The blood sits on top of the toast
Like a buffer
Between the peanut butter and chocolate spread
But not
When I chew
I choke
When I choke
The blood comes out my nose
It falls on my toes
Warm
Not like the old rain and mud
A unity between flesh and fluid
But not
I think I broke my mind
The tissue paper won’t place it back together
Not even mixed with peanut butter chocolate spread and blood
I don’t think I like eating now
And I think I broke my mind
It walked down the hill
Dangled its feet over the railings and looked at the water
Heart beat racing chasing one hundred and fifty five
Skull as soft as confetti falling to the floor
A disagreement
Cancellation of the contract between breath and time
They transport the body
To that place
You know
But they do not collect the mind
It is uncollectible
Just blood mixed with peanut butter chocolate spread
Wiped lightly on the toast
I do not like this red spit
Like their spit
Like venom
They did not walk on hot coals
They rubbed me deep within it
I think I broke my mind
I think I know who did it
She is the only one left who looks
Into eyes which aren’t quite there
transitioning choking coughing
Pick a name and bury it deeper than the sound
Light a cigarette
she knows she knows
She holds the hammer
And hits
I think I broke my mind
I can’t find all the pieces.
Good poem
ReplyDeleteSo vivid throughout... I like the personification of the mind.
ReplyDeleteVivid. Painfully so. The scene plays out, the broken mind emerges, and the result feels nearly permanent.
ReplyDeletewow this was hauntingly wonderful and I hope it was helpful to write this. You expressed yourself very well...
ReplyDeleteJae, you are getting ever better with your words. Your repeats here are so well done, creating transitions all your own. You do indeed give the impression that all could be terrible with you but I know better than to take poetry that personally, so I am hoping I am right, that the poem is madness but the poet herself is just beautiful. I believe you have been there and have recall but not that you are there.
ReplyDeletethere is something so disturbing about the blood. As Christopher says the repetition through the poem is done well. It's very powerful.
ReplyDeleteI love the imagery of blood mixed with something as prosaic as peanut butter on toast. It's almost a metaphor for life itself - the life essence that can save us or kill us inseparable from the ordinary minutiae of daily living.
ReplyDeleteI think we all have our minds broken. Some are simply better at concealing the cracks.
Love the image and feeling of a mind breaking.....a truly thought- provoking piece......
ReplyDeleteThis piece is chocked full of images... some not so pretty, some are relative. I think you do "know". I really don't like the "blood mixed with peanute butter chocolate spread," but the image is fabulous, so beautiful to imagine. It is a word "puzzle". A wonderful write... retriving the missing pieces.
ReplyDeleteThank you Chris..
ReplyDeleteThank you Laurie..like a little hamster in your noodle (well mine at least..) ;)
Thank you Kim..nearly..being the pivot..
Thank you..it did..unfettered..
Thank you Christopher..very kind of you to say..I hope I am not thoroughly there..writing is the buffer...if words come..sanity
follows...
Thank you kindly Dandelion Girl..
Yes indeed Ann..depends how nifty you are with the putty..a flawless mind would be very dull..perhaps..although it would be nice to try on for size..just for a day..
Thank you very much Joanne..
Thank you Annell..it is a puzzle of sorts..even writing it..perhaps the frustration is in knowing..because knowing is thinking and thinking is thick and sticky as peanut butter..but not always tasty..
There is something disturbing and yet so real in drops of blood mixing with toast and peanut butter. Nose bleeds do strike at the most weird of times. This whole thing reminded me of Humpty Dumpty, except we all know that your writing is what saves your (ours too) sanity. And, Jae is helping J to put herself back together again, despite the falls, the knocks, the hammer blows.
ReplyDeleteYes, your writing helps to save you, from yourself. I still am in awe of how you get right down into the atomic level of thoughts and turn it all into words we all can feel and (sometimes) understand some of what your torments are.
Another fabulous write Jae.
Thank you DayDreamer..I never understood nursery rhymes..but eggs on walls never good..funny..coincided with an egg balancing event in J's real life..maybe next write..always appreciate your insight..
ReplyDeleteI love your writing,,this is special as I sometimes can't find my mind either :-) Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThere was not any pretty imagery, but life isn't always pretty, is it? I like to think that all the missing pieces are still running around somewhere, soaking up the world, and I hope they'll return to you with new thoughts and ideas. Beautiful writing, as it always is.
ReplyDeleteI hadn't realised that you were a nose bleeder like me. Mind you in Australia we don't have nosebleeds but bloodnoses; even now I find that difficult to say. Either way I have shut out the thoughts of them being little deaths as the life blood runs away from the body! They are friendly combatants that have to be dealt with in my way. Ignore all the rules and stop them by doing the opposite. Now the next trick is to tackle the woman with the hammer.
ReplyDeleteVivid images in this poem, Jae. Not pretty ones, but life is not always pretty. That I know.
ReplyDeletethe mind loss thing is fixable. I think it floating around my kitchen looking for a friendlier meal.
ReplyDeleteIf you want to follow it over sometime I will guarantee you a much friendlier time. I do not allow hammers in my kitchen.
Mmmm, this is so delicious in a strange way. I love that you have given the mind a body here, dangling and walking. Your words are loose and full of color and distorted images.
ReplyDeleteI love the wicked sense of reading this piece and feeling my blood flow.
Maybe it's crazy but I feel satisfied after reading this one. I'm holding on to the most important part: "But they do not collect the mind, It is uncollectible". You are a smart girl, Jae. :)
Human connections are fraught with dangerous hammers and blood spills.
ReplyDeleteWe are supposed to have them but if they enter the war zone territory best keep the doors shut ,I say.
Great ending! :)
ReplyDeleteThank you very much Ellecee..
ReplyDeleteNo, not much prettiness Scribbler thank you for the good wishes as regards the safe return of the mind..
It can be a release in muggy weather I find OldEgg..though we probably both know the reasons for our hooter bleeds are a thousand miles apart..bloodnoses sound like a tribe in a fantasy novel..thank you..as ever..
Thank you Mary..not all the time at least..but sometimes something pretty breaks up the day..or puts it together again..
Thank you GS..I always wanted to know what a Hamburger Helper meal was..that probably doesn't involve hammers..shall I pop in for tea ;) thank you..
Stupidly smart perhaps Archna..but I am glad you enjoyed the read..I so wish that my imagery was more positive..as yours..maybe we have similar ways of looking at what's around..but different filters..thank you..
Yes Rallentanda..you are right..batten down the hatches..the only problem is when the hatches become hatchets..thank you..
Thanks Ben..
Yes, I think that there is resemblance in the way that we see things but a bit less in filtering. I don't sense silliness here, there is no shame in honesty. A sweet warm hug for the rest of your day. xo
ReplyDeleteYou keep me breathless from the 155 miles an hour to the wielding of the hammer. My mind shatters with you, but I don't mind. I like my mind best when blown.
ReplyDeleteFilter free hug back to you..thank you..Archna..
ReplyDeleteCouldn't put it better..tsk..thanks Alice.. ;)
This didn't come from a broken mind. It's too well crafted for that, Jae! Blessings!
ReplyDeleteThanks for saying Belva..maybe worn around the edges if not broken ;)
ReplyDeleteCancellation of the contract between breath and time....blood, the symbol of the essence of life, physical and spiritual, leaking out.
ReplyDeleteFunny, with everything you have been through in the last year (or years) you hold this broken mind apart, writing it down, it is yours even if it is broken and in your writing is a love for that J inside. It spills out in the words, like the blood. There is beauty in that.