ABORT.me
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By Barbra E. Bond |
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10.31.2022
Independently Produced
Stock Images provided by Microsoft 365
Made Public 10.31.2022
By Barbra E. Bond
Table of Contents
Drunking Buddies
My heart lay scattered around you like peanut shells on the floor of Big Red’s bar… I watch as each of you step on another piece… Crunch crunch, crunch crunch, crunch crunch
Sipping on an IPA from a seat with a visual vantage point, the thick citrus hops shrivel my tastebuds. My tongue gets caught in my throat I am unable to swallow, drowning in my own spit and self-containment.
Maybe at one time I could have blamed someone other than myself, but it has taken effort on my part to stay this way. Silent, unthreatening, blending in, but never really fitting in. I never really thought about fitting in so it never really mattered to me when I didn’t, but sometimes I wonder what it would have been like growing up trusting people. Feeling like who you were was always going to be enough for them to keep loving you.
The lighting in this bar always seemed dim to me. A mood lighting adjustment maybe, or a way to hide the dirt. The blood that stained the floor where my heart lay.
A few drinks in now. The bitterness of the IPA is barely noticeable. IPAs always tend to hit me fast and then I need to eat, or I get emotional and when I get emotional, I get loud, I can be threatening, I tend to stand out.
I was always so good at small talk, after a while it bored me. Being a loner, I love deep and long conversations, ones where people walk away changed somehow, or at least a little closer, or better understood.
It’s time for shots. One more before we hit the road. Another pitcher too, before we close the tab.
We’ve been talking and debating for hours now. For the second night in a row. For the second year in a row. Years pass.
I watch you more closely now. How you enter the bar, walk up to the waiter and order a round for the table; casually making your way over. Crunch crunch, crunch crunch, crunch crunch
My heart still lay scattered on the ground from the first time I had ripped it out. Having revealed my vulnerability like elective surgery with local anesthesia. Chest cavity opened-up, only to watch how you would cut up each piece of muscle and flesh with surgical precision.
Through the haze. The alcohol, the beer, the highs, and the lows, I haven’t a clue as to how we got here, but I recognize the familiar sense of fear; that Love, and Safety are not what I will find here.
I grab the water and lean in, to finish the fries. I won’t run, if needed I will battle until I die, but I’ll be damned, if I ever come back to this Pigsty.
Rock-A-Way
I went to Rockaway, tried to rock away the nightmares that led me to walk away. I felt your gaze filling in the blank parts of me, constructing an image of who you wanted me to be. Slowly those who didn’t know me hadn’t a chance to see me, I was the building you erected of me; only sturdy enough to live in the imaginary.
SIDE NOTE: Reality is a foreign concept in my family. We carry around so much shame trying to maneuver through this game, on the board displayed where LIFE ends is retirement. Not to negate how I anticipate each inclement. A slow and steady stream of energy… SPIN! 7 Steps! Reminds me, each adventure is a test, each moment to practice being my best, so that when laid to rest my soul might lift from my chest, pure, like an abbess; but I digress.
Rockaway, rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye-baby… As a small child I could never lie, and slowly, I formed a chrysalis, keeping my eyes to the sky. Smart enough to know I wasn’t built to fly, but optimistic a gust of wind might catch my jacket just right, that I would take flight, find my flock, and stop weeping with each new day the sun brought. I remember Jesus spoke of letting go with each sunset. I told you I had carved it on my chest, not to worry each night I forget.
I forgive your fragility. I forgive your sexuality. I forgive the futility in your attempts to contact me, extending your olive branch - PASS. That is just an olive-colored branch with the saltiest of berries.
I remember seeing your thick stick and thinking it was magnificent. OH! Is that why you did it? Did curiosity kill my cat and leave in its wake a cunt? A cunt so loud, so proud, ego filled, with each uttered sound, of those who lay beneath me; weak and defenseless.
With each small tweak, pulsating squeeze my waters leak. A creek babbles as it finds the nearest riverbed, long, dried since the last time my pussy wept. Eyes up back arched, I am just a little girl adjusting my sail. I wail, longing to take flight.
Playing it Straight
Eight past a quarter and playing for keeps. On a solo journey riding with the best of peeps. Can’t stop now, ‘cuz we’re heading for the peaks.
