#greenhavengang

2 posts
  • mmbftd 155w

    The switch

    My mind is broken
    Like a switch
    It flipped
    The dark of night
    Brings fear so deep
    My bones are thick with the grip of it
    And no one else hears
    These thoughts
    The echoing versions
    Of doom and gloom
    Look up
    Look out
    Find a place to hunker down
    I'm not alone
    Lots are talking
    You just have to listen
    And since my switch flipped
    I hear it all
    Like raw nerves
    Picking up signals
    Neurons firing
    Till the flames are bright blue
    With the knowing
    And no one understands
    I don't want to live through what is coming to us all
    Hunkered down
    Squatting in shelter
    Crying
    Lonely
    Devastated by the air
    Saturated with vaporized
    Humans
    And the rat race has desensitized all the rats
    In mazes
    Following that cheddar
    It is flammable and meaningless
    No value
    I feel the value lies inside
    With the love we share
    With each other.
    And I'm here in my own box
    Listening
    To the fear
    Ingesting this
    Day in and day out
    Daylight savings time
    Mandela-ed
    And empathed
    And intellectualized
    And inhaling
    Nano particulates
    The air is toxic but it's saving me from that burning fake sun
    White hot scalder of flesh
    My switch has been flipped
    And my childhood memories are flooding back in
    Places I almost feel again
    Memories like pieces of puzzles
    Trying to align
    It means something
    It leads me somewhere
    I used to dream of seeing my town from above
    I saw things that I could not have known
    Those dreams linked up
    And repeated
    Those tunnels all lead somewhere
    I'm gonna find it
    But I won't go
    I don't want to survive what is coming
    The horror is too much to witness.
    And I'm a switch
    That's been flipped.
    ©mmbftd

  • mmbftd 204w

    Sand

    And I remember
    Sifting through playground sand
    My hands are tiny
    And my mother's are smooth and young
    As she teaches me about magnets
    And how to draw out
    The tiny black particles from this earth
    How the black particles
    Congregate and seem to create something larger
    In unity.
    And I remember Sifting through playground sand
    Making roads and tunnels
    And pushing tiny cars around
    Their wheels stuck with sand frozen, unable to roll again.
    And I remember very fondly
    That sound of kids playing all around me
    Screaming, excited and happy
    Free to just be themselves and congregate with each other
    Forming tiny groups and inventing scenarios of play
    Cops and robbers
    Cowboys and Indians
    Wartime scenes against the Japanese.
    In 1974 I was a very young girl
    4 years old going on 5.
    These were the scenarios in our playgrounds. The sins of our grandparents and parents already stamped into our impressionable clay minds.
    We were taught early on to fight each other...even as our laughter filled the park. We knew not the meaning behind bloodshed...yet we knew already who the enemies were.
    Based on the prejudice of wartime and our young country's history. We played "slaves" in the front yards. The older kids tied all us young one's ankles together in a line..knelt us down to pick weeds out of their mother's garden. They hit us gently with ropes...until one mom caught wind of what was happening and set us "free". The older kids said we were just "playing Roots", like the movie on TV. The point of which was clearly missed. We knew not the implications of what we were playing. 2 Irish 1 Cuban 1 American Indian 1 Pollock and one girl who's mom was white and dad was black. We were just emulating what we saw... not based on race.
    We were blank slates. Impressioned by an adult world we could not comprehend. With horrors we were not meant to understand yet.
    And somewhere along the line we all learned to love each other in spite of the adults. We grew thick bonds that could not be tested. That still are intact no matter how far apart we all are now. We knew empathy and compassion. We loved each other deeper than family. When you don't have to love someone; but you WANT to. We helped each other grow up and grow old. There are 5 of us...all still around..2 still live there on that block in their childhood homes. And I know every pebble on that street, every crack in that sidewalk I jumped over in roller skates to avoid crashing. I know which curb gives the best lift when jumping on a bmx bike...I know which street lamp has the annoying hum and flicker because it was the one in front of my house. I remember our parents spray painting baseball bases on the asphalt of our street and playing WITH us long after the street lights came on. I remember us having our own Olympics on the block with handmade ribbons awarded. I remember I typed up our blocks first news paper on my mother's typewriter and wrote about who got a new dog or who won a spelling contest at school or who was lucky enough to have seen Star Wars and what they thought about it. I remember typing mistakes and working so hard with flimsy correction tape to fix it. How I typed through carbon papers so I had copies (purple and hard to read) for all five of my friends. I was so fortunate. I am so thankful. We are so lucky to have survived this long...all of us well into the years where cancer has ravaged our other friends and even family. We are lucky in this bond. And I remember the metallic scream of the squeaky park swing set as we pumped our feet out in front of us like pendulums swinging wide under summer skies. And I know...as I look down into these sands...with my hands old now and wrinkled...spots of age almost outnumber my childhood freckles. I look down as I am the only one of our block to never have a child...no one to teach about magnets in this sand...and no one to pass down my sins to, which is good, I suppose. This is where I will end up...in this sand that made such an indelible mark on me. But who? Who is left to bury me? No matter, it is where I want my final resting place to be. In this sand. It is where I began.

    ©mmbftd