Conflicting Emotions and the Truth

Conflicting Emotions and the Truth

    It dawned on me. Really sank in, deep. The severity of it all. I did not sit outside for two hours thinking about many different concepts. No, that would be too easy. It was not many simple thoughts which provoked such feelings. Nor were they simple feelings, those which were provoked. It was the feeling of reality washing over someone who has never really experienced, cared about, or listened to it. The difference between reality, and everything I had previously thought I knew. It was the cold, hard, inevitable truth. Knowing it would prevail, did not make the realization any less intense. The one thing you could never avoid. You couldn't change it, or fix it, or make it disappear. It is society. Society is people. People, like an echo, an annoying, obnoxious, loud, constant echo. And people, people are liars.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    "So, I suppose I can't go to 'bring your child to work day' with mom tomorrow?" I asked my dad, half-joking. My mom is a stay at home mom.
  "Your mother doesn't work, she sleeps." He mumbled, barely audible, but just enough. For as long as I could remember, there was tension between my parents. (Given I don't remember much of my childhood, but I imagine there was tension then, as well.) Whenever I mentioned an argument or told them to stop fighting, they denied it as an argument.
  "Honey, it was a discussion. There's a difference, sweetie." My mom would say gently, while she gave my father the look. I remember thinking 'I know there's a difference, and you two were arguing, not discussing.' Bottom line, my family is dysfunctional. Whenever I argue, I always say I learned from the best. I can't trust. I don't trust, I don't want to trust because I don't like people. They lie. Everyone lies. You cannot trust anyone. But, I must appreciate the wonderful things the good Lord has given me. Church is my solace. I long for the ninety minutes a week I get to spend there, knowing, that unlike everybody else I know, He will always keep His promises.

****************************************************************************************************

  Nothing. I felt nothing, numb. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and studied myself carefully as I brushed the black eye shadow over my lids. I looked for the perfect shade of lipstick, and pulled on my mother's old black boots.
I can still here them
They say 'shut the door' and
it's as if they believe that those
four walls magically contain
their problems
shouted insults
arguments and
their pain
If such magic exists
I am unaware of it
I am unaware of anything
anything that can stop these vicious, constant attacks
and blot out the resulting misery
from all and any angles and viewpoints
there is more than one
more than two
more than three
and so on
and so it goes
and keeps going
until it flows into the abundantly filled
great abyss of the forgiven
but not yet--or ever-- forgotten
they'll say they aren't fighting
they'll try to deny

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I lean back against the radiator and stare ahead of me.It seems empty; it looks empty. Really empty. It is, of course, except for the dog.  The sounds that usually fill the house are gone. The boulevard has quieted due to the fact that it is just before rush hour. There's no one to talk to. Except for the dog. No one to look at. Nobody. It looks serene, but it also looks haunted. Like, how one might start a movie scene, the one right after the funeral of a loved one scene. My mom is gone, not permanently of course. Only to the store. My father is at work, and I am playing with a cheap toy won from a crane machine. I want a camera, to pause this part of the world, my world. To take it, to save it, and to lock it away.
"Kodak moment." I said out loud to myself. I thought about the irony, because this phrase usually has a positive connotation. I just wanted to capture the emptiness.



Just a preview of what I'm writing, I'm still working on this.