Trigger Warning!
This world is a fucked-up, traumatizing, and hateful place. I live in this world, and so my words, experiences, and thoughts are birthed from within it. Further, it should come to no surprise that this blog will detail many of these fucked-up things in graphic detail. Fortunately, resilience is what I do, and I try my hardest to ferment inspiration from the darkest parts of my life. It's time to confront, it's time to resist, and of course... it's time to win.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

14 years and then some...

a milk crate of memories
a milk crate of letters
a milk crate has surely become my most valuable possession
an unquantifiable love can be found scribbled in the margins
on the lines and in the headers of the pages stacked so chaotically in that little black milk crate
multiple voices some more frequent then others
some filled with more clarity
but all seeping with relentless and resilient love

essentially a little black milk crate that reminds me
a crate of words outweighing its weight in gold
outmeasuring itself in any possible or reasonable manner
a little meaningless crate that carried me through those horrible days in my life

but im scared to travel back down memory lane
scared to reflect on the tortures I faced
evermore scared of remembering the even more vicious tortures i was unwillingly playing witness to
i was witness to
i was witness to much
too much
i still witness too much in weekly recollections
nightmares while other people dream of kittens or things not so fluffy
but it's this crate of letters that carried me through
this crate that is now somewhere between an eyesore and artifact
this crate is somewhere between nuclear fallout and standing on the right side of rapture

this crate that ill never let go of

sometimes i had to wait over a week to receive a letter
to receive word from anything sensible
to receive any form of love or affection
i think even once my inmate correspondence drought lasted in upwards of two weeks
but even then
my absences of loving words cant compare to that in what i bared witnessed to

i bared witness to the remaining shell of a man
a man so fragile in his hardness
a skin fortified by fourteen years of not one letter or single visit from any living soul
five thousand one hundred and ten days
five thousand one hundred and ten days without an ounce of affection or love
how does one survive that ...


sandra said...

though i didn't write you often, there wasn't a single day i didn't think of you, miss you, and love you dearly. i am so proud of you for picking up with this blog again. i love you always, brother.

Anonymous said...

Love you, Bear

Jayson Tx said...