haiku10

“for your brother is like you

he wants to be happy

never harm him

and when you leave this life

you too will find happiness”

~dhammapada~

bursting, run swiftly

in love with love i cry, joy!

betrayed, we stumble

refugee

“ I could see the horizon, and I knew it was running away from me”

~Augusten Burroughs~

The first time I ran away from home I was seven years old. I took a $20 bill off of my dad‘s dresser. I climbed out of the bathroom window after dinner. I rode my bike across town to the grocery store and bought something to drink and cat food. The cat food was so that the clerk wouldn’t get suspicious of my BIG $20 bill. Then I rode my bike to Pilot Butte. I was going to live there, alone, forever. In the woods. By myself. But then it started to get dark, so I went to the payphone and I called my house. My mom was screaming. They had the police looking for me. And when the police found me, they never even asked me why I ran away.

The second time I ran away from home, I was 10 years old. I went down to the railroad tracks by the park by my house. I was going to live in a car and be a “bum”. Forever. I laid inside that stinky burnt out car for hours. But then it started to get dark and I was still in the car when a man showed up. He looked at me and said “You had better get home before you get hurt!” So I got out of the car and I ran home as fast as I could. The police were in the driveway. And I told them I got lost.

The third time I ran away from home, I was 15 and I took one of my dad‘s silver bars. It was worth $100. I was going to sell it and buy a car and drive to California with my boyfriend and stay there. Forever. But I could not sell the bar because I was not 18 years old. So instead, we went to his house and sat in his room. My mom showed up and banged on the door and yelled from the outside. We coward on the floor, but we did not answer the door. Then shortly after that his mom showed up and brought us a pizza. She talked to us. Then she said that my mom had called her and that she had to take me home or that my mom was going to send the police. She drove me home.

The fourth time I ran away I was 15. Again. I called my boyfriend. And I said “I’m taking the car and I’m leaving at midnight and I’m going to Mexico and I’m never coming back.” He didn’t hesitate, “I’m coming with you” he said, even though he had no reason to leave. At midnight, we left. Drove to the border,  California, “Do you have any fruits or vegetables?” That was all they asked and I had expected helicopters in search of me. We were almost mugged in San Francisco. Then got the car stuck on a hill, it was a stick shift. But we kept going. Drove for 36 hours with no sleep and finally pulled over to sleep. Then a police officer shined his flashlight in the car. Told me to get in his car. Told my boyfriend to follow us. Called my mom. Told her running away was not illegal. He couldn’t hold me longer than a couple hours. My aunt who lived in California came. Then my parents came. They took me home. I said, “If you hit me. If you ground me. If you say, I can’t see my boyfriend. You’ll never find me again.” I meant it. And they knew it. That was the last time I ran away. Until I was thrown away. Thrown out like garbage.

five bright lights

the first i loved, then i hurt. the first i met, then left. i cared immediately, immensely. she was two. and i loved deeply. my little butternut squash. i had you for seven years and then you were lost. no goodbye. no hug. just gone. if i didn’t want him, he said i couldn’t have you.

the second existed for twelve weeks inside of me. a part of me, a part of him. i wanted you, he wanted no one. not me. not you. he pushed. i broke. i lost. he gained.

…a decade passed…

the third existed for two weeks inside of me. a part of me. a part of he. he was new. he was dad. simply. he wanted you. and he wanted me. i wanted you too. but. oh, but. i was too scared. too broken. too small. and then you were gone.

the fourth and fifth came together. blonde hair and blue eyes. like his eyes. daddy’s eyes, daddy’s girls. the eyes of love. love at first sight, when i saw his. when i saw yours. we grew. we loved. we laughed. we lived. we were a we. family. for years. then, oh then. and then we lost. the trauma and the drama won. it beat us all. it beat itself. and we all lost. everyone lost.

“phantom limb syndrome: the sensation of feeling and pain in a limb that has been amputated.”

another word for becoming

 “i am the spirit who always denies.”

