Enchanted Mirror

What is love if not a mirror

Accosting our ego and perceptions of self

Reflecting our faults and shortcoming

Chiseling away like Michelangelo

Shaping us into better people

Dying to ourselves

Becoming one

Over taking

I find myself basking in the glory and beauty of the universe, trying like Stephen Hawkings to understand the mind of God and am never at a loss for words, but you my love leave me speechless. I find myself time and time again with all my might to find the words that can describe my feelings for you, but it's impossible to do so. How can I put into words that which makes my heart race? How can i put into words the utopian feeling of love I experience with you? Or the touch that sets my soul a flame? This is the true essence of love: the sweet mystery that inspires and at the same time stuns.

Love Letter.

My Dearest Love,
Your beauty ties my tongue, the taste of your lips sets my loins a flame, the memory of your touch haunts my mind throughout the day. The brightest part of my day is the time God blesses me to share with you. I look into your eyes and I feel at peace; I see your smile and it warms my soul. God took Adam’s rib and he made Eve, and when I am with you, I feel complete. I feel like I found the missing part of me; I feel like I found my rib, my Eve. We have many mountains to climb and a lot of rough roads to travel, but as long as I am climbing those mountains, and traveling those roads with you- it’s all worth it. Like Hercules journeying into Hades for his beloved Dyonara. That is the extent of my love for you; that is the journey I would take just to hold you in my arms. The sweetness of your smile is as alluring as Aphrodite. Just as Christ gave the Keys of heaven to apostles so do I give the keys of my heart to you.

Fake Love

Delusions of grandeur for illusions we build, making idols out of each other because of the love that we never truly feel. My soul twisted because of a pain so deep I never thought it could be real. Relationships built off of a Romeo and Juliet complex- lovers lost in a sea of deceit, indulging in lust as we kowtow to hedonistic deeds and desire. We lose ourselves in mazes of our own creation and leave broken, dreams shattered for hoping that it was something more, but how could it be? Left dumbfounded because gratuitous meanness bewilders me, so who is it I see, lashing back with great fury against her, I want her to hurt like I do. I am left to ask myself how you can love again, when you shatter the false image of what you thought love was. Pieced together memories that are now better than actually was, so no one can ever replace the love in your head that never truly was.

Broken Pieces

I feel adrift at sea, trapped inside the three dimensional space that I call me, chained and shackled down by beliefs and ideology- an EXTROVERT who has forced himself into the depths of solitary with a monster that only he can see. Because in relationships I build walls to separate you from me, because I give my all to you, and when I feel like you don’t give back, I leap back because I don’t want to get burned again, like my mother burned me, like she burned me- my ex-wife who took the better part of me, the heart of me, but somehow I still have enough left for you to want to share in my life.

Daunting thoughts of the broken.

If I could start my life from scratch, would I change any of it? Like all the times I would watch my mom get hit by one of her junkie boyfriends, or seeing a grown man sit on top of an ice box with my little brother trapped in it- just pick up a knife and start swingin it! Maybe so… cause it left a darkness deep down in my soul, and for most of my life, I just haven’t known where to go with any of it. Just sit with a pen and a pad because writing is so therapeutic; my heart and soul is what you get with every line and In my mind I’m doing trapped in depth of solidarity, the man in the mirror scary because I see the monster that I become. I can’t help but feel like I’m a shoe in to ruin every positive thing I’m doing because south goes every positive thing I’m pursuing. Feeling like I’m set up to fail, my little brother trapped in a bipolar hell, and people ask me if I’m well. Well let me see- broken home? Try a broken family: two’s Rogers, one dead, and one’s in jail- just a father and a son trying to be a father to a fatherless son. The same shit that I’ve done. They say the sins of the father fall on the son, so what the hell has my biological father done? He was in my life for three years and our relationship is done and I’m supposed to pay for all the evil that he’s done? Half the time I feel like my demons have already won, because they’ve been tearing at my soul since day one

Confessions of a ex pseud-skeptic

Trapped and bound by atheistic metaphysical claims- theological thoughts weight heavy on my brain. Push me to the point of being almost mentally insane. Because cookie cutter Christianity left me feeling like the Creator God had abandoned me with no solid foundation in which to plant my feet. When the enemy came he swept me away in defeat with cunning deceit and with no apologetic ammo to shoot back. It was easy for me to fall for the enemy trap because he truly does come as an angel of light with a smorgasbord of everything that you could possible like, and Satan is a pro at what he do, he threw a thing at me from Muhammad, to David Hume my faith was doomed for a minute religion could not get with it. Atheism- I was in it- from Hitchens to Daniel Dennett, dealing with doubt, boxing it out, fight with this pseudo age of reason that Kant turn out.

Mother

I remember being locked in my room for the meth filled days, and the fistfights fueled by the meth rage. Just me and my two brothers- not fearing monsters under the bed like other children, but the ones on the other side of our bedroom door. The horror of seeing the silhouettes of random humans beaming through your bedroom window while you try to sleep on the floor. Engraved in my head the time I walked through that the door, my mother wearing nothing but frown, tears flowing from her eyes with a sea of dollar bills covering the ground. No doubt from another night at the strip club. A reality I learned being locked in the car at night trying to sleep as she worked. I guess Patrick slapped her up again, but this guy is not my mother’s version of a man; she tells me as a guy to a woman I should never raise my hand. But yet my mother played the role of punching bag to random men.

I and my brothers were adopted but left scarred from physical and mental abuse. I was anxious knowing that someone who looks just like me was out there as an addict living on the street. Rage engulfed my soul because of what she allowed us to go through. So now at 26, I stand outside a Mexican restaurant with her asking me to put five bucks in her hand. I get mad cause she’s high, telling me how much she wants me around; my eyes glaring at the ground, while she’s tweaked out bouncing around… Then I hear the words ring out piercing my ears, “Come on, be a pal,” at this point, I am pissed off now. I smile, part my lips forcefully and say “I love you mom, later; I shall see you around.” As I walk back to my apartment, in my mind the words are racing at the speed of Usain Bolt! I want to scream, “I love you, mom; I want to save you, mom! Take away those demons in the forms of pipes and bottles that break you, mom; but I’m angry because you never played the role of mom. You ask me to be a pal when all I’ve ever wanted was to be your son.”