Tag Archives: brent david fraser

Her Refusal

9 Mar

I see only the frightened face of a child within. She has not lost her poignancy, but vacated all of her charm. She has not found use for true humor in quite some time.

Face is red, breath is short and desperate, bearing the foot stomping stubborn mask that is nearer to rude than reason, a sneer nearer to discarding than determined.

She does not understand the language I speak, nor does she have the confidence to try. she is unreachable and will bite a grasping hand that does not solely offer an apology and an admission of guilt. Offer love and she will vanish.

Inside her is a dictator and a tyrant. An offensive, thoughtless tosser of derision and misappropriated condescension. And yet, she is just a child. Meanness knows no age, and does not discriminate, but to gain her own “pleasure”.  A game that refuses to test my proposition of the deepest game of all, no matter how magical may be my silly dream.

There are soft flowers that wilt and let seep the moisture from their stems. They fall to the waves just beneath my window, I can look at them watch them all day if I want. This is where I am king. alone.

No invention of her, or her love as I suggested it be, to chase and nullify my appeal. In my speck appreciation of the dirty death of her beauty. and oceans of tears. real or imagined. This is my private kingdom.


My Highland Heart (excerpt 3)

29 Oct

I have a fear, an impending tear, I’ve created some grief for the Gods

For all those who’d said that I chose to be dead, she could see I have beaten those odds

My best love’s been lost and I’m paying the cost of fears, masking my heart and my dreams

and as a pretender I’ve had to surrender to see beyond life as it seemed

in the name of my father, the wealth of my mother, I beg for my reckoning of sins

I pray to God my real life may begin, I pray to God my real life may begin

I have a love for great facts held above all I think, or I feel, or I dream

For all those who thought that I fought & ought not, she saw that the Gods are my team

But life’s old expected has been resurrected, And became what couldn’t be done

An anti-hero who tosses this greatest of losses, change that can’t and could never be won

and as a pretender I’ve had to surrender to see beyond life as it seemed

in the name of my father, the wealth of my mother, I beg for my reckoning of sins

I pray to God my real life may begin, I pray to God my real life may begin


The Cosmic Comedy and Me, by #BDF

28 Jun

For all the masks I’ve loved to wear, It’s time I take a great last dare, and give out TRUTH that in my youth I hadn’t tools to tell… For all the costumes I would choose, it’s more the one i must now LOSE, that will determine if this play goes over well… I thought I’d played the part, but, oh, how it’s played me, The lights come up, the LAUGHS erupt, I finally SEE… This Cosmic Comedy, and Me… #BDF

Bed Written, by #BDF

20 Jun

The illusion of betrayal, and things being done to me has overwhelmed me. And just where do I live? From the heart, and with an imminent mixture of my mind’s emotions, I am left alone and with everyone, to battle and eventually, conquer? The victory being, in the end, to have compassion and love and forgiveness for those who, in my mind, have betrayed me, still betray me. There is no thought or visceral feeling to me now that has a more insidious taste. And is my chosen understanding an effort to kill myself, my heart, my spirit, or at least sublimate my blessed, poor self? Just where do I live? God’s plan for me, my plan for me being the same, is interesting to say the least…  and terrifying to be true, which at times I am. Stumbling onto those things which I would leave at this time better unsaid, and left to be emptied from this ashtray. To get to the deeper stab, emptied by my own hand moved by the hand of God, in agreement. The hand of compassion, the hand of love, and forgiveness, and barrels and barrels of understanding. Lord help me to be a friend to myself first. The demons I call my friends, they wait so patiently, seemingly uninterested. #BDF

Remember That Love, by #BDF

20 Jun

And we made fists with our hearts and we pretended to have motion. But we stayed so close and held fast to the only friend we knew would always be there: Our own self-loathing. I recall we were going to rent a car and drive to the mountains, or the islands on the ferry. Take the passenger boat to Catalina. We absorbed the whole security of having the option to go somewhere. The museum, the park, the ocean, anyplace far enough away to distract us and enhance the pitiful agreement to live together through it all. The groping need to have a good experience, finally. To share something exciting and new. To toss it upon ourselves as casually as candy to the tongue. We thought about it, vocalized the need, the desire. Then the urge would subside, overtaken by the impulse to destroy us, and each other, our opponent and its reflection. and the underlying, overbearing, desperation-defined hope. The wish. The truly heartfelt desire for something or someone better or healthier took a terribly long time to pull us away or rather to break us free from our chosen bond, our chosen lies and illusion. So much wasted, so much gained. #BDF

