Caul-de-sac

 

I'm sitting on the edge of the Caul-De-Sac

looking at one of my childhood homes.

On a dark

and cold

and crisp 

October night 

back in 1995,

my heart now roams...


There are handprints in the cement

on the driveway

etched in the shadows.

Messy writing in the cement

bares a name of mine now fallow.


But I still know who she is

and

I'm looking outside

and from within,

and now 

my brooding soul hovers 

in a shawl, black and knit

feet one inch above the ground

under streetlights dim and lit...


The centered streetlight

dimly bathes me in

a familiar shade of orange,

and a crow’s perched on the rim.

Silently

he stares me down

as I brood with a dripping frown

with black slate running down my cheeks.

He doesn't make a sound.


This is the greatest, deepest grief,

grieving for relief.

I tried so hard to make it last,

even though I barely grasped 

my vibrance, muffled

by all the noisy shuffles.

Then I got lost...

and I felt daft.


Then, well,

of course

they crudely laughed.


Oh, what was

if it could've been

at the caul-de-sac again

when I was ten...


But it simply could not have been...

because I never fit the scenes,

not my needs, my thoughts, nor my feelings,

and not even, later on, my physical dealings...


I was treated as though I simply lacked

something I, apparently, should have had.

But there was never a “real” - meaning honest - way to grab...

“It,”

the “It”' that I should've had…

which I'd pathetically

keep trying to grab.


I then hovered between

masking, wanting to escape

and doubting all being.

but the doubt, I wanted to face,

and in spite of things, I sparked a dream…


So then I began to dig

for the answers unsaid

through the rigged of the rig...

where only the fed are fed.


Then I found some of the answers.

I wrote them down in soulful red!


Then others like me cried, "Aye"

in relative resonance

but then asked why,

and informally, 

some real truth was said,

but the flipside is

today I'm half-dead

'cause I paid for what I said.


I was too naive to know

what the hurt of discrimination 

for coming out as me

would do to my head.


I got hurt and tired to the point

that it ate at my bones,

and too, I was burnt by the fire

of my very own desire.


Throughout this journey,

I became weary

and more than certainly

permanently leery,

but damn,

I just got tired of being

with what doesn't hold my being.


I needed to ignite,

and I meant for no crime,

but I was taken for wrong over right

when I'd light in response 

to unjust rhyme.


Now I'm standing in the ashes,

and they're covering this caul-de-sac.

They're raining down my back

sitting slate

-grey flakes

over a sheath of black.


And I've been swollen,

and I've been frozen,

weak and stagnant in this poison,

but with ashes,

I must craft.


With a new way

to craft,

I can't let them 

have the last laugh...

So, moon, pull me up 

like a magnet,

like a shaft.


Caul-de-sac

on this map,

let the past 

be ash.


2019


Enjoy reading Purple Ashes In the Sky on Blogger and consider

supporting the book via purchase or donating to my Go Fund Me.


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