~Mephistopheles~

become the spirit that you are and that will never change.

become the forest, the tree, the air.

become your own soul that will never be forgotten.

becoming your true friend and your own guide.

becoming the person that will guide your journey.

becoming a forceful believer in the process.

became an expert in the process of learning and growing in energetic dimensions.

became an active participant in this life.

became more involved with the local ecology.

became a person becoming a soul to become.

escape

 "Through the window from my bed, I see the boundless space - no ending, no beginning of immensity. Sometimes it is a light pastel color of blue, sometimes it is foggy, murky, unclear and stifling, and sometimes it is clear through. Colors change many times a day. 

Nothing is the same, everything changes."  ~Hibi~

security is false,

the alarms are unchecked

untethered

they ring,

without smoke.

stop. it's a false alarm.

turn it off.

make it stop.

silence that incessant ringing.

sympathetic nervous system overload.

burnout.

burn.

(burn it to the ground)

the signals were crossed,

at conception.

haywire.

unbound.

unshackled.

unfettered.

unbridled.

unwinding.

(or perhaps i am already unwound)

the road,

only continues.

no end in sight.

you think you see,

the finish line.

but it is

a corner,

a curve,

a bend.

did you hear me,

Bend!

do the work!

but i've done the

fucking work!

so, turn the page.

finish the chapter.

close the book,

and for god's sake,

turn off that goddamn light!

so i can get some rest.

 and forget.

forget you.

forget you all.

possibly forgive.

forgive!?

forgive who,

you?

fuck you.

fuck you.

that's right.

can you hear me?

i said,

FUCK YOU!

(how unlady like)

you don't deserve

my forgiveness.

you never even

asked.

but,

however,

and meanwhile...

 

i deserve to forgive you.

the chains that bind,

me to you

you to me

need to be bent 

and broken.

i will complete the ceremonial burning in this ritual called life. i will chant the words. i will bow my head to god and raise my finger to you. i will lift my hands to the sky and enact the rights. i will cry unto the heavens until i am heard. 

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW!!

then, i will wrap the pages - i will wrap the past. i will release it and release you. i will give it away for a stranger to find. in some book box along the road when all they wanted was a good novel to escape into.

and you won't even know. because you don't even care.

is this poetry?

or did i just

vomit my soup.

multiplicity

I think I was 10 years old. I think I was in the 3rd grade. I know where I lived and I remember the bathroom. My mom wanted to be a photographer. She had a cheap camera. She said that there was a photo contest advertised in the paper. It had a $100 cash prize. The requirement for the picture was that it had to be three of the same image. Triple. 

I had long hair that went down to my bottom. My mom said that my hair belonged to her until I turned 14 years old. I was not allowed to cut it. She didn't even trim it. It was thick and brown and came to a long pointed V in the back.

She said that she wanted to take an "artsy fartsy" picture of me; naked. I was to stand in the bathroom, with my hair parted down the middle and coming down the front of me to the sides and over my shoulders, to cover my nipples. She brought in an extra mirror and tried to stand in a way that she would not be in the picture and to angle it just right so that there would be three of me. She took many photos of me. I didn't like being naked but I liked having my mom's attention. She kept telling me how pretty I was and fussing with the positioning of my hair.

Not too long afterwards I asked if I could see the photos. She said "No." And, to this day, I have never seen the photos. I asked her one other time if she won the contest and she said "No." She seemed mad at me when I asked her. So I never asked again.

doctors

AGE EIGHT

Every time I saw this doctor I had an ear infection. I always had ear infections and sinus infections and chest infections. Four to six times a year. Both of my parents smoked a pack a day; in the house and in the car and everywhere that we were. I always reeked of smoke and I was always sick.

And every single time I saw this doctor for an ear infection he would put cold water in a large syringe and then flush out my ears. It hurt so bad and I would cry and moan. I hated seeing him! My chest would ache and I wouldn’t be able to breathe just knowing that I had to go see him again. He never talked to me when I was in the office. He only spoke to my mother and he said very little even to her. I remember him. His face. I shouldn’t because we never saw him again after the age of eight. 

