Polished Hammer

What did she say to you?
While you swing your lips moved.
She looked towards the sky.
The stitch illuminated the darkness beneath the clouds.
The shovels glistened with dreams of children.
The handles yet inscribed.
The face of the hammer polished perfect reflecting desire lost.
The storm in the distant calls out.
Her hair blows with the winds of sadness.
Why did you come here?
Why do you scream at nothingness?
Your eyes like the polished hammer, 
Ready to shatter the silence of sorrow.

My book is now available through my etsy store!
https://www.etsy.com/listing/271968224/dreams-desires-memories-bradley-bullock?ref=shop_home_active_1

Hiatus

A 6 month hiatus from writing, it’s been hard. It is no reflection of my desire to write but a reflection of myself. I, at times feel that I say the same things repeatedly, obsessively, redundantly. Searching for the perfect vehicle to present the truest of abstraction. How does one truly help others understand the deepest emotions. What words can be used to describe the innermost self. I will continue to reflect, assess, adjust, remember, dream, make, look, listen, laugh, cry…seek clarity.

Sometimes men get sad

What happens if we stop modeling a behavior and truly let ourselves become taken by pure emotion. How do we cage and control those uninhibited range of emotions. What type of damage are we capable of to ourselves and others. What will others think of our unabashed feelings. Many harness and control their experience, to close the door which leads to pure feeling. Many model what they perceive as being appropriate displays of emotion. I have practiced, studied ways to keep myself within what I consider an appropriate range of emotional expression. However sometimes the veil cannot cover what lies within me. And others notice. I at times have to really focus on keeping my emotions in check and although I try sometimes, I cannot. For men we are taught to be brave, to be angry, to not be sad. Society unfairly expects this from us. If we are sad, we are vulnerable, weak. Men are groomed from birth of this expectation in society. 

“They refuse to acknowledge that masses of boys and men have been programmed from birth on to believe that at some point they must be violent, whether psychologically or physically, to prove that they are men.” ― Bell Hooks, The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love

But everyone wants to be loved, cared for. Men want to be held, to feel safe. But many men bury this desire, as acknowledgement would prove weakness. I struggle to believe what are others think of me holds little to no value. I make decisions based on what I believe to be right and appropriate, even when those decisions are hard and the outcomes are unknown. I try to stay connected with my true emotions, I feel. I want to feel. These are the things which make me feel alive. Being vulnerable helps me grow. I examine my emotions and allow myself to experience those on a daily basis. I practice ways to manage those feelings. At times I feel fragile and at times that is good. 

and it scares me

Sometimes I think, “How do I explain to others how tormented I feel?”. How do I get someone to understand the anguish and pain I feel inside me? The emotions I feel are non stop and I cannot at times figure out how to make them stop. I become physically sick, my heart and mind races, my hands shake, I find it hard to focus on anything. The world accelerates and I cannot tether myself, to be still. I have developed a series of tools I employ to address this, to make it stop. I start with one and continue to others till things slow down. 

I am very aware of my mental fitness and I understand that I have a mental health disorder. I am able to identify my triggers and changes in emotion; and sometimes it’s not enough. 

Sometimes I think the only way to get you to understand what I'm going through is by hurting myself. These thoughts are fleeting and they arrive and leave without warning. I sit and ponder how it would be experienced by those around me. Would they finally understand? I don't want to hurt myself but in my own despair this is where I arrive time and again. This is part of my disorder, this is part of who I am…and it scares me.

                                            desire swarms like a storm in his heart

                                              he longs for the cure

                                                of a thousand nothings