Black liquid

A stream of consciousness story with coffee as a metaphor

          I wander towards the warring sea. There is silver tape on my mouth, I put it there for a reason. I am in there, I am listening. I put the filter in the coffee pot and put three to four scoops of ground coffee in. Add the water, turn the machine on. I am black liquid, bitter and right.

        I take my coffee with me as the colors explode in the air. High on coffee star gazing wouldn't you prefer ganja? Ganja is just right, but all I have is this bright black liquid that cheers me up.

       I don't talk. When I do participate in conversation, I throw my hands into motion. I play with them and flap them and count. Breath in, breath out, count to ten, take a walk.

     I take my walks on the shoreline towards the horizon. A fainting pink explosion off in the distance, tan sand inbetween my toes. I jump and flip and watch the people sungazing, blazing, grazing. I am at the beach to walk with God. I am here. I am in there, fighting to get up and out of bed. I want to be there and show people who I am. I want them to know I am autistic, not schizophrenic, and that it's not a disease to me. It is a gift. I take joy in being different, even when it hurts.

       Then I am walking in the woodlands. I lose the forest for the trees. The trees make no sound when they fall when no one is around. I am a broken tree, my leaves a verdant green, my bark pealing off. I am a rainbow tree, painted by a hippie. Here I am. Find me. All i have is this dark liquid, wanderlust, and a path leading towards exploding purpose.

      Fight for people to know who you are. I am not retarded nor brain damaged. I am neurodiverse, I am made different to make a difference. I am an archangel-faerie-elf. I am a mystical being. I am an autistic teenager. I've been thirteen for fourteen years. I am a cherub.

        I walk around with this bitter black liquid. It tastes good and it makes me smile. I am black liquid, I am orange juice and lemon water. Because when God hands you lemons, make lemonade. When He hands you dirt, make a castle out of it. he hands me black liquid, coffee beans and dark chocolate. I make coffee and hot chocolate. There is this bittersweet memory of being a child and now I am not and that is stolen away from me, from underneath my back when I was lying on the sandy shore.

      I didn't know who I was and now I know but I don't want to be a short child though sometimes I do. That I could be little and live simple. I sip my coffee slowly now. Breathe in, breathe out. Jump, fly, land and show the world your smile. Right now I want to be not okay. I want the world to know that that is okay too.

       I see a phoenix when I am behind bars in a psych ward; I see a baby dragon flying as I walk on a nature path. Really. I'm not lying. I thought Michael was my dad, and now I guess He's my guardian archangel and now I guess he's my adoptive dad too. My real one was far off and told me I'm a sociopath. I'm not. I feel things, I care about people, I just want to exist in my bubble, in my own little world. And it's not real, but some of it is very real.

      Take my hand and we will walk. I will show you what this being thing really is. Take my hand and drink coffee and prune juice. Bitter black liquid. Problems. Solutions. I will show you.

                                                              ***********************************

        I am a spiral and I am poetry falling down from outer space. My wings are dove white and soft purple. I pray for elf ears. I do as many pushups as I can and I throw myself over my head. I am not afraid anymore. I can fly. God, oh God, I want to fly. I pretend I can stop cars with telekinesis. I promise you its real.

      Am I a reliable narrator? You decide. I fall and fall and fall and then I learn how to pick myself up. The beach and the woodlands and the jungle and those bright berries and then here I am, let me be. Let me be.

                                                                        ************

       I hold the shape of water in my hands. I bend down by the stream and grasp the water. I let it spill inbetween my fingers and I step in. The water goes up to my hips. My lower body is sopping but I feel right. When I am in the water everything is right. Every broken heart surrender. I will. I will surrender to this feeling I have. I will hold it in my hands. I walk around and feel the pebbles inbetween my toes. Take this broken heart, take my smile, take my poker face and accept me. I surrender to God. I find solace in solitude. Music pounds in and out of my ears. Right now, nothing hurts. I am myself.

                                                          *************

               My life is black liquid. My heart is white lavender soap. My brain is on fire. The dross to consume, the gold to shine.  The sun shines and I dare to stare straight at it. I dive deep and I fall and I get up. Inside my body is black liquid. I am black liquid, and then I'm not. And then I'm not. And then I am. Watch.

       

Author's Note

review and tell me what you think of this and what I can do to improve it. Not sure if its finished or not, what do you think?

Reviews

[Cherrie Palmer]

It is interesting and fun