Kings, wandering in search of sentiment. Lives full of beauty, still hunger for contentment. Waking up each day remembering the only bars on the windows are those which I wrote last night. To inspire me. Remind me, today is the day we take flight. Building kingdoms with my love and my insight. Keeping the peaks in sight. Admiring the birds as they dance in the sunlight. Admiring the sun and all its glorious warmth. Admiring the journey through all its treacherous storms.
Queens, of the heart be jeweled with wit; rings, of laughter, keeps staff in stitches. I wonder if Moms ever met Marylin… Mabley… Monroe… The Queen of Hearts knows only one hero. Never underestimate a person for the character they play on the big screen.
It takes more than looks: to be seen. It takes more than looks: to make a scene. It takes more than looks: to be the Queen.
Jacks, come in spades when you’ve got that shit on lockdown. Riding or Dyeing going down, free falling, it’s always fun until you hit the ground. Barred and tarred, being covered in feathers meant you were built to fly. We built bridges, there is no excuse not to stop by, embrace our individuality, say, “Hi.”.
Life’s too short not to aim high. I hope you’re blessed with time. Be loyal to your grind. Don’t get caught up in another’s crime. Have your own mind. Told there is one way, yet you see an alternative. Hear the voice within. How badly do you want to win. Is the straight or narrow your definition.
I’m always riding, grinding, finding new ways to reach new heights, dance beneath the lights, elevate my station in life. Strife cultivated the motivation to use my knife and I cut deep so that you might understand my sacrifice.
A good coach always has the time. An Ace in the pocket always looking like a Dime. Never sweating it, getting wet on it. Lifting your sights, pointing, In the Heights, letting you know the only way to win is to beat them in that fight. Watch the tape. Gain some insight. Work hard to work harder. Start a fire to inspire.
Ready for the heat? Savvy on the peaks? I’m headed with my peeps and we’re playing for keeps.
Viva La Resistance
We are living in glass houses for all the world to see. With our vulnerability on display for those eager to fillet, Guppies.
We are living in the sea feeling free mindlessly. Leaving debris along the shore for all the world to see, shamelessly. Consequently, revealing our majesty as being imaginary.
Watching those hungry for a win in a game they’d never even played in. Out of pocket and overconfident, ready to see a lack of accomplishment.
With others, intentions may slip through their lips or with each swing of their hips. I give them an E, for Effort. Acting Stepford and standardized testing may not be my style, but I will pass them all the while, like endurance training, you run each mile.
There is no breath to explain, the elevation up here is only meant for the fit; go somewhere else to dig your pit, we are here for stargazing. No one is crazy. Just awed, and amused, finding their muse. Having fun. Saying what we feel. Sometimes making sense, seeing things real clear. Sometimes it’s more like one reel, playing over and over, and like the dot at the end of each sentence, expected. Like, a sense of dependence. Like, waiting for your last word as if it was the highest accord, not tuned to carry a melody in a key meant for me.
I am still learning boundaries are keys to freedom for each, that we are solo journeymen on the path to the peak, elevating ourselves with discipline in how we choose to speak, be, believe, behave.
Stewards frantically, tactfully, acting passionately, masterfully enact, retract, and reconstruct; with a little luck and a whole lot of pluck, attempt to clean this mess up. While the sands of time wash out to see how swimmingly our endeavors will be. For of course everyone knows how important are our seas. Of course, everyone sees. We can’t all be a bunch of C’s, but then again have you heard about the Bees?
It doesn’t really put my mind at ease. If only there was a way for all the world to see consciously.
Within these houses of transparency, let us not claim clemency, but take responsibility. Take our God Complex, utilize our knowledge of science, create a better existence.
Wonderous Woman
Wonder Woman, Wonder at Women.
Wonder at that Woman, Wonderous Woman.
When I wonder at you Woman, why shy away from my gaze? Peer into my eyes for are they not your own eyes, Wonder Woman.
Wonder at Women.
Wonder at this Woman, Wonderous Woman.
When I speak wonderfully of you Woman why discredit my words? Why close your heart when I have opened up my own, for you too have lived wondrously, Wonder Woman.
Wonder at Women.
Wonder at how you’ve become a woman, Wonderous Woman.
Your spirit burning like a wildfire. Like the fire your clay was forged in. Fastened out of love; unabandoned.
Wonder Woman, Wonder at Women.
Engineering knowledge out of their wonder.
Bringing truth to the meek.
Empowering the weak.
A show of compassion for those in need.
You were built to lead, to fight, to bring forth life and light to corners thought beyond any respite. So worthy are you of wonder, woman. Wonderous Woman.
