More Poetry: "The Harmony of Dischord"

There is an emptiness in me
I can't communicate it
to those closest to me
and voices of strangers
are always foreign.

I have felt it from the beginning, as I would drive along the parkways
or the skylines
or the coastal highways
I would hike high into the sky
to rid myself of the vacuous parts
but it could never be filled...
I have traveled to the heated depths of
hellish black rock
and broken sandy stone
to filter my thoughts
and fill it with something
even dry and desolate

but the hole remains.

A glass of wine takes the pinch out of it late at night
but it cannot kill
or fill
the void

Even Jesus Christ
in his glory
and omnipotence
cannot fix this for me

because I have been told,
for decades that he
the king of kings
the only freedom giver
would frown upon me
and my weaknesses
my holes
my broken parts

what a horrible lie the devil has spread.

It has spread, like a disease, into me--
it was cut into me as an infant
I have the scar to prove it true
I have the scar to remind me
I am gloriously imperfect.

What will I do?
What can I?

There is such an anger in those who surround me
they are angry with my misfortunes and my
mistakes
my missteps
my weak parts
I cannot share
I will buckle
the tower of gleaming gold and glass will shatter to the ground.

The red wine doesn't help me enough,
not enough...

I wish I could be drunk into my own life...
into yours
drink me in...
I am only slightly intoxicating,
depending on how much you take.

Why are so many of us afraid of ourselves?
have we been told one too many lies?

Jesus Christ,
the maker of magic
the ruler of religion
he has set me free
but I refuse to grasp it
for how could anyone love a sinner
such as I am?

Everything I want I'm told is wrong
I'm destroying it all...
I'm a destroyer.

This red wine doesn't quite do it... not enough.

Tears are spent yet waiting
I could explode for the power in me,
I could explode
Do you want me to?

I would rather be naked all the time
than clothed.
I feel foreign in clothes
maybe that's why I always pick the wrong ones.

I would rather talk with you than do anything else on earth
maybe that's why I'm so horrible at the business of
transactions
and actions
and reactions
and subversive game playing

Share  yourself with me
share your mind with me
share your body
share your thoughts
and your being...

Isn't that what Jesus Christ
Creator of creativity
wanted when he forged us
of old?
When  he proclaimed his truth to Abraham?
When he died to make us free?
when he told us to love our neighbors?
when he told us that whoever is without sin
may cast the FIRST stone--
that would be HIM, wouldn't it?
and only him.

why are you casting stones at me?

Why do I cast them at myself?

There is an emptiness in me... it's the place where the world is meant to be
it is the place for all of my brothers and sisters to dwell
in my heart
but they won't come.
they won't come...

I can barely breathe...
for I want you so badly.