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Bedevil


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It’s your birthday month.  Will someone bring on the Bacardi rum?  I no longer feel the sun since you’ve been gone.

 

I want you to trouble me, puzzle, muscle and rebuttal me.  I want you to disturb me, discern, immerse and return to me.  I want you to haunt me, taunt, flaunt and want me.

 

I think I found love with you.  I spoke to mourning doves about you.  I swear I found a home with you.  I even ask the honeycomb on my altar about you.

 

I think I found wholesomeness with you.  I’ve been at homelessness without you.  I swore I kissed the skies when I was with you.  I even ask my thighs why they cry now that I’m without you.

 

You put a love inside me I can’t get rid of and at times, you were my antidepressant drug, the one I sometimes dream of handcuffed, strangely enough.

 

I’ve been cold since we both disappeared.  I haven’t found my heart in two years.  Won’t you appear with your childlike light in my sullen atmosphere?

 

I had a boyfriend who cared about me but he came with his own limits, his own gimmicks and every minute he’s attempting to disguise low spirits with a million cigarettes.

 

He’s nothing like you and you’re nothing him and that’s just one problem.  You barely came with conditions or superstitious wishes, but you were the warmth and blood to my heart even when it rocked bottom.

 

And I look to the sky and I ask why.  I look far and I look wide and the answers were because I cried honesty rather than decide to spend the night with pride.  You made me work for forgiveness like I was some damn spy.

 

What if I asked you to send for me?  What if I asked for your body?  What if I admitted to my monstrosity?  What if every fear we own were given to prophecy?  Would it change the divinity of possibility?

 

I can’t forget the first glance that cemented our song and dance.  I can’t clean the scent of your home from my hands.  I can’t eradicate the taste of you from my throat glands.

 

What if I still loved you beyond this distance and chip on my shoulder?  How am I to know when my heart froze that last time in October when my entire life as I knew was over?

 

And if I show up at your door, will you come?

 

Trouble me.

Disturb me.

Haunt me.

 

-Pennington

Vital Home


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I stretch long and strong and wide like a rainbow.  I have my colors back from my fair complexion – and the ones I deem underneath my skin – muscles.  I bask once again in the glory of my religion at the gym; eight months later after being snatch up from a break and fall accident.  I’m finally home.  And I welcome myself back with the eyes and psyche of a new foundation and fresh perspective that glitters like gold from the inside out with positivity and nourishment that stems from redefining everything in my life.

It’s been a long while – shy of four months to make a full year.  But now, I’m in my happy place where endorphins give way to my bipolar lows so I can obtain a high again.  The gym is where I center myself, where I create the magic concoction to establish balance and management of my historic chemical imbalances.  It’s where I get to feel the rush of heat on my chubby cheeks and where I get to unleash my every day aggression.  It’s where I thrive on the blood that swirls in burn and ache in every direction from the temple of my body and mind.

I’m once again grateful for all the higher powers that be for allowing me to feel my muscles with hurt on every movement I push without limits.  I enjoy each turn as I wince out of delight from a rotation where my oblique contracts and I involve myself in the flashback of yesterday:  Engaging full integrity on a few hours of work.  Because for a while I forgot how soreness felt.  I forgot about the subtle peaks in muscles.  I forgot about the way those peaks slowly raise with fever over the course of the night and the next forty-eight hours heavy with temper – delayed onset muscular soreness.

The truth is:  I can live with every part of my body given to the brutal pain of a committed lift.  I can dedicate my entire life to infinite repetitions.  I can die happy on my last breath being exerted against the resistance of iron, and the cerebral connection vital for my mental, spiritual and emotional therapy.  I mean, after all is said and done, the gym is a home dedicated to self-love, despite the general mundane (and sometimes) pieces of a day to day.  This is where my importance lies and one of the many things that gives my life character, spirit, purpose and beauty.