Now,
Wonder at us women as we conspirare, taking back our bodies, our children, and our lives. Rebuilding our nations with us all in mind.
Defining
Like a sunset
Like the contrast of the lightened upper atmosphere, against the darkened silhouette of the earth appearing bound by the brightest light in the sky.
Bringing forth beauty and memories of grace and of mercy. A silent and invisible force, that which makes all things possible.
How many ways is gravity like love?
It all started they say with a Big Bang. Our universe, that is. See,
The gravity that had accumulated in this one spot, in the middle of nothing, had become so dense, so magnetic, just too great a mass, for this one little spot, it burst!
Flinging out all of what it was, into the expanse of nothingness, creating something new.
After centuries of solitude, pressure, and exposure to elements that themselves could only have emerged with the assistance of time before they too could no longer be what they had started out as,
A lone singular being of energy taking up space, bursting out of fullness. Eager to create more, build galaxies. Bring forth living creatures to share this now larger space with. This space that is forever expanding; polaric, like, a sunrise…
Light and airy; dark and solid, drawn by an indivisible force, some may mistakenly define as Tzŭ Sun; but we know that Sun is the baby our bodies touching spawned.
That Sun will someday grow to be a Red Giant. Inevitably destroying our carefully crafted solar system as we know it, without fear of consignation. For the gravity that made it all possible, will keep this universe moving forward.
Gravity will not release its hold on what it has created. Gravity remembers all it took to create this place as it grows and expands, even when into something it doesn’t really recognize.
Yes, gravity is like love. No one sees it, but we know it’s there. Most days we forget to appreciate how it holds us down and the time it took to accumulate its self-worth. Without which our universe could not be what it is today, infinite, like a soulmate. Like, the probability of our quantum particulates concentrating here, full of love and possibility.
LEGACIES:
Hands – Part 1
Hands. Soft as a tip of a feather. Strong as the mighty wing, taking leave from earth and sand. Creating waves that destroy lands never really meant for them.
Hands, unlike wings are built to lift others up, or hold them down. Wings, though strong, cannot grasp another wing. As a bird, being free, is taking that first flight. As a human, being free, is reaching out, letting someone know it will be all right.
We wear faces that mask our feelings. Feelings that we cannot explain in a simple sentence. Compound feelings that expand decades. Generations of guilt and of suffering. We wear faces so that you do not pity what you do not understand; so that we do not have to expose our pain as if game caught by the lioness.
Smile now, cry later. There will always be the haters. Masquerade, play dress up until you are old and grey. You made it out little one, but the outlook is about the same. Masking tape, it’s an old school kind of make – shift, classics always keep the party going late. I can’t promise everything will be OK only that your story is still being made.
Telling tales at Tiny’s. Trudging through turf too tough por la lugar el trabajo. Too much a burden for our parents. Too much their burden too. Together at Tiny’s sharing the weight we stand up right, because there is strength in our community. No matter how tiny we may be individually, together, we stand tall. In the land of the free and the home of the brave we speak our truths. For weren’t our forefathers begot by forefathers, begot by forefathers before them? Here before these countries even rose.
Pawns in someone else’s game. Hoping to be here long enough for someone to remember our name. Wishing someone cared where our head got laid. Waiting for an answer to a prayer long ago made.
Hearts – Part 2
I’m always questioning where I fit into the bigger scheme of things. Making friends with anyone who didn’t have one. Left behind the scenes, learned all about production. The outcast and downtrodden; lightening and cast calling. I encouraged you not to try to fit in, “Just be yourself. Let the tide come in, let it knock you down. You will learn to walk again.”
No sound. Find your rock. Your carcass. Your spot. Sift through the debris in the sandbox. This isn’t Sandlot. We don’t all come together in the end. It’s Stark. Hunting for another dog park, quick, Stand, it’s another Stephen King horror story, created for T.V. Look, it’s the real Stan. Landed a hot spot, then got kicked off his own land. Given a helping hand. Didn’t need one before you stepped in; now blocking the path to the Holy Land. Sacred ground, God’s House. Built by David, dedicated as a spouse.
If nuns are married to God, does that make him a polygamist? Jesus Christ?! You are playing with Mary Magdalene, home slice. I don’t know. Maybe Mohammad had it right? Either way being gay is as bad as joining the Alt-Right, it ain’t right.
