HELL, LOOSED

There's a special kind of
horrific
brazen condition
running haywire
among us

a many-faced
crazed delinquent
with no supervision
toting multiple personalities
stone-cold out of its mind
no watch guard
to shoot it down

this affliction
so potent
so
shrewdly influential
will have
those who should be guarding
the public
turning
their fists
tasers
tempers
lunacy
guns

their excuses

loose

on the public

no age limit
it consumes them
babies and all

but

some basic requirements are:
be walkin'
mindin' your business
with your tea and Skittles

be on a playground
with your BB gun
only 12-years
in your fingertips
caressing its frame

be changin' lanes
with no signal

be on the sidewalk
sellin' cigarettes

be a teen orphan
Judo-choppin' a tidal wave
of abandonment and rejection
your emotional wounds
a shrill operatic symphony
from the sting of its salt

be ambitious
be questionin' authority
be tryna state your case
be tryna stand up for your rights
be tryna enjoy life
be tryna do right

be tryna breathe

be tryna get home
to your little girl
on New Year's Day

be
somebody's black son or daughter
just tryna get through the day
hopin' to be greeted at your doorstep
by the moonlight
every night
instead of streamlights

be

tryna survive

And when they don't—
when they're blamed cuz they don't—
how are we
who watch our own
get obliterated
like battle-zone targets
from the sidelines of the media
supposed to
pretend we're okay
that our vision
isn't compromised
by fragments
of the unjust assaults and murders
puncturing our eyes

how are we supposed to
move through our days with ease
while treading the obstacle course
of war-torn bodies
and their mismanaged cases

keep the torch of hope
for their safety ablaze in our hearts
video footage
of their shrieks and pleas
extinguishing our flame

smile with the heaviness
of all their names
weighing our mouths down
syllables so cumbersome
they rupture our lips

swallow the air
from our jubilant bursts of laughter
and not vomit clumps of guilt

how are we supposed to
lasso this roaming hell
with so many
protective arms
and barbed-wire legal systems
surrounding it
that our hands
are disfigured
from every attempt
to pry them free  

how are they supposed to
have a chance at life
taste the sweetness of fulfillment
turn their sorrows into joys
make a difference in this world
and thrive in this abyss
where silence
conformity
and existence
are synonymous
with death?

©2015 Charlene E. Green

THE SUFFERING

How wise we are

about people's demons

What experts we are

on the subject of morals

things people had no business doing

things they shouldn't have said

places they shouldn't have gone

when the monsoon struck

pulverized their generator of hope

and their world went dark

We're so well-versed

in their pain

how it should affect them

causes they should embrace

help they really  should have sought

should have been informed enough

to know about

wired "properly" enough

to be interested in

strong enough

to ask for

savvy enough

to pursue

worth-filled enough

to want

or even feel they deserved

People do the best they can

to deal with the boogeymen

hunting them

chasing them down the alleys

of their reality

with pitchforks

in the daylight

smothering them

in their dreams at night

crippling the half a heartbeat

they wake up with

pilfering their desire

to get out of bed

to wanna live

through the day

Their best

may not be a best

we approve of

but so what?

who are we

anyway

but disdainful bystanders

ill-equipped

to speak on

how to confront

much less slaughter

the beasts

on people's streets

Already strugglin'

to win the battle

with the brutes on ours

but got all the know-how

about what it takes

to take out others' woes

repave the roads they travel

Got more

opinion than compassion

judgment than understanding

more arrogant answers

than heartfelt questions

so much

fuzzy memory

for how we've wrangled

with our past

in ways that weren't great

coulda been healthier

but we did what we could

with the emotional wherewithal

we had

and to someone who was watching us

it wasn't good enough

wasn't right  enough

yet here we are

spying and scrutinizing
people's sagas

all perfected and accomplished

in the art of dragon-slaying

Got hella PhDs

in the suffering of others

but truth be told

some of us still don't have

a degree of comprehension

about how to master

our own

©2015 Charlene E. Green  

BODILY HARM

When your throat tightens

unexpectedly

slams shut

like a malfunctioned revolving door

jammed

and your undeclared thoughts

are highjacked

by your voicebox

with quicksand might

shackled by its cords

held for ransom

by your fears

that will be the moment

when you'll successfully redefine

the term

"eating your words"

Because you believed
the box of courage

within you would fail

unconvinced of its stability

its ability

to bear the size of your truth

keep your sentiments

packed in the right order

because you imagined

the contents shifting

on the way out of your mouth

arriving jumbled

feared that upon receipt

you'd be misunderstood

returned "unappreciated"

rejected ...

now your message

has retracted

a caged bird
writhing beneath your tongue

and if you don't

find a way

to unhinge the door

deliver that ransom

let that bird sing

SPEAK

with no remorse

like it matters

like you deserve to be heard 

even if they don't like it

even if it tremors their comfort zone

if you don't prioritize

candor

your emotions

will ravage you

take your innards hostage

terrorize you
with artillery and threats like 

psychological bedlam

systemic outcry 

inexplicable physical maladies

doctors won't be able to

diagnose

medicate

will say it's stress related

"all in your head"

and they'll be right

it is in your head

where you left it

an army of fuse bombs

weapons of mass internal destruction

positioned to implode

©2015 Charlene E. Green

For more information on this important subject, please see Dangers of Holding in Your Emotions

 

SHED

shed

like excess mental weight

the pounds

of their cruelty

the way they glare

and you silently agree

criticism

from people

not wearin' your skin

but callin' foul

for the way you

look in it

carry it

behave in it

shed

  

like dank clothes

the rubble

from your storms of persecution

sidestep
the ominous pond

of disapproval

puddled at your feet

like burdensome debt

shed

your subscriptions

to fear

loathing

discontent

of your life

your body

perceived

lack-ofs

shoulda-alreadies

shouldn'ta-dones

wanna-but-can'ts

shed 

the you

you adopted

and grew

fed lies to

based on their view

their spew

the you 

you scorn

cuz you think
what they shout

is gospel

and now what you are

is pawn
lurching to their slanderous cadence

not champion

of your magnitude

peep
how your arms
flit erratically
legs jerk
how you
beat and kick yourself to shame
with their commentary
parrot the script they write for you
to their delight

this isn't really  the role
you intend to keep playing
in your movie
is it?
you're the star
so get busy
rewriting

 

start a health-phrase diet

double portions 

daily

for your emaciated

self-reverence

gorge on them

get fat

on a superior assessment

of yourself

feast unapologetically

on mouthfuls
of your own delicious story
of a you
you look at proudly
smile at
celebrate and respect
can't get enough of
flaws and all
and say
"Damn, it's great to be me!"

then toss up
the middle-finger deuces
and shed
all the whole and partial
fucks you give
about the people
whose only desire
was to make sure
you never
gave a single fuck
about yourself

©2015 Charlene E. Green