THE
THOUGHT Vault
Table of Contents Page 3 - The Key
Page 27 - Golden
Page 4 - Dedications
Page 28 - Oliver Grunewald
Page 6 - Last Thought
Page 29 - A Poet Walks Into A Bar
Page 7 - Seclusion
Page 30 - He’s Lazy, Not Creative
Page 8 - Split Trust Page 11 - Selves Page 12 - Keeney
Page 31 - My Digital Playground Page 32 - Prayer for a Long Distance Love
Page 13 - Note to Self Page 33 - Raindrops Page 14 - Bluebird Page 34 - Frustrating Page 16 - My Preference Page 35 - A Letter to Megan Page 17 - Fake Eyebrows Page 36 - Untitled Page 18 - The Edge Page 37 - Thoughts Page 19 - Testosterone Golems Page 38 - Trance Page 20 - Crash Page 39 - A Nonsensical Poem Page 21 - This Way Page 40 - Yours Page 22 - Conversation Page 23 - Traumatophobia Page 24 - Hacked
The Key Nine times out of ten, I’m too terrified to even begin writing a poem, let alone an introductory essay. To give you an idea, I’ve been lying here on my stomach for the last two days, staring blankly at my laptop’s screen, terrified that whatever I type is going to give you a distorted idea of who I am. I’ve really been hoping that some incredibly inspiring thought would just strike me out of nowhere and that it would make writing the perfect essay about sixteen-thousand times easier. Of course, that almost never happens when you absolutely need it to, so instead of making some longwinded speech about the wonders of writing and creativity, I think that giving you a little bit of an explanation as to who I am as a person will be more than enough to give you some insight as to how and why I write. My name is Christopher John Bales, but I usually prefer to go by Chris since it doesn’t carry any of those overbearing formalities that tend to create some false impression of grandness or superiority and I was born to two amazingly supportive parents. They’ve always been there for me no matter what, even going so far as to put up with quite a lot of my mistakes and failures, and somehow, they continue to be really amazing people through and through. Half of the time, I really don’t deserve the credit that they give me, but they seem to think that I’m worth all of the gray hairs that they’re giving themselves over me. Aside from my parents, I also have a pretty strong support system thanks to a close knit group of friends, an amazing boyfriend, my two older brothers, and my two older sisters. As the baby of the family, the rest of my siblings almost know if I ever mess up or make a bad decision thanks to my parents and older sister Shannon. They tend to give me quite a bit of grief over whatever may have happened, but that’s not to say they don’t love me, because tough love is just their way of letting me know that they actually do care about me and even if it doesn’t always sink in right away. And with the life already being pretty tough, tough love just helps you prepare for a strong future by making sure you won’t break under whatever the world throws at you. And while I’m pretty brittle at times, the strength my family and friends have given me over the years is just what I need to keep pushing farther and farther into my thought vault.
The poems in this portfolio are specifically dedicated to Adam, Zane, Liz P, Liz S, Neta, John, Shannon, Gabby, Desi, Marlys, the tumblr crew, and Mark. You have all helped me grow so much and rediscover myself over these last few months and I can never thank any of you enough for it.
“I think way too much and that tends to get me into a lot of trouble.”
Last Thought
There are these cynical thoughts dancing around in my head waiting for my guard to fall… waiting for my guard to disappear… And for some reason, I can’t rid myself of them. I wish they would vanish. But I guess that’s the burden of consciousness for you…
Lasting thoughts that never cease to last.
Seclusion
Sitting alone in my room away from the world; vicarious life.
Split Trust My head and heart have never been on speaking terms– one’s always bitching to the other. Or one becomes submissive and shuts the world out to survive. It gets old. It gets old really fast. Trust between the two wanes, but never fades completely; leaving room for apathy or even worse: Depression. Objectivity becomes obsession. Silence becomes heavy. My body tears at the seams trying to accommodate this damned issue of trust. But at the end of the day the threads pull tightly. Until they finally split.
I feel the need to blame myself for pretty much everything that I have no control over. I don’t know why I do it, I just always have. I think it might be from my brothers and sisters blaming me for stuff when we were all younger. Whatever the case, it’s one of the most dangerous demons that I’ve held on to throughout the years. And it’s about time to let go of it...