Plucked out both your eyes. Fags, alveoli, spies, telling lies. Internalized. Hearing the women’s cries. Your mothers and sisters begging for a chance to be alive. To see their family survive, in this life and for all of time.
Anno Hijiri. Pick a date. Be Mine. Genie of the Lamp, Arabian Nights. They left out the Persian Kings but touched on the Byzantines. Schools out. Brick and mortar. Spine cracked out, looking fine, withering on a vine, we lost another one, in gestation, dreams can’t come to fruition if you are stuck at the station. No train coming through to help distribute.
Multiply your audience. Establish an institute. Be astute. Ignite. Set yourself alight. It’s Fright Night where the dead come alive. It’s your time to shine Star Bright. Hadh Saīd, Mashallah. Follow each lead. Shed some light. Manifest Destiny. We are creating each life. Prepare for ascent. Catch your flight. May peace be with you. May your spirit be light.
Nair – Part 3
Is it Ego or are you complex. Oedipus. Standing at the brink of a precipice, staring face to face with your nemesis. Self-reflection is a Bitch.
Never able to scratch that itch. Treating every woman you meet like she is God’s gift to your fridge. A slab of meat for you to eat, dispose of on your front steep. Told they’re sweet, but to get beat, or they’ll get beat, because they will never be as sweet as your mother’s queef stink, and you’ve always liked the way your cradle creaked.
You’ve got a sentimental streak. Probably what attracted me. How passionately you spoke through all that ivory, described to me your love of family, revealed only having eyes for me. Now even more puzzling when standing at crossroads, the only one questioning with all this deception an’ people taking stands while their head is in the sand. Making demands. Trying to tell you what side the coin always lands.
Being your own man means being Mr. Jones? Jonesin’ for the next drop like some coked up hoes. Dropping off the radar like some shot down drones. Forgetting what you are made of is skin and bones. Susceptible to unravel just like your clothes, but you’re right. You will never meet another woman who will just know. Always come to your rescue like your very own hero.
Following blindly like sheep in those stories told. Created you in her image, a perfect mold. As you rot the weak around you and spoil the ripest lot. Feeding your own wretched cause to break a smile on ole Ms. Clause, getting a break from those big ole paws, ‘cuz I guess beatin’ cubs down gets excused when it’s just been moms.
Maybe, you are blessed, with bad luck like you say. ‘Cuz lately I have been feeling warm at the end of each day. Like suddenly I’ve been caught in a perpetual sun ray, ready to play.
You chose to stay as I sailed away. Riding on the horizon, uncovering new ways. A lone gun, always on the run, keeping it fresh, tide, E in a bun. No Nair.
Can’t stop me from having fun. It’s never been about you hun; Mental Wealth, keep the change son. Excuse me? Think a-gun. Blick Blick, you’re done.
Watch What You Eat – Part 4
You chose, knee on, ink’ because it was bright, like flies attracted to the light. Can’t generate your own Tom, Eddie, son, I birthed you by accident just trying to change the nation.
Invested in the wrong chump, J.P. Morgan could have picked a better one. Tesla waited in his grave for the glory Elon won.
Hanging with the petty people, rep-petty people, copy after copy people. Skip the Coffee People, “I take caffeine pills with my Adderall,” psilocybin, mourning, spent that dough, insurance, “Life’s Too Short, gotta cop something, irreplaceable,” trading in the creased pair for the younger one, replaceable, Tam, Dick, and Jerry. Stud? Hanging my coat on them. Thanks for your services. On the Wall. Carnations.
When did making jokes stop being called, processing? Becoming more of an issue than Wars and Famine. When did we decide to assume the worst? Blowing our proverbial cannon. Verbal diarrhea, revealing your emotional baggage. Cerebral, creating problems, because you have none.
35. Average Age of Death. Save Our Transgender Children! Check your statistics. Which categories did you overcome? Looks to be that you are still stuck in the dumb_bitch one. Never growing old isn’t never growing up. You don’t get the power if you don’t Billy up.
Hook. Not Sandy. Uvalde. Boulder. Look, Ruger. It’s one shot. We aren’t in Parkland. It’s not an Aurora. Living in your lies is pulling you in deeper. Hades, be of service to the people.
It’s my reign. I’ve got dinner on, and I’m watching this game. The King is taking his time getting changed. Knows, it’s going to be a Hot Girl Supper. These bitches be wasting my time. Judas, it’s your last supper.
