Some people Love.
Some hate, choking on vile they created.
A few dance in and out,
looking at things that look back.
I like to think, maybe, about a laugh
I didn’t know, then speak it into being.
For the ones who hate without knowing-
That’ll be for them to solve.
Death is but stitch in the side.
It doesn’t end.
But our memory will be there.
-M. Taggart
A lot of love
goes into healing hate.
Not the other way around.
-M. Taggart
We walk into the shadow of death to pull one wounded child from its depths, to find another daft man standing in the corner. Leaves are shuffling outside my window. A man with a golden heart is gone. Another stands in a room looking. Don’t block me. I am here and at least I have my fingers. The man in the room standing, looking daft, asks for silence because silences never questions. Never says a damn word. The girl with the golden brow would have cared for a word. And the boy with the covers pulled tight would have cared for the same.
**
copyright 2017
-M. Taggart
lying face down-
with vomit spilling from his mouth
we let him be
We tried to tell him with words-
Hard top roads
are all the same-
only this one-
is yours
Tomorrow-
after the stench has cleared,
He’ll speak with a clean tongue-
And tell you everything you want to hear
**
copyright 2017
Fill the bags. Fill them all. Tell them not to talk. Take a walk with me. Hold my hand. It is dark. The purple has spoken in our face with breath of beer. Hide our forehead. Hold my hand. Out our bedroom door is the hallway. This hallway is different. It has holes. The bathroom is more different than the hallway. The holes in the bathroom have eyes.
-M. Taggart
Copyright 2017
Fuck you bird. You’re on my leaf.
We compromised
and the bird took the leaf.
I smoked my cigar
wanting to know more about the bird.
After he took my leaf I watched him fly into the trees
That bird made a lot of noise in those trees
with my leaf
I let the smoke engulf my face
while I thought about why I cared
about the bird and life and race and black and white
Have the leaf
it wasn’t really mine
The bird was a cardinal.
-M. Taggart
copyright 2017
A Short Story
Written by -M. Taggart
Copyright 2017
Don’t Watch Her Cry
It hurt to watch her cry. She convulsed. Her head shook up and down. I wanted to put my arms around her. She was hating me. Maybe, though she needed it. It was my fault. I didn’t know my words damaged her this badly. Now though, I could see what each of them had done. Her hair was down and I couldn’t see her face. I only saw tears dropping near her feet.
Another me had raised my arms and put them around her shoulders. I fought the mind game I placed on myself. If she hates me, let her rot. Let her rot in Hell. My arms pulled her head to my chest. I could feel my heart beat. I hate my heart beating.
‘Don’t. It’s O.K. I Love you.’
She convulsed and my heart now hated me.
‘I don’t know. I don’t want this. Listen, I love you. You don’t believe me, but, I do. I don’t want what I said. I’m sorry.’
Her neck smelled so nice. Her tears too. My thoughts struggled.
She didn’t push away. I pulled her closer. Maybe it wasn’t over. ‘I just want to have you back.’ her throat full, ‘You use to be so amazing. You were, incredible.’ she had huffed the words through.
I was. I were. I am not. I am nothing. I hate myself. My heart can now stop completely.
My other self rubbed her back and told her I loved her and that it would be O.K.
She stood. Not ripping from me, but leaving me. ‘I don’t know how it can be again.’ tears streamed down her beautiful face, dripping from her chin. ‘But I think it will be.’
We sit, clashing smiles, seeing each other, hoping for blood. Again. It’s not enough to read our history. Word of mouth is a joke we understand, it’ll only play out nicely when we kill one another. Don’t you agree. The boy was confused by the rock. It was a menacing rock. He’d been deep in the woods and fallen asleep next to it. ‘Why do you speak to me, rock.’ the rock did not reply.
M. Taggart
Copyright 2017
Listen as your tears fall. They roll nice. They smell fine. It’s not your wisdom falling it’s your fading. Space found a place just now when you went thinking. -M. Taggart copyright 2016.
I recently read a very powerful blog post. This post brought many mixed emotions. I was back. I felt the anger that I so often leaned on. This anger freed me. This anger spread and fueled my existence. I’ve felt hate. Not the hate confused people feel that’s connected to skin color, or a bad opinions. That isn’t hate. That’s brain washed self involved nothing. Hate leaves a scar so deep it’s only filled with tissue that grows. It’s not forgotten, it’s hidden until it’s needed. This hate comes from a trauma caused to you by others. This is not a hate that can be washed off or cleansed through speaking. I turned toward violence as a blanket for comfort. There is truth in violence. There’s no hidden agenda in blood being spilled when I was the one who spilled it. I still look back and wonder how so many stood watching and were hidden from allowing themselves to truly see. How is this possible.
Now. I’ve come through. I’m here and I’ll stay here. I only wish I could give so many others what I have found.
I’m trying to organize my blog a bit. I’ve put this ‘post’ into my ‘Odd Walking Thoughts’ category. You might find something of interest.
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/category/odd-walking-thoughts/
Have a good Wednesday,
Matt
mtaggartwriter 