At least three nights out of the week I set myself into a panic attack by over-thinking and reading into everything way too much. Maybe I should actually start reading some books to distract myself...
Selves
PAST The lonely kid who didn’t have friends because of an overbearing mother The rebellious teenager who wouldn’t go to church The high school theater junkie who sloughed his grades for acting The high school senior who graduated by some miracle The gas station attendant who hated his job
PRESENT The The The The
half-man mess of emotions trying to grow out of childhood last minute student who’s trying to trying to fix his mistakes unemployed wreck of a person trying to find his place love-stricken jack of all trades that can’t settle for imperfection
FUTURE (hopes) The successful IT who just moved to the United Kingdom The artist who can accept that his creations are beautiful The writer who isn’t tortured by a lack of self worth and anxiety
The adventurous romantic who travels the world by his side FUTURE (fear) The The The The
bitter man who couldn’t let go of all of his pain and hurt old man who couldn’t learn to be a part of his own family man lying on the bed, neither dreaming nor thinking, just lost shell of a man who never tried and only failed himself in the end
Keeney
December lungs shatter by the blow of a bitter morning, and while I’ve never understood mourning, I’m not happy you’ve gone. Pipe tobacco War stories Stern kindness Fresh scrambled eggs Read-along cassette books Railroad walks at dusk I don’t remember much, but what I do… I’ll hold close to my heart until you meet your grandson again.
Note To Self
Dear
Future Self, I know we haven’t had a round of proper introductions yet, but there’s a favor I really need to ask. I know it’s rude to request something from someone you won’t even meet for five or six years, but this is really important.
I need a map for this thing called life.
You seem to be pretty good at navigating it since you’re already ahead of me, and since I’m here and I really want to get where you are, and you and I both know how bad I am at spoken directions, maybe you could share a bit of an inside scoop with me?
You see, there are these things that are bothering me, and I’m sure they bothered you at some point, too, but I’m having a tough time dealing with them and I could really use your help in understanding them.
Bluebird
Obscurely yet most surely called to praise among the living, I’m a dead beat operator passing calls from the forgiving, Wake up bluebird, hear the singing choirs, time to join the women sending riches to the fires, Wake up bluebird, hear the singing choirs, dance with the damned and chase your old desires, Breathe in broken riches, feed your own ambitions, Set your body to destruct by means of futile admonitions, Wake up bluebird, hear the singing choirs, time to join the women sending riches to the fires, Wake up bluebird, hear the singing choirs, dance with the damned and chase your old desires, It’s time to join women sending riches to the fires, dance with the damned and chase your old desires. It’s time to join the women starting fires.
Sometimes, I really just need someone to remind me of what I can do, so that I can pull myself out of this constant depression and get shit done.
My Preference
Lantern-lit nights The sting and scratch of a thousand pin-point bites Thick mosquito swarms Three other siblings stumbling in the dark Checking the riverbank lines The thrill of the tell-tale tug of a catfish hooked But boys aren’t supposed to be scared of slime and scales or mud and messes Boys aren’t supposed to be play with Barbies or spend more time with their mother and sisters But I prefer them to the savages
Fake Eyebrows
I really can’t stand women who feel like they have to bury themselves under six-feet of makeup and drawn on eyebrows. To be honest, if I did prefer women to men, I’d date a woman who didn’t have a face that reminded me of a painted mannequin. I mean, the only thing I’d be able to think when we’re together is, “What the hell is actually waiting to come up from the depths of the long-lash lagoon or the foundation forest?” because I’m pretty sure it’s not some sort of welcoming party. And what about the whole traveling to the bathrooms in groups thing? Sometimes I have to wonder if there’s some sort of secret society of warrior women waiting to come charging out of the lavatory and straight at me just because I was born the wrong gender in their eyes and that I have no idea what they feel or who they are. Women just terrify me at times.
The Edge
I wish I could find the edge of the world and revel in its majesty for only a minute so that I may know the splendor of life in the reflection of the human soul.
