Monthly Archives: February 2017

Where Do I Place This

Fear itself followed by an angry damnation, a fight you’d never win without bitter assessment. A beautiful grip on your soul, the final masterpiece wasn’t chosen for you to be kind to or lost in. What was your best solution, was it too far into the void and can it become more than you lost before. Filed away in that box of lies, the filter didn’t become known for you to be made into a foolish blister. On the tracks with filthy intolerance, you battled for supremacy with magnetized wonder. It was a cheat, you hadn’t breached the walls in treason.  Who was laying it out, the line of catastrophe. Bleeding and tattered corridors unfathomed with tethered wind chimes. Playing music, that beat you from within a damaged blistered piece.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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Something Different….

When it’s on your soul, you just have to write it right? =)

I thought you had to work an actual job, whatever that actually means. To have a respect for what others contribute, this couldn’t be further from the truth. It simply took me taking responsibility for my life, to come to the realization that you might always have people that will help you. But you have to make your own path, you have to put in the work no matter what it is you choose to do in this world.

No happy man with a beard in the sky, is going to make that a reality for you. And you can’t flee to a corner when things get rough, you have to stand your ground and battle. I didn’t understand this until I moved out, I also had no clue what it was all about until I gave my time to others with no thought of what I’d get from it. And lastly, it took my Grandmother to break down into what she is now. For me to truly grasp how imperative it was for me to make my own path.

I am closer to my Grandfather even in death, because I finally got what he was trying to tell me all those years ago. I finally understood what it takes, and while the life I’ve chosen may have not been what he foresaw. I believe with my whole heart, that he could stand and look at me today and pat me on the shoulder. And let me know how much he was proud of the man I am now. I am a writer because of the pain I have suffered, but I am a writer more so because of the words he instilled in me. The nights of fighting over school work never getting done, when for many times I underperformed. He saw this in me way before I could myself.

My Grandfather wrote also, he was quite the penmen in his day. I have gotten the privilege to read several of the things he contributed in story form. I may have a lot of years never understood why we clashed, but I don’t think that’s really important today. He never told us to follow our dreams, but there was always this idea that you could find joy in whatever it is you did in life.

I guess I’m sort of sad that I never knew just how good he was at crafting words. We could have shared that later in life, but he never talked to any of us on that deep of a level. I guess that’s one thing I do regret, that and the fact that I never got to really show him how far I’ve come.Some how though, I wanna believe he knows. I’ve done nothing but fight, he and I have a very similar spirit. I get a sample every now and again, of what he went through later in his life with the Emphysema. He may have been harsh, his methods now would probably seem extreme to most.

But I don’t believe he really held me back, in fact I think he did the total opposite. But he wanted me to do things I wasn’t ever attached to emotionally, I wasn’t going to be what he was professionally. I didn’t have the work ethic he had, and I certainly never grasped the notion that was furthering education.

Maybe it would have appeased him temporarily, maybe if I just would have listened a bit more. We could have gotten a bit closure. I’m not sure, because it always seemed like an impossible task. I know deep down though, he was a good man. And he took care of his family, and that was at the time all I could or should have expected. Now? I truly believe it would have been so much different.

I think expectations are a killer, you can really do a lot of damage to yourself and those you care about. When that’s all you think about, where is this going to lead and how will they make my life better in the long haul. I think its healthy to an extent, because it keeps people’s drive to surpass what they’ve done prior. And that’s important to do, but you can take that past the point of where it no longer helps anyone progress.

I don’t think he knew how to structure that, and I think the disciplinarian in him won rather than the provider or the father figure. A person you could go to when things got difficult. But I guess as I as always stated, our Grandmother was the opposite of him. She loved us no matter what we did, he always had conditions and terms.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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Could Not Find It All Here

Screaming in your ear, like a connection of broadband to the networks. They search for the data to continue the function, an army of numbers filled the circuits. Single file lining, it twirled awaiting your indulgence furiously. An explosion ever so tingling in your flickered light manifesting in a tuned wind draping. Abrupt and robust abbreviations, slathered on your wall within the drapes like candy coated fruit snacks. Neverware and fondly in remembrance, rainbows aren’t really colors at all. They gleam and glisten, as if they were crystals on a undiscovered planet for the first time. The views are yet distorted, inferior and complaining of any sort of folly. Little toy’s you used to enjoy, now disappear but its quite fine now you haven’t lost it all.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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The Currentless Traveling

You grimace and kneel, as ice cold pickets lance into your wounds. Your experience was a prize, for others to boast about and grovel in joyful clamoring. This isn’t fair weather enough to get any results now brother. It couldn’t be more than two cents per call, surely not in the booth you were blessed with that shortage. The lightning struck, as the moment passed you by without truancy. Your measurements to me, what you do when you’re alone is a funny thing surely. You can’t find any flaw, you had no basis or any kind of evidence now. I flooded your storage drain, my coat pockets had change that was worth nothing to this machine. I hadn’t given an offering in some time,  it made me run from its graceful light blindingly screaming for help.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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Conspiratorial Aneurysm

They never tell you the links, the puzzles never are explained in full. Circles can never be connected, they all look like empty canvases without an artist to press. The brush with death was surely with a price to pay. They sit on the TV and blast their rhetorical questionnaire into your eye sockets. Hoping that you’ll never ask what it all means, or what you can do about it. They appreciated your barely literate responses, dumbing you down with misleading pronunciations. They pushed you out before it was enough, cashing in on the mood rather than the authenticity. A box filled with goodies, but it turns into a moratorium of dead litany. Where was the devotion, the compassionate folder wasn’t in the room as of yet.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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The Rain Colored Survivalist

I’m certain you’re a secret no one know’s about, you didn’t wish to quell this noise from within your ears. You cooked this bowl, stirring it all with such intent and vibrance. The colors were blended, it appeared on the tattered flag in separated positions. Outside of the world so very winded, how were you dropped to the floor. You let this be known, instead of letting it down. I pushed for that moment, for the truth out of you that was so viciously barren.  Survival of the miscreant, you pushed harder than it was ever intended before now.  Packed to the brim, those colors still rained on top of your head. Aggressively in remembrance, an atonement for the guilty.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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Bastardized Fillings

An invitation on the nerves, spread out like butter on a burnt piece of bread. It was slick, it hadn’t been a choice in the competition. The influence fell hard, the intrigue was more noticeable than before hand. A blood oath is what is paid in full, it features within the incapable triumph. It is hat’s off to the fellow’s that cannot blend into the woodwork. Searing across my back, the fire was far too intent to keep away from you now. Eye’s light up kindling the room, the fires rage within the mirror. These fattening swabs couldn’t satisfy you, it wasn’t enough to bleed for in this moment of trial. It rips apart your bare bones, filling the bastardized component from daylight.

Creator And Contributor- Chris Ballenger

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