Lessons Learned & Lost: A Book of Poetry and Prose

Lessons Learned

and Lost

A book of poetry and prose

Justin Hollingshead

AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2011 by Justin Hollingshead. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 07/28/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-4316-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-4314-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-4315-3 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011913509

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

PREFACE

THE DRIP

CHAPTER I

POOR FORM

TURTLE STEW

THE DEVIL’S DUE

FATAL MISTAKE

TWIST OF FATE

A DISH SERVED COLD

REMEMBER THE CHILDREN

SCARS

TALK ABOUT IT

UNPOPULAR BELIEFS

INNOCENCE

CHAPTER II

SCORCHED

IF

GUILT

EVIDENCE

CHAPTER III

THE DESTROYER

THE SQUEEZE

FACE TO FACE

JUSTIFY

ONE MISTAKE AWAY

I’M READY

FALLACIES

RECOVERY

I’M TRYING

THE PEARL

THE BURN

CHAPTER IV

THE PLATTLEGROUND

A SPIDER’S WEB

THE EVENT

THE SOURCE

CHAPTER V

PRISON

DECISIONS

THE COST OF CRIME

TESTED

ELEMENTARY

DREAMLESS

WHAT WAS I THINKING?

WHAT’S LEFT

PANIC ATTACK!

THE SANDS OF TIME

MORE THAN FRIENDS *

EVERYDAY LIFE

WHERE THE WEAK

ARE DAMNED

FORGIVE ME *

BRAIN DAMAGE

GOTTA BE GOOD

MORE THAN WORDS *

SIGHT

THE VOID

IN DEEP THOUGHT

YESTERYEAR

ONE MORE CHANCE

I’M COMING HOME *

THE LITTLE THINGS

CHAPTER VI

HUMANITY’S CRY

ASKING WHY

RETURN OF THE SON

A HINT OF SMOKE

OUR ONLY HOPE

LIVING ABOVE THE LIE

MY GREAT ESCAPE

WHO IS GOD?

THE DEBT

THE MIST

THE STINK

A DIVINE APPOINTMENT

EXAMPLES

GOD’S VOMIT

HOW A FOOL SHOULD PRAY

GIVING THANKS

EVERYTHING I NEED

HOMECOMING

TO THE DREAM GIVER

LETTING GO

TO THE LIVING

FAMILY CALLS

COMING TO MY SENSES

I’VE GOT GOD

THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION

MY HEART OF HEARTS

THE MASTER PLAN

THERE IS HOPE

IN SEARCH OF CHARACTER

WHOLE AGAIN

MY DIVINE DESTINY

NOT OURS

THE TRUTH

FINDING GOD

WASTELANDS

AND WILDERNESS

GOD AND I

CHAPTER VII

THE EVOLUTION

OF A MONSTER

BEING TOLD

FRIENDLY FOE

GRAY

A MORNING LONG AGO

THE SADNESS

SOMETHING’S GOTTA GIVE

A BROKEN MIND

THE BEAST WITHIN ME

THE RIDE

THE SLAVE

THE VOICES

ADDICTION

THE UGLY PLACE

ON THE BRINK

DEPRESSION

CHAPTER VIII

THE APPRENTICE

OUR CALLING

GUARD YOUR HEART

TEMPTATION

SOMEBODY’S WATCHING

A LIFE’S LESSON

THAT’S JUST LIFE

NOTHING

WHY THE PIECES FIT

ALL OF US

THE WAY

YOU’VE GOT TO TRY

MORALITY

JUST THE WAY YOU ARE

CHAPTER VIII

LOST

FOUND

CHAPTER IX

THE ELEMENTS OF LIFE

BURIED

EMPTY

DROWNING

SHATTERED

LIVING

CHAPTER X

RUMORS

RELEASE THE HOUNDS

RUN

AS THE SUN GOES DOWN

THEY’RE CLOSIN’

CHAPTER XI

BITTER SEEDS

TRUST ISSUES

FRIENDS FIRST

WHAT THE FUTURE HOLDS

EXCUSE ME

MY SPECIAL VALENTINE

MY REASON

BREATHLESS

BABY DON’T HURT

UNTITLED LOVE POEMS:

CHAPTER XII

QUESTIONS

TEARS FOR PHILLIP

REMEMBERING PHILLIP

WITHOUT YOU

I MISS YOU

THE FAR SIDE OF THE VEIL

CHAPTER XIII

THE CROSSES I BEAR

MY BEAUTIFUL NIGHT

MONSTERS

MOTHER’S DAY *

INTO THE LOOKING GLASS

TROUBLE

RESTLESS

THE CHANGE

THE GRAVEYARD

ON GETTING MARRIED

HELL

FEATHERED THINGS

ALZHEIMER’S

MAD

NEVER FORGET *

NOW HIRING

WITHOUT DAD *

ON FEELING OLD

THE THIEVES

THE TREACHEROUS TONGUE

IT’S COMPLICATED

THE POND

THE WINNER

A SPECIAL FAIRYTALE

CHAPTER IVX

LISTENING TO DREAMS

THE MASON**

THE RAILROAD TRACKS**

UNDERGROUND REVELATIONS**

A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE**

FROZEN**

THE DREAMSMITH**

THE WOEFUL WOMAN**

THE SCROLL**

CHAPTER XV

I WILL SUCCEED

PREFACE

Everything of value flashes before my eyes. God, family, friends, my achievements and failures all surge to the forefront of my recollections, and as I pull the needle out of my arm I whisper, Christ Almighty, I am about to die!