Testosterone Golems
The bible said that man was made from the very earth we walk upon, but I think God threw a few other things in just to fuck up the equation. I’m pretty sure he threw a dash of inherent asshole into the mix just to make sure that men weren’t too attainable or attractive, after that came a splash of aggression. Well… maybe he threw the whole bottle in, either way, these weird tangled up monsters he created are pretty damn annoying. They treat each other as if they were lower than the dirt from which they came, even though they have no right or reason. And for every masculine, macho, man out there, “Go fuck yourself.” Because I’m tired of all of these “Holier than thou,” attitudes, just because you have a bit more muscle, or that you’re a bit faster than I am, or because you may be able to lift more weight than I can.
Crash
I could have stuck a cigarette against my veins and watched as the alcohol set fire, yet I still took to the wheel in some half attempt at making it home. The night escapes my memory, tempting me with broken visions, half-hearted explanations, and though I can never be sure as to what really did happen, I know that I’m thankful for not watching my mother identify my body from a stretcher in the morgue.
This Way I prefer things this way. You- six hours ahead, late night Skype calls, makeshift air mattress bed, videogame junkie, dashing looks and a passion to match. Me- six hours behind, sleepless nights, early mornings, multivitamin lunches, lovely words and escaping dreams. Us- six hours apart, four-thousand plus miles separating our bodies, yet enriching our relationship one new discovery at a time. Fighting for the fleeting moments we can share until the long-term sets in. Some say we’re bound to fail. Some say we’re setting ourselves up for a collectively shattered heart. I say we’re here to prove them wrong.
Conversation
Racing; beating; still– My heart does these strange things when I’m talking with you.
Traumatophobia
This impending fight lingers at the forefront of my mind constantly.
Hacked
I’m convinced that someone’s hacked into my head and deleted the part of my brain that controls my concentration. Because at times, I have the attention span of the goldfish who just downed a bottle of vicodin. See, my brain is a livewire lined with high-voltage power lines of dreams and ideas, and I can’t shut off all the switches and relays flooding messages to my nervous system, because what I have is a nervous system. Every caustic, worried thought that I’ve ever thought tends to show up there, and all I ever do is worry about how one wrong word might end a relationship, or how one right word could start a new friendship, or how everything that I keep reading into, is just bleeding into everything else, mixing colors, while I’m sitting here… forgetting to take the time to paint with my passions and prides.
I fell for a man who lives in another country and even though people say I should be careful not to get hurt, I keep thinking, “If I’m careful with how I feel, how will I ever find love?”
Not to mention... Who are they to judge my happiness?
Since I don’t have enough money to travel the world, I try to experience the world through the internet and I think that’s biggest reason I fail to accomplish anything.
That and I have the attention span of a goldfish.
Golden
Your words make my skin feel like molten gold shifting sheets spilled wine broken bottles shared secrets renewed dreams discovered hope and it’s only Thursday night I know these late nights are killing you but you never let on At least they won’t last forever
Oliver Grunewald
What did you see in those birds that made you want to travel the world? Was it the way their wings let them leave for wherever they wanted? Because you did just that, you left after school and traveled the world, capturing the beauty of the wild in still-framed glory, meeting the love of your life, studying the kilns of the artistic gods where silicon, chlorine, sulfur, and iron ran red like the blood in your veins and as hot as the passion in your heart. You lived as a child of the forges of the earth.
A Poet Walks Into A Bar
A poet walks into a bar and proceeds to discover life in the form of cheap liquor, clove cigars, blues music, passing glances, hazy dreams, and terrible dancing. He then writes about love and loss, waking in the morning only to wonder why there are ink stains and sketches in his journal.
He’s Lazy, Not Creative
In the third grade, I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. My teachers thought I was lazy and my parents thought I was under stimulated. I just thought I was having more fun doodling and drawing than paying attention in class. But the school suggested that I see a children’s psychiatrist, so my parents took me to one in Wichita. He prescribed me experimental pills and drugs, but all they did was make me unstable and depressed. My parents stopped giving me my medicine and I went back to normal… Well, aside from the fifty plus pounds I had put on as a side effect of the drugs.
