All I Have To Give

I wish, my love,
I could give you
a strong, happy, healthy heart,
plucked ripe from my chest
still beating a bassline
to make you tremble,
a strong and pure and ecstatic gift
for you, my love,
for you.

But all I have to offer
is this mangled mess of blood and flesh,
beaten, broken, shattered so badly,
held together with prayer and weak glue,
that leaks and burns and lashes untrusting
fearful of being broken again
but still so badly wanting to love
wanting to be loved
wanting to be valued though
every beat echoes with pain
though the ghosts of dead loves
still haunt its carcass
this mess of a heart
is all I have to give
to you, my love,
to you.

I wish, my love,
I had a better life to share with you,
a gilt-edged life of luxury and peace
with no stress, no worry,
no fear, and all comforts.
I wish I could share with you
a life of dreams come true, a life
of pleasure and indulgence,
a life I’d want to share
with you, my love,
with you.

But all I have to offer
is this life of struggle and war,
this life lived in a graveyard of broken dreams,
haunted by failures
and successes buried underneath the ashes of hope,
this life where joy and pain
are dispensed in unequal measure,
a life lived at midnight
waiting for the sun to rise.
This is the only life I have to offer
to share with you, my love,
with you.

My love,
this shattered, unloved heart,
this struggling, unfulfilled life,
these are all
I have to give.


Empty-Hearted House




The light I let in only served to show
how empty I am inside, and I
watched dust motes float in my desolate heart
tears welling in blank eyes – I know
this desolation has happened before but I
was unaware – self-deceived perhaps,
or mayhap just didn’t care, whatever.
This desolation now, though, this empty-hearted house
hurt, hurt me, hurt my heart, hurt itself
like a void stabbing itself –
nothing hurting nothing.

What happened, I pondered furiously, ignoring
the thundering, panicked pulsing of the walls,
what happened to all that was here,
to all that used to fill me – ah:
I gave it away, foolishly;
I gave it away, wisely;
some was taken, foolishly;
some was taken, wisely;
did it really matter how it happened?
The end is all the same:

I wanted to pound the walls in rage –
how dare they, how dare I
be other than as presented, how
dare we all take from me and leave
nothing in its place –
but why damage further a once-great manse
now shriveled to a shack
with leaking, drafty boards doing a poor imitation
of blood-streaked blood-pumping walls?

Dust motes twirled, flying shreds of better days
dancing in the light, but did not answer.
No one did; no one could.
How could anyone else say what was best
for my ruined, wrecked heart?

Balled fists quivered by my sides –
I’d fought for this, fought to be nothing.
I’d clawed, scrapped, blasted and beaten
just to be empty, a scorched-earth war
for survival I’d won; my spoil
was nothing left to survive with.
Empty, my shack, my hovel, my heart;
Empty, my hands, my arms;
Empty, empty, everything empty.


And so.

My hovel heart is.
It is what it is.
It is not what it once was, nor is it
what it one day could have been;
it is merely what it merely is
it is.
Empty – it is. Wrecked – it is.
Abandoned – it is. Unwanted, unloved,
unlovable, undesired – it is, it is,
it is, it is,
I am.
It is, I am, we are.
All that is left of dreams, ambitions, desires, loves,
prayers, projections, expectations, nightmares, delusions,
deceptions, laughter, tears, wars –
we are, we are, we are.

We are nothing, an empty vessel
in being nothing, in not-being
lies lives survives the possibility
of being

And so.

Balled fists cannot build and so
I open my aching hands.
A raging mind cannot plan and so
I focus on breathing, meditate, relax.
Closed eyes cannot see possibilities and so
I open mine, looking for
rainbows in a cascade of tears.
A heart at war has no peace and so
I busy myself seeking
peace through the act of creation.

I am what I am,
It is what it is, now
we are both
I will be more,
my hovel heart will be more,
together we will be

Pour moi

June 19, 2016
©PCB 2016

My Thoughts On Orlando

I originally posted this yesterday on Facebook, but it evoked such strong reactions that I decided to share it here as well.


I am lucky today. I can laugh, and have done so a fair amount, albeit less than normal. I can smile. I’ve driven around, ran errands, and am about to take a nap. I even nagged my child today about cleaning the kitchen after they cooked lunch.

I’m lucky because i’m not spending my day frantically calling a loved one’s phone, trying to make sure that they are okay, not knowing that the only people hearing it ring are forensics investigators processing a crime scene. I’m lucky because i’m not sitting in a crowded hospital in Orlando, waiting to hear if my brother, my uncle, my son, my friend is going to pull through. I’m not having a doctor or police officer tell me that someone I cared about is gone forever.

And I’m lucky because my LGBTQ child is down the hall in their room playing Pokemon, not laying dead on the floor of a nightclub, their sparkling eyes forever dulled.

I’m lucky. You probably are too. And I’m angry.

Because luck runs out, sooner or later. The next time some hoofwanking religious bunglecunt decides to express their anger about someone else being different from them with a legal weapon that, again, NO GODDAMN CIVILIAN HAS ANY FUCKING REASON TO OWN, someone I care about might be there. You might be there. Someone I love might be there. My child could be there. I might be there.

And that might be when luck runs out. It might be you, frantically calling my phone. It might be me calling you.
Instead of waiting for those calls, let’s answer a different call right now.

Let’s answer the call to stand up against hate and bigotry. Let’s answer the call to fight back against hatemongers who demonize already-oppressed people to build their own fortunes. Let’s answer the call to unite in love against those who spew hatred. Let’s answer the call to spread messages of love and acceptance against a dread tide of hateful, intolerant whispers.

Let’s answer the call to change the world, while we can, before our luck runs out.

Untitled 5/16


Would you forgive me
If I fell in love with you?
If I wanted you to be part
Of everything I do?
If I wanted your time,
Your attention, your heart
Held close to mine
As our lives became art?
If I opened my life’s book
And read you every line
Would you run from my words
Or would you think them divine?
If I sent my every secret
Flying to your ears like birds
Would you learn to love my flaws
Or mock them as absurd?
Would you be mad if compliments fell
From my lips without a pause?
What about if I told you how
My hunger for you gnaws?
Would it anger you at all
If I said I miss you now?
Would my expression of adoration
Earn from you a smile or frown?
Darling, would this game we play
of hidden affectation
Be ruined if I admit to you
That you’re my fascination?
You secretly live in my thoughts,
In everything I do;
My darling, would you forgive me
If I fell in love with you?

May 5 – May 14, 2016
©PCB 2016

Depression Rose Under

love laughing fun reading you exercise friends smiling

love laughing fun reading you exercise friends depression

love strips fun reading you exercise friends depression

love strips away reading you exercise friends depression

love strips away reading you everything friends depression

love strips away reading you everything one depression

love strips away by you everything one depression

one strips away by you everything one depression

one strips away by you everything one depression

strips away by you everything one depression

strips away you everything one depression

strips away you everything depression

strips away you depression

strips you depression

you depression





February 11, 2016

©PCB 2016

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