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[authorjoyroyal]

Today, I hope for you that you can sit in all of the nuance of this life… the stunning grayscale scape of intricate decision making, delicate and complex people, labyrinthine opinions to be formed, and shaded mistakes with so much grace to cover them. There is so much more than simply bold lines and broad strokes, and I hope you find all of the refracted beams of your life… with so much gentleness and care.

[authorjoyroyal]

The Puffin

——

I know it’s bad

Because I am not wearing my shoes.

I’ve blamed it on the aching back,

The work demands of the day,

The convenience,

(Or passing smirking remarks about)

The depression…

But I’ve kept coming back to my heels…

At least sometimes-

An addiction that doesn’t break

Too easily…

My comfort shoe

My best “fake it til you make it”

My favorite quirk

That kept people talking

And my posture erect.

I know it’s bad

Because my shoes still call to me

And my mind now tells me

I don’t deserve them.

They used to work

With my “pretty girl” aesthetic

That I didn’t fully believe,

But was at least

A plausible pretense.

They used to make the facade

More believable,

Even to my own eyes

Instilling confidence and relief.

I know it’s bad

Because now they feel like a cruel joke.

Too far gone

For the masquerade.

A monster in heels

In still just a monster.

A puffin among penguins,

Or something equally as out of place

(My mind should be inventive enough

To come up with better)…

I don’t want to be

So stunningly devoid

Of self awareness

That I make myself apparent as

The fraud,

The monster,

The puffin…

…but I miss my shoes…

[authorjoyroyal]

If I said how I really think

How much bourbon I drink

How incapable of growth and change…

The baggage I carry

Isn’t fun or novel

And I’m not handling it well…

It would only be a matter of time.

You’d realize

How worthless I really am.

I can’t fool the world forever.

[authorjoyroyal]

You don’t understand

This is not a passing fancy

A hobby, or a selfish

Flaunting of my “dramatic” flair…

I’m not a child,

Fighting to field my emotions

Or playing at statements

Above my pay grade…

I am an artist. An actor.

A professional.

Paid for my work-

Praised by the people I respect.

Fighting infinite imposter syndrome

And convinced of utter worthlessness….

But this need I have…

This thrill, this craving, this…

Desperate imperative

That has been placed on my life….

It is all-encompassing,

Obsessive, unwavering…

It is… involuntary.

Painful. Like a disease

That grabs hold and grips,

Unbidden, uninhibited,

Visceral. Real. Unmistakable.

The fingerprint of God on me?….

Who I am.

Who I was made to be.

[authorjoyroyal]

The heart just hurts.

I could explain a thousand times,

With metaphor and example…

Pontificate and expound,

Sob and stutter.

But the foundation is just what it is…

Pain and piercing grief.

[authorjoyroyal]

I hope that you live to see so much healing that whatever is stealing your breath and sending you to your knees today… whatever is scarring your soul and wrenching tears from your eyes and settling a pit in the deepest part of your stomach….

… becomes not a forgotten blip, but a memory of the moment that changed your life. The moment that sent you toward all of the good you’d always held hope for. The shift that put you on the trajectory toward joy.

Here to listen and pray for you if you need it.

#GodLovesYouAndSoDoI

[authorjoyroyal]

The water rises again

And I feel it slightly different this time.

A new hell or a tiny reprieve

In oscillating movements,

This time the grief squeezes-

My chest concave

And my longing screaming

For a return to before.

It was so tightly bound,

A neat little stack of traumas

Piled into glass cases,

Like exhibits to be studied.

Now “growth” grants freedom to the pain

And “healing” exhibiting more as a hurricane

Than as a balm,

And I am left trembling on the floor

Begging for my old self back.

The soldier who endured,

The stalwart, steady hand

That wore “survivor” like a surname.

Where did she go?

A collapse and a broken dam

Don’t change the landscape for a day,

But for a lifetime.

What does the survivor do

When the need for saving is now her own?

[authorjoyroyal]

I wish I could smile,

Turn, twirl, laugh

With my head to the sky.

I wish I could plumb the depths

Of my humor,

As playful and free as I want to be.

I wish I could give hugs

Uninhibited

To all who need them-

Every time I sense that they do.

I wish my warmth

Would be seen for sunshine

And be allowed to radiate

As brightly as it can

With as much heat as it can muster.

I wish my sarcasm

Could be just what it is-

Pure fun and quick wit

And impressive wordplay.

I wish I could be

As emotionally assertive as necessary,

Taking hold of the moments

When those around me

Need my perception

And offering it with open hands.

I wish I could be as amazing

As I wonder if I could be…

Without the fear

Of perception

And of my own weakness

And of your weakness

And all of the boundaries

That are all on me….

I’m happy to cling to the boundaries…

But some days I just wish

I could freely be me

Without any versioning

Or fear

Or careful, timid, cautious steps.

Just me.

[authorjoyroyal]

Today almost feels like a “before and after” moment. The “my life rended into ‘before and after’ segments”…. Maybe not quite? All I know is, I can’t quite feel hunger like normal, and my mind is oscillating rapidly between “I’m fine” and “I’m not”. Maybe that’s what trauma is… the desperation of our brain as it tries SO HARD to rectify what it witnessed and what it already knows. It didn’t even feel like MY trauma. But I watched three people I love, fall apart.

One convulsing on the floor, tipped back in the chair as you gagged on your own tongue and drooled on the floor, and then argued vehemently as a toddler does that “no- you couldn’t have possibly have had a seizure.”