No sooner than the words leaving my lips do I release an explosive cough as the mixture of cocaine and meth hits my system and jolts me to the power of 10! My eyes go wide as my heart reaches an unfathomable rhythm and threatens to pulverize the very ribs designed to protect it. My hands sweat as I grab the filthy sink in front of me. I don’t even bother to wipe the oozing drop of dark red blood that flows off my arm and drips onto the bathroom floor. My knees begin to knock and I’m certain that I am about to go on a ride from which I may never return.

Unsteady now, my entire body begins to quake. My eyes loose focus and my very existence seems to smear across the dingy mirror before me. Any euphoria is smothered by terror, and as I struggle to stay on my feet, I prepare myself to die. My face is numb and my tongue hangs out of my drooling mouth. Incapable of speech, I can only imagine the words I want to say. My knees buckle and I collapse. I’m flopping now, and all that comes to mind is, God, give me one more chance.

Dear Reader, that was thousands of chances ago. Each day I wake up is another God-given chance to get things right. It is another chance to live and learn. I should be dead. By all rights, I should not be alive to tell this tale or share this story. I shouldn’t be physically capable of holding this pen or thinking these thoughts. But God apparently has Plans, and for once my deeds seem to run parallel to His will.

I’m not sure where the genesis of my story lies. Is it my childhood? Is it the streets? Is it addiction or in prison? I don’t know. Truthfully, it all blends together. It seems like one long, really bad dream. Not so much a nightmare, just an ugly blur. Now granted, there have been moments of serenity, achievement, and happiness. There are memories that have made me smile, and occasionally I’ve recalled something that’s made me laugh. But my laughter was often a lie sounding hollow like an echo or poor recording. My smiles have been brief and all too often forced.

For the longest time, an emptiness existed that all but destroyed me. Filling that void became my quest and my obsession. I was possessed by an undeniable yearning for answers and new memories. I felt compelled to learn lessons the hard way; through failure and frustration. I was drawn to disaster and seemed doomed to drown in my own poor decisions. Little did I know that through the grandest wastelands of my existence, I would discover something greater than my obsession.

Throughout my journey, as I’ve built my empire of failures, I’ve had a love affair with words. For most of my life, I have kept an on-going journal of lessons learned and lost as I’ve searched for Grace and Redemption. I finally feel confident and brave enough to allow others to see the contents of my life’s diary. I have come far enough in my quest to pause, reflect, and give thanks. Finally, I feel strong enough to stand. At last, I feel armed with the wisdom and skills I need to succeed. Finally, Dear Reader, I have something to say. So, I disclose everything. The good stuff. The bad. I expose the genius and the fool. I reveal cruelty and compassion. I invite you, Friend, into my mind as I explore a spiritual lost and found. Join me as I walk the path from ruin to redemption.

Every now and then, you’ll see a single * after a poem. This indicates where someone else (usually a convict) has asked me to write a poem or to convey a thought on their behalf. These do not necessarily reflect my own ideas or circumstances.

THE DRIP

Awake or asleep, and often against our will,

We are schooled by the agonies of life and knowledge is instilled.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip goes the pain.

Splashing upon our hearts and seeping into our veins.

With all the mercy of a firing squad,

Wisdom comes to us by the awesome Grace of God.

CHAPTER I

DEEP IMPACT

POOR FORM

I’m asleep. Okay, I’m not really asleep. I’m pretending to sleep because my father has been drinking and he’s stumbled and slurred his way into my room and he’s next to me right now. He’s close. I can feel the heat from his skin and smell the whisky and tobacco on his breath. I can smell the body odor which has permeated the clothes he’s worn for three consecutive days. Above all, I can smell the malice and hatred in his heart. My father has come for me, and he has bad intentions on his mind.

I’m five years old and already I believe in both God and the devil. I’ve been through too much not to believe. I begin praying in my mind asking the Lord to please make him go away; to keep me safe; to wrap me in His protective arms and never let go. My father continues to loom over me. I know because he has cast his shadow over me and the hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end. My heart begins to pick up pace. Th-Thump. Th-Thump. Th-Thump. What does he want? Why is he just standing there?

Deep inside, I know that this will not end well.

