authorjoyroyal

[authorjoyroyal]

Anger bubbles

At a low boil

A kinetic energy

To which

I am not adjusted

And chafes at my soul

Rubbing raw

The walls of my

Good nature

[authorjoyroyal]

How do I scream into the void

When the void screams back

“Nobody cares

And nobody gets it.

And if they get it

They care even less.”

My weary heart

A source of simple burden.

[authorjoyroyal]

A gift

When it began.

The exact prescription

For the unseen

But ever present dangers.

I dove in

And conquered.

My skills applied

And your praise abundant.

I wearied

But still found joy,

The positive

Outweighing problems.

You encouraged

For the added

Responsibility,

“No ceiling”

To the hard work’s payoff.

I did it

Fearfully

Reluctantly

But well.

I watched my light dim

And your face

Contort.

I didn’t recognize

The home I’d found

With you.

Your constant affirmation

And your constant need

Slowly morphing

Into constant weight

And constant combative criticism.

[authorjoyroyal]

No matter how hard.

I have to be good

And consider every

Angle of how I could hurt

Those around me

With my boundless

Sadness and my

Eager fear.

No matter how bad.

I must remain ethical

Amidst any rage

That bubbles to

The surface

As I protect my life

And loved ones

From the sharp

Blade of the

Honest fury.

No matter how bad.

I must remind

Myself that I am

Blessed and buried

In ease

So much that

The shame

Of my emotions

Drags me forcibly

Back to the

Fetal position.

No matter how bad.

I must maintain

Appropriate behavior

In my speech

And actions

To be worthy

Of any care

Let alone love

In the mud of

The pit.

No matter how bad.

I mustn’t drink

Because it’s frightening

To lose control and

Because I could start

And not know how

To stop

Until the whole

Cauldron of my

Excruciating desire

Has been emptied.

No matter how hard.

I mustn’t be trusted

Even if I work

To retain a

Trustworthy and

Honest cadence

Because my hurts

And furies

And dreads

And passions

Are far too big

Too sharp

Too scary

To be endured…

Or accepted…

Or loved.

[authorjoyroyal]

I watched a stuffed animal

Drowning

And the tears sprung forth

Faster than ever

A well of fear

Opening in my chest

For the loss

Of the safety

And security

Of a loved thing.

My inner child

Never so near

As when the soft things drown

[authorjoyroyal]

I predict you.

“Yes?” I say…

A quizzical look…

“You were about to-“ I name…

A chuckle and a shake of your head.

“Uncanny.”

Yes, I know you think so.

And I’m perceptive.

But you are less wild

And more predictable

Than you imagine.

And I, less magical

And more aware.

Your jokes get harsher

Or stranger?

“Sometimes I’d like to deck you.”

A smile and a slight giggle.

You’re taller than I am.

Should I fear you?

I know you’d never

But I wonder why the jokes.

“Not to actually hurt you.”

How do you separate the two?

“But just-“

Oh there’s more to the joke.

“I think I’d get pleasure”

There’s that word.

‘Pleasure.’ ‘Beloved.’

Words too big

Or too specific…

“I think I’d get pleasure

From

Watching your body just-“

Your hands mimic me

Skipping across the floor.

You laugh.

You’re very funny.

I chuckle and retort.

It seems the easiest,

The least likely

To spark a whole

Debate of whether

I’m overreacting.

Im not, am I?

I am, aren’t I?

You’ve said these things before.

You’ve mimicked my body

Being strewn upside down

Being pushed into a dumpster.

You’ve mimicked watching me suffocate.

Your hands 12 inches from my throat.

You’d never. And that’s the truth.

To you, it is truly funny.

The women around you

Being nags and nuisances

Imprisoning you in a world

Not of only your own making.

You win anyway.

Why must we be the villains?

You get your way.

You ‘can’t do anything without me’

I fix for you

Innumerable times a day.

I read your mind

Half the time.

But you’d like to deck me.

Not for pain.

But for pleasure.

[authorjoyroyal]

I am fiercer

Than I ever imagined.

Piercing gaze

And fixed tenacity.

Pushing, pulling

Striving, facing…

I am capable of so much more.

[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?