One tearing up, a mother- filled to overflowing with desperate need to make it go away. NOW. desperate desire to tie up all the loose ends and apologize to all the missed appointments and get the act together, while the mother in you SCREAMED silently with such grief that I don’t see on your face otherwise.

One holding tight. Hard. Rigid. “Okay.” The protector and the emotionless. The “I’m fine” no matter how deep the trauma, but the facade that doesn’t quite ring true after seeing your face as you held him…. Laying atop his twitching, choking, gagging, dying form… I SAW your face…. you can’t hide it anymore from me. I peeked into the depths of your sorrow and your concern, and I found only denial waiting as you turned to greet the day with the ever ready willingness to lie to me about how you feel.

And all I could do…. Was mop the floor. As soon as I navigated the 911 call, as soon as everyone was dispersed to hospitals and offices and etc…. I saw the floor and I knew to mop up the signs that trauma had been just moments before the calm… and then normalcy invaded like a thief and I hated the tears and the numbness equally, as they traded places in waves.

[authorjoyroyal]

Fierceness.

The word you used was fierceness.

“Fierceness that is not represented

In your personality.”

I’ve never had anyone pierce so quickly

To the heart of who I am…

Seeing through masks

And pretenses I thought

I was better at maintaining…

But without the self-loathing,

Without the shame…

Seeing only wonder and admiration

When you look at my war-scarred features.

The fierceness. The flame

Beneath all the hurt-

That is alive, chewing through trauma

And pain, and “I can’t”

With a bold and belligerent

“Watch me”…

Quiet. But fierce.

So why does it feel like a slap in the face?

And why do the tears rise

At the ready-

In the face of such genuine respect?

[authorjoyroyal]

Pacing, marching, stepping,

Back and forth

Wearing erosion canyons in the floor

Waiting by for the buzzing

To pass through

On my way to exhaustion

And my head

To find my pillow’s welcoming embrace

[authorjoyroyal]

The feelings of shame creep in.

No…. They swarm.

No…. They have already consumed flesh and bone

Leaving nothing for the birds

When decay rides in.

Embedded under my skin

Swirling through my bloodstream

Pushed further

With each unwitting beat of my heart.

[authorjoyroyal]

Confessions

Are a hit of ecstasy

And a fast let down

To the reality that

No one cares.

My neurotic need

Of goodness

Equates to nothing more

Than shouted professions

On deaf eardrums.

[authorjoyroyal]

You were chill.

You were a professional.

I had no fear of my boundaries being broken

Or of your interest being piqued

Beyond what work we make together.

You were scared of me at first

And in some ways it was better.

But somewhere the conversation turned

So subtly that I wondered

Where your head was at…

Was I crazy? Self-obsessed?

Perfectly within the realm of the work,

And yet…

“Just text me. We’ll grab coffee and work on it.”

“Come over to my house, we can use my piano”

“Pretend it’s not you, but someone you actually like”

“If that happens we’ll just bugger off and get coffee and work on it ourselves”

…

Excuse me, Sir.

Why are you being perceptive about my own self?

Why does it matter that I hate myself?

And how did you know?

I’m not getting coffee with you or coming to your home

But why would you even want me to?

And why is my guard all the way up immediately?

When from someone else,

I might appreciate the gestures?

…

And now I wonder if I’m misreading every sign

Or if you feel bonded in a way that’s not there.

Or maybe it’s just the “hard things” bond.

We do hard things together.

The work is heavy, and you’re bearing half the load.

…

Or maybe my overthink is in overdrive.

Dangit I really wanted to enjoy you.

Fully- with no hesitations or worries.

I wanted you to be gay, or uninterested, or…

Not you, I guess.

You are kind, until religion comes up.

I see wounds in you, and softness.

I also see arrogance and anxiety and sharpness.

…

And I don’t want it all in my brain.

I don’t want to spend time and energy and emotion

On wondering if you are interested,

And if I am desirable enough

For that to even be plausible.

I want to focus at home.

I choose my home.

I choose him. Over and over, again and again.

[authorjoyroyal]

To the men…

I don’t choose the bear.

I refuse to accept this rubric that MEN are unsafe and inherently animals… I know some are. I know there are bad men. I am not naive. I walk with my keys between my fingers… I protect myself. I see devastation where it rears its head, and I grieve for all those affected….

There are, CERTAINLY, many bad men… just as there are many bad women. I stand with the victims of bad men, just as I stand with my loved ones as they unpack decades of trauma inflicted by women.

But haven’t we for too long made these generalizations? Isn’t this what got us here in the first place? “Women are *fill in the blank*”… women are weak, women are dumb, women should be at home, women can’t… just as we’ve done to so many groups of people. Gender, skin color, ethnicity… have we not learned? How can we now turn around and label men as “dangerous” simply because of who they inherently are?

How many times do I encounter a stranger who is also a man in my life? Innumerable times. Daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, I encounter myriads of men who are simply like me… trying to be decent to those around them. Navigating the world with as much grace as they can- despite the hardships they face. And yes- they will all be varying degrees of healed… varying degrees of healthy…

But I refuse to pretend that I would rather encounter a literal wild animal. It would be a lie. Please, I’m begging you…. Be kind to each other. As much as humanly possible.

[authorjoyroyal]

I choose.

Regardless of what life throws

What feelings come

What fears or traumas raise their heads.

I choose.

When it’s all too much

And the only plausible solution

Feels like running far far away.

I choose.

I get to.

And I choose again.

And the choices add up

To a life lived

In a way that makes me proud.

[authorjoyroyal]

The urge to run away

Mixing, mingling

With the knowledge

That I can’t run from myself

Far enough to make any difference