Constantly bashed,
rinsed daily,
used as an artist's ashtray,
or a hippies necklace,
Enough contained inside
to suffice and survive.

Moods form the swirls
and my lattice artwork,
You held me once in
wonder and awe,
Now you sell me on your
wicker stand.

Friends have wept over the loss
of their inner pearl,
I held no such treasure.
Just possibilities of where I have been.
Patiently await the day you hold me to your ear again,
So I can hear your heartbeat

I study the curvature of your spine
and the lines of your body

glances that last no more than a
couple of seconds

glances that are unbeknownst to you
fighting the internal battle

I have two armies

ready for all out war
red versus blue

heart versus mind
their bullets leave

holes in my soul
healing only to

be re opened again
for you are a

warrior of your own kind
weathered down by the

corrosive waters that
we call life

you have two stones on
your shoulders

and a library of books
resting on your spine

and i want to carry them
for you

because darling you are a
beautiful rose

with thorns like two sided
blades

made to keep people out
and to keep you inside

the prison you call your
mind

unable to prune those thorns
i can only study

the ever growing shadows
under your eyes

and the dryness of
your lips

you built a plaster cast
over your most vulnerable parts

waiting for the person
who will fight the pain

of pruning your thorns
for darling

you are a shell of what
you once were

and all i can do is watch
you recede into yourself

Empty
Eyes wide open, but refuse to see.
Why not a smile?
In it I can taste the bile.
Why not tears?
Or saying cheers?
You would watch me. Make sure I'm safe and sound.
But my eyes are hollow underground.
The surface shows what I decide
But underneath, I am me, hollow. But I have already lied.
Can you take back something you aren't truly sorry for?
Or will those same demons come back, begging for more?
No. DEMANDING for it
And I just watch, while I idly sit.
I always thought myself a fighter.
But you can't burn a match without a lighter.
Here I am in the crowd
Watching from the upside down.
Feeling a presence but how to communicate
Or by the time I say something, will it be too late?
Just a hollow look, portraying a hollow soul.
If no one wants me to follow them, perhaps I won't fall down a rabbit hole.
I'd rather be seen as empty and hollow
Than be used and abused by those I know.
I may be empty to the world
But am I truly empty to me?

One day,
There was a man
Dancing gracefully
Beneath an azure sky

He was an angel,
To every living being
That paint his body
With a red color

He was a joy
Living in a man,
No other jester bested
The way he laughs

Beneath it all,
Is a wandering soul
In a world full of foul
(A wandering body)
(A wandering shell)

Beneath the mask,
A mask where his eyes
Tell what the hidden color
They have painted,
Is a burst of erratic pain,
A holocaust,
A disastrous despair,
Misery, sorrow, anger, suffering,
Any devil has wrought upon him.

And... the mask fell...
He is a shell...

Your pink mouth screaming at me to get out, my ragged breaths as I ran up the stairs.

Why oh why did God make me this way if I was a mistake?

My aching heart drags my heavy feet onward, the rain soaks my already numb body.

Why was I born this way?

The lit up building like a beacon, a smiling face a listening ear.

They tell me i'm not broken or weird, they tell me that I am normal and that there are others like me.

They are a samaritan on a dirt road that seems as if it will lead to nowhere, picking me up from the ditch that is my soul.

It's on the first day I meet them, just like me they too feel like they're  in the wrong shell.

I tell them that I am a snake wanting to shed my skin but the angry and hurtful words glue my skin onto my too loud skeleton like a cocoon.

They offer words of support and a welcome environment, they are like the family that I and many others never had.

It is after my first month there that I get a job, a job that can help me on my journey. It is also here that they call me by my true name.

My mind and body are making a peace treaty, an alliance of my sanity. I learn to love ‘me’.

No longer a he and now a she.

      I am finally free to be me.

           Love and faith are the keys.

               For I am finally free

Like the car you dumped at the junk yard, you left me an empty shell of what I once was.

You grabbed your suitcase and emptied all of me into it as soon as you found a vessel more flashy to carry your soul.

My tires weren't brand new but my tread still hugged your road with great traction.

My speakers crackle with age but I still played your favorites at your request.

I have rust and some dents, but my glass was clear enough for you to see the path ahead.

I may idle rough, and my exhaust is loud when you test my pedals with force, but I could've gotten you where you wanted to go.

You partially lifted my decals, left the burnt-out air freshener dangling, dancing on the mirror, and the lighter you lost is still in my pocket.

But I have a full tank of gas and someone new's got the key.

Ghost or shell
Be sure it's all me
Raising hell

Hi Syria,

How are you feeling today?
I've heard so much about you
How strong you are
Enduring six years of illness
And counting
Of how high spirited you've remained
Watching children play in the
Midst of turmoil;
Indiscriminate shelling
Heard of the many chemical baths
You've been subjected to
Assad believing you have
Cancerous cells
Needing to be exterminated
Not realizing HE is
The cancer and you;
You the victim
How I wish I could help you heal
From your trauma

Yet I heard an injection
Was given you today
With the hope
The chemical baths can end
Because it is killing you
Slowly rotting
Destroying your body
Taking away your beauty
The side effect of corruption
How beautiful you once were
How long will it take you to heal?
I wish for peace of mind
And a healthy future for you
Syria

From JM 4/7/17