But on this day, the last time that I saw him, I had an ear infection and a rash on my chest. Just some small red dots. My mother mentioned it to him; after the ear flushing. He said he’d need to take some polaroids of my chest, “for the files” and that my mother should “leave the room”. 

And she did. She just left me alone in there with him. 

I took off my clothes and he took pictures of me. Later, after my mother told my father, they became upset. Yelling and screaming at each other and then they called the doctors office. They refused to pay the bill. I could hear them in the kitchen. But they never talked to me about it. Never asked me what had happened. Never asked me what he did. Never said to me that it wasn’t ok and that it wasn’t my fault. 

They only time they spoke to me about it was a few years later when they went to buy a house and had to pay the bill because he had sent them to collections. They said: "that guy was such a quack!" 

There is a park in Bend Oregon named after him; for being such an astounding citizen and pediatrician. 

AGE ELEVEN

I had a root canal. My mother dropped me off. She had errands to run. I waited in the lobby alone. They called me back. I fell asleep. I woke up, shaking and sore in places that I should not be sore. My mother was late. I sat in the lobby, half asleep, waiting for her.

AGE FOURTEEN 

I was having lower abdominal pain, again. My mom took me to the emergency room in the middle of the night. The doctor said that they were going to have to do a “female exam” and asked my mom if I had ever had one before. 

“No.” she said simply. 

“Okay, would you like to stay in the room with her?” 

“No.” she said simply. 

Then she said, “I’ll wait in the lobby”.

And she walked out. She didn’t say anything to me, she didn't even look at me, she just left. She left me alone in there with the doctor.

She had never had “the talk” with me. Not my period, not sex, and certainly not this. I had no idea what was going to happen.

The doctor said get undressed and put on this gown.

I did. The same way I had always gotten undressed and put on a gown before. I left my underwear and bra on.

He walked back in with a female nurse. Told me to lay back. Put my feet in the stirrups. Spread my legs.

“She still has her underwear on!” and he just walked out.

The nurse said, “ you have to take your underwear off.”

“WHY!” I asked.

“To do the Exam.” and she walked out too.

I took my underwear off. My heart was thudding in my ears.

They came back in. Told me to lay back. Put my feet in the stirrups. Spread my legs.

And, OH MY GOD! My virgin vagina. It hurt so bad. What are they doing!? Are they raping me!?

I closed my eyes and held my breath. I couldn’t hear them but I knew that they were talking. All I could hear was my heart thudding. I opened my eyes and it was as if I had left my body. I could see the nurse handing the doctor a q-tip and it looked like it was the size of a baseball bat!! I closed my eyes again. OUCH!!! I stopped breathing.

“You can get dressed now.” And the doctor placed his hands on my knees and pushed them together. They were done.

I didn’t speak again for the rest of the time that we were there. Inside, I was gone. 

Afterwards my mother didn’t say anything to me about it. And I didn’t say anything to her. Why would I, she had left me in that room; with them. She had left me. She had just left me.

AGE FIFTEEN

I had surgery to remove endometriosis. At this point, a year after my first exam, I had had dozens of female exams. And I was always alone in the room with the male doctors. And I always "blanked out" during the exams. My mother always waited in the lobby; if she even came to the appointments at all. She liked to say that I was "faking it for attention". So sometimes my boyfriend had to give me a ride to my appointments as I wasn't old enough to drive yet. 

I had seen lots of doctors and it took awhile to figure out what was wrong with me. One of the doctors had even given me an anal exam, without telling me that he was going to do that before he did it or telling me why he did it afterwards. I remember that the second he left the room I jumped up, threw my clothes on, and ran out of the medical center crying. I literally bumped into a nurse on the way out and she said, "are you ok?" I didn't respond - I just kept going. My mother never asked me why I was crying or why I had run out of the office.

