what you want

but I am not, I am not that.

I separated myself from myself,

a splintered boat, swallowing water,

and bricks upon bricks upon bricks,

built with razors on soft skin.

I have used you. Sometimes

recklessly, it's true.

I have used those lifelines

and a few, they worked.

I have dug in the deep

to find that tunnel through

that darkness and

I have built ladders

to climb above and look below

I have tested the waters.