Conversations with myself.

I try to hang loose

but always end up

twisted, like a

damp dish towel.

Stained and tattered.

Are we really back here again?

Rinse and repeat.

Haven’t you learned anything yet?

Rinse and repeat.

I bet you like it this way, don’t you?

It’s quieter here…shh!

With voices in your head?  You’re too easy.

It’s alright if you sweat, just

don’t let them see you turn.

Are we really back here again?

Metaphorically speaking,

we never actually left.

Places just become new places.

People get replaced by other people.

Lies become fiction.

Truth becomes fantasy.

Like a damp dish towel,

twisting facts

until

they hang loose.

When Powerful Voices Become Saints.

Powerful voices
don’t scream
they
listen,

they
aren’t forceful
they
think,

they
don’t condemn
they
heal,

they
know it’s not their duty,
they
do not seek control,

they
are powerful
in their
absence of hate,

they
are powerful
in their
acceptance of love,

they
are not
black or white
but every color in between,

they
never seem to get the press
the screamers get –
not until they’re dead do they become saints.