Chicken Soup – Part 5
I can see what you’ve been eating, by what you believe in, Trash. Bitch you ain’t Baby Bash. Bitch you ain’t earn that cash. Robitussin stash. Pissed on MASH; always looking for the Mansion in something devilish and handsome.
Tied-up-side-down no-hands, hoping for a crowd. Kinky shit, yeah, we get real loud; but you don’t deserve that. Sit down. They have you all turned around. Leaving your loved ones bleeding out. Cop that iPhone, iWatch, Cycle – Out – bye, Bi, more like open to living a lie, to get that pie, whole, stuffed, anything for a little love, lust.
Loneliness. Can’t sit with yourself. Low on wealth. Mentally burnt-out shit shack, sack, lit that, track, run bitch, I let the dogs out; hounds sick em, B5 flip em. Go get your vitamin D, maybe then you will see that it’s bigger than you and me.
When seeing ain’t believing always feeling Stone Wall-E trying to get that ball, Eve-ah, you ain’t got that speed. Hun, you’re trailing behind, can’t see. I’m too bright, you’re blind like a bat, and can’t hear nothing. I called you out – oh, you ain’t hear nothing. That’s why you ain’t here, Nothing.
Empty room, only one saying something. Storing up my wealth, on another plane/plain dumplin’, “Chickens cackling in a barn,” yeah, just like this one. Drowning in that soup. It’s time, heal your soul, not mine.
Marathon.
Climb that Mount.
Jeronimo.
Get that clout.
Flower, pedal, sprout.
Decidere.
Times running out… legacies…
NiteLite – Part 6
What happened to you? What is it that you refuse to discuss? Well known to embellish. Stories glorified from moments most certainly made up. Why not tell your story? Let us see your grit and your grime. The truth is so much more interesting than the lie.
You were my first superhero. I wrote a story about how you saved the world; about how strong you were. I plead the case for why you were #1, The Best Role Model for all the little girls to come. You taught me how to laugh. You taught me it was OK to cry. You encouraged me to be whomever I wanted to be and that women were most beautiful when they were free.
I remember you telling me the only person I needed to worry about at the end of each day was myself. Not to worry about anyone else, “the wrestling match is between you and yourself.” I think of that often. How is it that you live with yourself, having abandoned me on that fortnight. Left me to slay dragons with an empty armory, save the harmony of my heart and the symphony within my soul to inoculate me.
Imaginary protection hung off my innocence, giving me an illusion of normalness, intact, though lacking a sense of commonness. Living in the clouds above the rest, waiting for the day that they join the sky-fest, fly-fest, best-crest: steadfast and reckless.
What is our family crest? Why do you feel that this story is better laid to rest? Why can’t you remember the connection we made as I laid upon your chest suckling at your breast? Despite what you may think, I do not hate you. I love you. At times those two things can look a lot alike; but pick up the phone or come home. Maybe neither of these are options anymore, but Mom, I Love You.
I know that you were abused too. I know you have been hiding in the shadows for what must seem like an eternity. I know, that for you, honesty would be revolutionary. I know authenticity is all you ever wanted from me and like a fire I rose.
Like the light on the darkest of nights that I cannot hide, I am the Phoenix. And like a bird, I took flight. I soared high. I fell in love with the sky. And for that, I thank you. You are the flame that fuels my life. I only want to tell you that.
I want you to think about what good you did as you lay down your head. That when you are wrestling on the darkest of nights you can remember my light. The good that you did in your life.
It only takes a spark, and I fused, built to ignite. Someone just had too lite it.
I’d like to thank everyone for contributing to my life and all the vastness of experience that it itself offers. I don’t know what the future holds, or what holdings from the past I have yet to settle. It is not my intention to harm anyone, nor slander them. If we have not spoken for some time, it may or may not be due to your contributions but understand that I hold no ill will. In this life we will have many lessons and as such, it is my perspective, we have been given the fortune and opportunity to make mistakes, from which we can choose to grow.
To my parents. I hope you know that I have and will always love you. For better or worse without you I would not be the person that I am, and I am better for having known you. Mother, you were my first home.
To Earvin. You are my rock. You are my better half. You make the air worth breathing and the flowers worth smelling. I will always stop for you. Like a meteorite you crashed into my world and as is true with the birth of any new era, there was first a great extinction, from which we too had to survive.
To my fellow women. We need you. We need you to be present with us. We need you to share your histories’. We need you to take sovereignty over your lives’.
Note from the Author.
Authors
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Barbra E. Bond |
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ABORT.me |
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