An open letter to Chris Cornell

There are many days the sting of losing your voice I walk through that desert before the one who said you left your love today to cry for an open sky.

Chris, I am myself, musician, poet, singer though less known then you were.

This is my letter to you for forgiveness. I forgive you,I forgive your absence that resonates not only with your loss but with a recent family friend who passed away the same time that you took your life.

Chris, I don’t know the mental anguish you experienced; however, I do know the sting of depression, the regret of self harm, in the form of scars all over my body that map the pain of 10 years of silent screams. A discordant symphony of flesh, blood and fatty exposed tissue.

Chris, I connected with many of your of your contemporaries during my own “blackhole sun.”

First,Kurt Cobain’s heart shaped box then a manic street preaching messages of pain.

“Self-worth scatters self-esteem is a bore, long since moved to higher plateau, epilogue of youth, such beautiful dignity in self abuse.”

Lyrics from this time trickle through my mind.

Chris, your suicide was hard and was surprising after being around for so long.

“Dimond rope, silver chain, pretty noose is pretty pain.”

Do you still feel the same?

So what are those of us left to do?

The telephone of my heart has been ringing off the hook-line and sucker punched me in the gut.

You never answer, except the voicemail of “can’t come to the phone right now leave a message after the beep.”

I loved you, I thought I did.

I think in music, in tones of voice, and actions done.

Chris what drove you away? How could such a shining soul be driven to take his life?

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Nervous moon turns her face, heart responds at weary pace.

Dirty moon what foresee, embarrassment. inside of me.

Polished brow of broken chain, cheeks of red that burn aflame.

Landing strips of scarred up flesh, woven into torment mesh.

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Worried pace, stunted grace. Frustrated plans, misguided hands.

What is love? Baby don’t hurt you anymore.

When I see me, I see a work in progress, God sees the beauty of His Glory. I see scars and scabs God sees stitched royalty.

I see weak and complicated petty pretty, God sees bridal bouquet.

Keeper of my heart says: (lovely one, dance with me.)

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Parable of the puppy part finale

Bella was a puppy that was very loved unfortunately in October 2018 one week after I brought her home Bella choked on her own food. She staggered from left to right a small bundle, I tried to help her she foamed at the mouth and died in my arms it’s still hard to think about her and MoveOn because it still hurts so much.

I’ve self injured more than once over her death. I’ve not told anyone about my cuts on my back.

I’ve secured permanent employment, have a better more reliable car. I’m happyish but still very depressed.

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The Parable of the Puppy Part 1

Once there was a very loving girl who sold all she had to buy a puppy. Day one was exciting but by the evening Hannah was exhausted. Bella was a lovely puppy and afraid her first few days and nights in a new place that she was not familiar with.

Hannah patiently and positively kept encouraging Bella and kept cleaning up messes armed with more than 600 poopy bags Hannah was prepared to help Bella learn how to poop outside and not in her new home.

For you see when we are God’s Children spiritually He potty trains us, He picks up after our messes and mistakes many of which we wonder if we’ll ever make it from milk to meat, from pooping inside God’s House or by ‘casting all our poops upon Him because He cares for us.’

The Bible deals much with poop in fact when Israel sinned God often compared Israel’s unfaithfulness to poop, like a bad smell burning in His Nostrils. They never were housebroken out of stiffnecked pride. So God gave them over to a harsh and hateful kingdom. In the same way, these growing pains with Bella are only for a season.

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Bella my new puppy dog