I had the surgery in June of 1992. I woke up from the surgery in a recovery room with a bunch of old men. I could hear them asking the nurse why I was in there and if I was ok. She said she wasn't allowed to say what was wrong with me. I called her over and said that I had to pee. She gave me a pan and said to do it there. I looked at the old men looking at me. They weren't bad men; they just looked concerned. But I handed her back the bed pan and said I'd wait and could she please get my mom. I thought my mom and dad would be there when I woke up.

The nurse came back in, "they are not here." I stayed in the recovery room for an hour. Alone. Then they wheeled me to my room. I kept thinking that my parents would be in there waiting. 

They weren’t.

I waited another hour then I called my parents house and my mom answered. She said she was doing laundry and that they would be there soon.

My parents arrived at the same time that my boyfriend did.

The doctor came in and he said he had been waiting for them so that he could talk to us all at once. He said I had a significant amount of endometrial tissue that had to be removed; especially around my left ovary. But that since I was young I should recovery fully and quickly. He also wanted me to start taking birth control pills to regulate my hormones.

He also said that I had done something that no other patient had ever done before... I had punched him in the groin in the middle of surgery! He said I "floored" him. And that they had to strap me down afterwards and that it took him several minutes to recover. He ruffled my hair and laughed while he told the story and it was actually pretty funny. I really liked this doctor. He was kind and spoke to me like an adult and explained everything.

My parents stayed for an hour or so, then left. My mom said she had to cook dinner. My boyfriend stayed until 8pm. Then the nurse came in and said that he would have to leave because visiting hours were over.

It was a long night. I was scared. The machine kept beeping. Nurses kept coming in.

Why did I always want my mom when I was scared even when I knew she didn't want me and she wouldn't make it better.

They were an hour late the next day picking me up.

where am i?

 

“Every time I move, I leave a small part of myself behind, a ghost of who I was in that place.”

“Moving forces you to confront every attachment, every habit, every comfort you’ve built, and say goodbye.”

"WE'RE GOING NOWHERE!!"

born in astoria oregon

MOVED

old mill in bend oregon @ age 3

MOVED

baseball park in bend @ age 5

MOVED

old mill in bend @ age 13

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homeless in joyce's rv in bend @ age 18

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first apartment in bend @ age 18

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east side in bend @ age 18

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mat’s grandpa’s in bend @ age 19

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deschutes river woods in bend @ age 19

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west side in bend @ age 20

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missoula montana for 2 weeks @ age 20

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colorado springs colorado for 2 weeks @ age 20

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back to bend @ age 20

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east side in bend @ age 21

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college in eugene oregon @ age 22

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second apartment in eugene @ age 23

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back to bend @ age 24

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tampa florida for a day @ age 24

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back to bend @ age 24

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east side in bend @ age 24

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east side in bend @ age 25

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back to eugene to finish college @ age 25

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second apartment in eugene @ age 26

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back to bend @ age 27

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to my parents in bend @ age 28

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west side in bend @ age 28

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west side in bend @ age 29

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east side in bend @ age 30

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sisters oregon @ age 31

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homeless at my parent's in bend @ age 32

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homeless at my in-law's in leland michigan @ age 32

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homeless at my parent's in bend @ age 32

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boise idaho @ age 32

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back to eugene @ age 33

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low incoming housing in eugene @ age 34

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back to bend at my folk’s @ age 34

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westside in bend @ age 34

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medford oregon @ age 35

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in medford @ age 36

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homeless tiny house build at cousin's in bend @ age 36

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homeless tiny house build at in-law's in eugene @ age 36

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tiny house in eugene @ age 37

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bought house in eugene @ age 38

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tucson arizona @ age 38

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bought house tucson @ age 39

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huntsville alabama temp @ age 42

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downtown huntsville @ age 42

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basement apartment in huntsville @ age  43

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jackson wyoming temp @ age 44

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wilson wyoming @ age 44

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washington DC temp @ age 47

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downtown DC @ age 47

i'm 48, I’ve moved 51 times.

“Home is not a place. It is a feeling.”

~Cecelia Ahem~