Visions of The Wild.

“Inner gifts Do not find their way To creatures without just respect. If a man or woman flails about, he not only Smashes his house, He burns the whole world down. Your depression is connected to your insolence And your refusal to praise. “
-Rumi


Visions of The Wild.

Refusal to praise...
This, the lesson before me.
to sing
the praises of that which is light in the world.
To speak faithfully of all I am blessed to see.
An unapologetic, unignorant, unanonymous,
a witness to life itself
Despite the tremors...
the howling
The Growling Foul Nothing
that threatens to wreck us from all sides...
it is when you focus only on that darkness
 that you miss the light
spilling through the “Crack in everything”
A crack sang into consciousness
a father to my soul.
A sage in a poet’s skin..
a light to walk toward...
perfect pupils for a lifetime
And yet quite suddenly: I can see.

I WILL bring forth what is within me.
For I see the catastrophic looming now and things ARE going to slide... These visions clearer, dreams of future-past, more lucid than ever before

I am NOT a worthy... I am new wine in torn new skin. I am earless paintings, and girl interrupted and bell jars. Waking life and eternal sunshine...
and maybe I am the cheese.

I will bring it, as if I was my favorite superhero’s, Donnie Darko and Jeanne D’arc, all the same.

This imperfect offering of a heart full of so much aching LOVE for everyone and everything that it swells to bursting with seas of sorrow and mountains of adoration

This miasma heart that threatens nightly to collapse in devastation... destroying everything in an instant...

this heart that might just be my end.
That has been pierced as often as there are stars in the boiling seas..
This heart I scream at. Hurling ugly thrift store mugs at for being so stupid and sensitive.
This heart that left unguarded, feels every single microscopic particle of venom and still holds vipers with all the tenderness of a fool without measure.

This heart I have been numbing over and over
Sipping addictions through my eyes and closing my ears. My own hands wrapped around my throat, holding back the projectile pain.

Conscious but Catatonic
A Cowering child  between torrential rainstorms...

Scolding and trying to silence for a lifetime.
This heart that is my greatest gift.
And throat by which she shines...

I will not go quietly, slipping out through the basement door at midnight. .
This is a time for smashing shit up.
For shards of glass under my barefeet.
And for trusting that my callouses are in the needed places...
Breaking out of that box I Spoke of once In a poem... twenty years ago.
 Locked in a diner surrounded by fellow liars and cowards... blowing smoke rings and eating soggy fries smeared in canned gravy and cheese product.

The fear.
The shackles on that foolish girl.
The daemon still the same that holds me down
The adversary that punches me in the chest every time I have dared to gaze up ...
out past the bars...
to the whole damned universe outside...
and the wisps of her Gods

The music sung... the monkey done.
This box is sprung:
My iron lung.

And I?
Dabbling in magic and madness in turn until they meet and merge their imperfect bodies.
The birthing room being lovingly prepared...
Though I can’t say who’s eyes and smile she will have I know for sure that her heart is of Gold
...no.
God.

bewildered yet emboldened
Coming of age clumsily.
Stumbling constantly as I learn the finer details of my instrument...

I am lioness and peahen in one.

Hear me squawk.

Kalee Featherwise Prue Mead
1/6/2020