But then a curious thing happens. My father kneels beside me and takes hold of my tiny hand in his own. He begins stroking my dirty hair and whispering things to me that I don’t quite understand. I am confused and still playing opossum. After a moment, I realize that my father is crying, and what he is whispering are the words, I’m so sorry.

Has he come seeking forgiveness? Has my father decided to change his wicked and destructive ways? His grip tightens as he continues to weep and whisper that he’s sorry. I am tempted to open my eyes and reach over and hug the man and tell him that yes I forgive him and am eager and happy to have him as my dad.

But then I notice how tightly he is squeezing my hand, and I realize all too late that I’ve been had. This is no heart-felt apology or quest for forgiveness. This is simply one of his many games. It’s a game he started playing with me some time ago where he squeezes my hand harder and harder until gradually he is squeezing with his might, crushing my little hand and fingers. If I cry out then the real beating begins, but if I Man up and show neither fear nor pain then I am given a reprieve. I know what’s on the line so I keep my eyes closed, and in my mind go to a place far, far away.

Tighter and tighter he squeezes. The pain builds and sweat beads my brow. My father has super-human strength and soon I hear things pop, but I grit my teeth and keep my eyes and mouth shut. I can do this. I can win this time. I will not surrender! Soon I feel my father begin to shake and tremble and I know he is squeezing with all his incredible might. If I can just hold out a little longer, I think to myself, I’m sure he’ll go away. So I reach deep into myself and find a strength I didn’t know I had. Sweat now rolls freely down my face and my heart is a jack-hammer in my chest. P-Pow! P-Pow! P-Pow! But I hold on, and a moment later I know I have won. My father releases my hand and says, Hmph. He stands up and leaves the room.

I am flooded with relief. The throbbing in my hand begins to dull and my heart slows down. I think it is a good idea to whisper up a prayer of thanks, but before I can begin, I hear heavy footsteps rushing in my direction. I open my eyes in time to see my father’s face distorted by whiskey and rage. The giant closes the distance between us and grabs me. One hand takes hold of my ankle, the other clamps around my head. He picks me up and throws me with all the ease of tossing a pillow across the room. I collide with the wall shattering the sheetrock and I crumble to the floor below followed by bits of plaster and falling debris.

I’m dazed and desperate thinking that this is not fair. I had done my part! I had Manned up! I had won the game. Hadn’t I? He drags me to the center of the room cursing me; calling me a piece of shit. I try to crawl away, but he stomps my feet and kicks my legs. All forward motion is halted. My eyes are wide with fright, and as I open my mouth to beg and plead with him, he slaps it shut. Abruptly, I am silenced. My father stands me up and savagely punches me in the stomach. The wind is knocked out of me. I gasp and hit my knees. He stands me up again and lands another blow to my belly. My knees buckle and I vomit. He laughs at me as he grabs me by the hair and lifts me once again. He throws a series of punches into my sides and back. It hurts so bad! I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I thought I was going to die and he just kept punching!

Red faced and puffing hard, he reaches back and sends a brutal right hook into my kidney. This time I shit myself. I couldn’t help it. So there I lay in agony. I’m covered in my own blood, feces, and vomit and my father begins to laugh again. He lights up a cigarette and watches with amusement as I struggle for air. How strange that I remember feeling ashamed for having messed myself. My father, having decided he is almost done with me, leans over and puts his cigarette out on my arm. Satisfied, he leaves me soiled, hurting, and feeling ashamed.

You may be holding your breath, Dear Reader, so now is probably a good time to let it out. I survived. That was just another day in kiddy hell. Just one of countless beatings. It’s twenty five years later and I’m okay. And believe it or not, this story has a happy ending. But we’ll get to that later for there is much more you need to know.

TURTLE STEW

My father hated me. He told me often that he would one day kill me, but that he was just taking his time and waiting for the right moment. I lived in a shroud of fear and intimidation. He was big, strong, and evil. The man scared the shit out of me. Despite poverty, failure, and being an absolute loser I never saw my father sweat. I never saw him panic or be afraid like me. So imagine my surprise the day the old black lady who lived next door showed up and told him that a storm was coming and that he was going to die. She stated it as a matter of fact then returned to her home leaving my father speechless, and for the first time I can remember, afraid.

All day he paced the house, stepping out frequently to gaze nervously at the sky. Sure enough the clouds were building; and building with them was my father’s sense of dread and apprehension. He paced back and forth like a caged animal and began throwing dirty looks in my direction. His looks began to worry me and I wanted to know what he was thinking. It wasn’t long before I found out.

The bitch next door says that this storm is going to kill me, but if I gotta go, then so do you.

I was six. Up to that point, my father had held my head under water until I had gone limp. He had pinched my nose and covered my mouth until my eyes turned bloodshot. He had held knives to my throat drawing blood. He had held guns to my head, and even fired a shot at me saying he missed on purpose. He had beaten me until I lost consciousness on more than one occasion. So by this time in my young life, the concept of death was nothing new to me. I only wanted it to be as quick as possible and not done in front of