Rebirth, by #BDF

20 Jun

I look bleary eyed back to my major relationship and feel in my muscles the command I gave it and doofusly still give it over my life and my own everyday. To encapsulate the whole period of time, it seemed to be a constant northwestern autumn day, or maybe just one giant winter rain storm, lasting an unfriendly dogged and dysfunctional four years ish. The first minute was when we saw the sun, the darkness then closed in with its cold wetness and dug its way into our blood and our brains dined in the drunkenness. But this was not the whole story. It does not do justice to the dirty truth, if truth can be deemed dirty. Sad to say it is infested to the gills with other unwanted details. It was much more a prison cell than the peaceful peak of a mountain top. And I’ve pulled many a salty tear from the mess of misery and madness in my heart. I remain responsible for my own hanging on and my own inability to stop my deceiving fears from dictating my every step. The stairway descended to the dungeon of our souls and there seemed to be no out door, no escape, no letting go, or freedom behind the fear. But still when all is said and all is done my tattered pictures, my well worn pains are alive within and they lend me their horrible essence. And they leave me a small tip for the service and come back for refills later when I grasp at the cut. The wound is so deep that I cannot see exactly where the cut ends and where it begins. And I think the two may be cohorts standing on the same corner. She sometimes seemed a circus barker selling tickets to her side show. I’d lurk and prowl and sit serene and sleep and eat under someone else’s control relinquishing my own willingly to the level that i could allow and then have no more of that task. And exercise my own, desperately and furiously so not to crucify myself. I feel its not so holy an act sometimes to let the all pass over and through you. I will enter the kingdom of heaven as it were not by acts but by faith alone. on The flip side of this: my heavy self identification my desperate search for faith love and forgiveness in myself, its not necessarily my place to forgive, but maybe to retreat and allow my fellow souls to forgive themselves. Lord be with them. I picture her the beauty of my past laying alone and having hit hard dreary… With her beloved side show, literally behind bars. I wonder what will be the truth in that instance, of what she thinks in pre-sleep and dreams. Soft hopes of escape and realities unbearable and hard as walnuts or hammers. And maybe her only true peace with, and fondness for, me was in my absence, left alone to dream of what could be “IF”, but could not, be very certain. The muddy fear of that fact drove her deeper into illusion and I, in my own illusion and we would caress that hell. And “I’ll be home soon my sweet, my heart is taxed my heart is beat, but I’ll be home. We’ll hold each other as we bleed each other of our innocence, and our vision, with abandon and willingly, for we have our love”. Stronger than great god above we insisted. And we raped our souls, and our god, with fear as a weapon and threatened ourselves to believe that all could be good and pure someday, someway. We would see it through to forever. We would see it through. it was predestined… #BDF

A Freedom, by #BDF

20 Jun

Without how you think of me, without how your opinion colors me, without the fears that are solely yours, without how they restrict me without the mask of horror in which you find my face, without the unrelenting consequences that I must endlessly pay, without the desk that your governing self sits at, without the wasted time that is required for grieving, without the useless principles that only serve to isolate yourself, without the shallow design that you call repair, without the soft jabs that you call UN-pointed, without the obligatory therapeutic absolution that you will acquiesce to on a Saturday morning, without the crimes that I have committed against you that I must wear stapled to my head, without the obvious self serving that is your reason and your constitution, without the generosity that is your resentment, without the grand sweeping summations of me that are unshakable, without the stick that is in my side, without the best of intentions that are always so proudly exhibited, I will be back to square one, hopefully more evolved than I was before, and left alone again to wonder at why I might even have tried to keep it all together for whatever good end… #BDF

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