-Pennington

Bird


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This bird has outgrown many things in the past months from dying love, to cold friends and to the importance of new love and family. She’s even outdone her physical therapy vicinity and the assistance of their aids. There are always new things to learn, but the most crucial for birdie has been to take charge of her therapy (as she knew right from the beginning). Never allow others to dictate your weakness, strength or levels of success. You must always hold yourself accountable; for this is where the profound and strength of character lives.

The past two weeks birdie had been working with a new PT. She calls bird ma’am, yet thinks birdie is in her twenties rather than thirties. The unfortunate issue — is this new vibrant young lady came a little too late. Birdie both likes and appreciates her techniques and her promising nature. Birdie can sense the love this young flower has for her Physical Therapy work — and how it comes with new eyes, a thirst for knowledge, a keen ear, unstained years of senorioty rights and a clear vision of great passion.

What’s more unfortunate is this birdie is almost gone and is going to leave the Physical Therapy nest behind. She had a long run (4 months), and she didn’t agree with everything, and in some cases they actually hindered her (by overworking her and allowing her to sustain tendonitis in her foot). Still, birdie benefited in multiple ways like overcoming mental blocks and flying and getting out of the house. This birdie is going back home, to the religion, to the glitz, to the empowerment, to the intimacy and love of the gym because there’s more equipment that can be used to improvise.

Birdie can get to where she needs to be quicker (although patience is still the key as she’s no where near 100%) — for in winter, there are only so many ways one can handle the force knocking of the wind and friendly snow that turns to dangerous ice; not to mention the horrid rain outside. However, by the time spring comes; this little birdie will put all her hopes on the comfort of blue skies, delicate breeze and warm sunshine. 🙂

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-Pennington

Home



I can’t get started.

Your home is peaceful.  The colors on the walls are earthly, copper, brown, beige, and neutral with personal tones.

I want to believe the elephants and dancer figurines, the artifacts, all the photos in all the frames and all the shrines that take its place are a fraction of your personality.

I don’t even know how to talk to you.

It’s odd this life, being on the opposites and contrasts roads from young to mature.  Strange that if I want to tell you how to live your time how do I trek about it?  You were my adult when I was a child and to be your adult when you’re the child is unanticipated as the moon turning from blue to bleeding orange.  It comes marching and blunt like wind.  Questions whirl.  Responsibility flies overhead and it hangs above like a waving broken handle, barely any verve.  And why would I want this power?

There are many things I wish to learn but am I bold enough to ask during a time when we eat dinner, drink wine and speak of life insurance and I having to direct life-altering decisions that will affect everyone else around and me until my demise.

Will there be a burial?  Will we cut a day because of the expense or force the hand of cremation?  And how many of the relatives will go in the grave this year?

-Pennington

Family, Exposure & Monogamy


Somewhere between the age of twenty-nine and thirty I’ve learned to stop being super strong mentally and to stop being selfish when it comes to people who may not love me in the way common people hold on to their ideal definition of what it’s like to be family.  But things are what they are.  Many times it’s better if one understood sooner than later:  It’s okay to cutoff the systematic approach of over-complicating your life just because you FEEL it’s important or at the very least are filled with bottomless need of something (anything) to continually complain about because it consists of your selfishness and attachment to life.

The thing that bugs me out is how I had the type of childhood where I couldn’t wait to grow the fuck up.  So by the time I made it out my teenage years I ran away from my family as far as I fucking could hoping to deny who, what and where I came from.  (But never to the extent of my pathological liar brother who’s so shameful he tells everyone he’s from Greece.)  At first it was spectacular and I forgot somebody’s sperm and somebody’s egg created me.  In the middle of my twenties I had the hardest time forgiving my family when it was me I needed to forgive.  FUCK THEM!

Than some time last year until the present I realized just how much I’ve missed out on everybody else’s life like my one cousin who was shot 7 times by another man’s envy yet survived somehow.  Or how my other cousin has now been diagnosed with being bipolar and schizophrenic ever since he spaced the fuck out and shat in the living room of his house and started to finger-paint.  Then came my grandfather’s multiple heart attacks and aunt’s breast cancer.

Still what throws me for the biggest loop is catching up with my family brings me back to the thought of “Holy shit!  So I’m REALLY am a part of this dysfunctional family” especially when we started to share sex stories.  My aunt M (scratch that!) everyone in my family talks openly about sex in a way that is just like breathing air along with casual humor.

She starts out by saying how her last relationship was horrible and had to end it because the guy didn’t know how to fuck let alone eat pussy.  Than my mother chimed in with, “Why didn’t you teach him?”  “Aye no!  I don’t like teaching.”  I butted in, patted my mother on the back with a chuckle and said, “Well on my end it must be genetics.”  We all laughed, until my mother killed it by saying “My daughter must be the same good lover as me.”  ><

I can’t deny what lacks or breeds within me.  I’m bound by blood and shit.  Yeah, I know a lot of everything happens to be about exposure, and of course, about the very things we frequently collect such as our moral codes.  And I’m not sure, entirely why, I feel like speaking about this, except for the fact that it’s in the forefront of my mind but:  Monogamy.

Some people believe in it and others don’t.  Either way I believe it stems (typically and/or sometimes) from our introduction at home and no matter how anybody makes it seem Monogamy is a Personal Choice (and unnatural ;)).  Monogamy and I don’t get along simply because I look at this word and the baggage it comes with as a matter of possession, not of love or kindness.  And growing up I didn’t have anyone to help me look at it otherwise (nor do I want to at this point in time :D).

In my family, every single person I’m aware of cheats on their partner, spouse, lover, boyfriend, girlfriend with someone at some point of their lives whether they believed they had a good reason for it or not.  The other day I was telling my nonexclusive partner once again:  How I rather be in an open-relationship than the closed one we used to share for the thousand time.   And I used the story my aunt M told everyone in the kitchen to prove the point of why I feel I am the way that I am:  Her son (who’s her favorite by the way) calls her daily on the phone to speak about how he met someone (WHO IS NOT HIS WIFE) who has the fattest ass.

M never mentioned whether he’s already being unfaithful but goes on to say, “I can’t tell him he shouldn’t cheat or mess around with other girls.  He’s just twenty-three years old and married young with an 8-month year old baby.  He needs to experience and have his adventures.  But I tell him he has to delete all the text messages he sends out and receives quickly because his wife who’s already insecure about herself will leave him and she’ll never let me see my grandson again..especially if she found out I was giving him this kind of advice.”

I always felt that before you get into a “closed” relationship with anyone you should learn as much as possible about where their family comes from and what their core values are and what their culture reflects and yada yada yada.  Example:  I dated a Chinese man years ago and never knew I was dating an entire custom so deep that behind my back his toxic family would set him up on dinner dates with Chinese women for an arrange marriage in the near future.

Another important factor is just how great or poor their parenting skills are in terms of these great examples that are not to be taken likely and based on true stories:  Are they the kind of parents to help their children get away with actual murder, such as allowing their son/daughter to pass HIV to their current partner even though the entire family knows about it?  Or are they the type of parents who want the best for their children and actually guide them slightly into leading a fulfilling life with their girlfriend/boyfriend, but have enough decency to never personally conflict their own lives?

Lastly, no matter how much your husband/boyfriend or wife/girlfriend claims to not get along with their parents (like me!) children (no matter how old we become) tend to shadow their first little-known role-models.  It’s hard to be something we aren’t when we primarily are created in our parents image (or whoever we grew up with).  To avoid a situation like the story above (in a sense) it helps to know where your partner came/comes from because (more than likely – unless they experienced a traumatic experience that takes them completely out from who they were) that’s where they’re heading.  Unless again, you come from my family and it’s unfaithful exposure where it’s AUTOMATICALLY AND LITERALLY ENCOURAGED TO HAVE AN AFFAIR/CHEAT.

I’m not saying I condone awful behavior like cheating on your significant other and hope the secrets you’re busy covering up won’t catch up to you (because they will).  What I am saying is I have an understanding and a knack for why people decide to make the personal choice of being mindfully faithless according to the in’s and out’s of my family.  Key word:  Exposure.

Thoughts are welcome.

-Penn