My Digital Playground
There’s this place on the internet, where I can see the world from behind a screen. I can meet people who like the same things I do and they don’t judge me for liking them, at all. It’s almost like it’s the ultimate culmination of every anxiety-ridden nerd, artist, or geek in a single website. But this place, it takes away from the time I should be using to get work done, or be hanging out with my “real life” friends. And people tend to get a bit upset about that. But I’m perfectly content with wasting hours upon hours there. Because when you log-in, you do start to lose track of time in every sense, but you also become inspired, and I think that I’ve slowly become addicted to that place because there are so many great ideas there. Now, the problem is making time to actually try out some of those ideas.
Prayer for a Long Distance Love
Let the distance between us be some day diminished for as my feelings grow stronger, my spirit can’t bear this burden forever. I’ll offer up my heart to your hands and so hope they aren’t weak, for if my heavy heart should fall, it may shatter as glass. Let the sky above be our witness and the earth below be our guide, until the day we meet each other’s embrace, let our souls be intertwined.
Raindrops
I had a fleeting thought that people were like rain... We start in the clouds Are born into the sky We sometimes share ourselves with others and then we fall towards the ground forgetting to enjoy the ride on the way down... At least we’re sure to meet again in the puddles.
Frustrating You had your words and I had mine. But where your words were beautifully crafted, mine were a jumbled mess. “I don’t know why...” Wait. That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever written. I know exactly– Why I don’t write. Why I can’t write. Why I’m terrified to write. Every time I open my laptop– I’m loading that hollow point bullet into the cylinder, giving it a casual last roll, and pressing the muzzle to my temple Every time I push my pen to the paper– I’m finishing up that thirteenth rung on a noose and slipping it tightly over my throat, standing at the edge of the seat, waiting to take a step. Every time I think– Every time I write– I hesitate. And you make it sound so simple. You can pull a beautiful phrase from the skyline and have a masterpiece in minutes, while I set here scheming for hours; trying to expel just a word or two from my consciousness. It really pisses me off that you can do that. You know?
A Letter to Megan
I can’t decide if I was right or wrong for giving up and shutting you out. We both know you fucked up, and we both know that I’m terrible at forgiving, and even though I said, “I’m fine,” you know better than I do that it was just another defense I built back for myself so you didn’t have to feel bad and I didn’t have to feel forced into trying steer us away from the cliff, even though you kept clawing your way towards the edge– dragging me along as if I were some sycophantic, conjoined-twin trophy.
Untitled There was a tire on the side of the road next to a rundown gas station. The sky was blue and clear in contrast to the bleak remnants of a lost cause, but this led me to think: I’ve been seeing the world through a distorted lens for some time now and I’ve been frightened by the beauty of life and art; trapped by my own insecurities. I was stuck on how I could never compare to these amazing people, when I, myself, held no talent. But I’m starting to realize, that’s not how art, life, or the world for that matter works. You’re held accountable for your own actions and you’re not always immediately praised for your talents, especially if you waste them. You can sit on the sidelines all your life, waiting and watching as friends and family pass on by; fulfilling their dreams and aspirations, while you let your own life fall to shambles because of a stupid thought that invaded your mind from a very young age: “I have no future.” But that’s never true for anyone. And sometimes it takes someone else to help you realize that you’re worth so much more.
Thoughts
Thoughts My thoughts are drumming against this prison. Craving to escape once more.
Trance
Distractions give way to an uneven, thoughtless nonsense passing by.
A Nonsensical Poem In the mindset of the copper raven, shimmering softly upon the sill, I’d like to think of lovelier things, rather than these thoughts most ill. Carpe diem! Seize the day! Roll out the red carpets and embrace the ways! Parting thoughts like paper bags and matching socks as if old hags had much better things to do all day than set upon their fiery graves. Carpe diem! Seize the day! Roll out the red carpets and embrace the ways! Flutter softly by your thoughts as if they out the window shot at speeds unheard of by the ear in this day that none can hear. Carpe diem! Seize the day! Roll out the red carpets and embrace the ways! Blood come thickly from thy lips and upon these waxy candles drip in the light of solemn statutes born of dying proper disputes. Carpe diem! Seize the day! Roll out the red carpets and embrace the ways! And this madness so may end out without proper commend of thoughts logically imposed and rationality disposed.
Yours
I can hear your breathing next to me, as the rain falls slowly upon the glass. Every breath, as if you were fighting, every flash, as if you were lighting a path to bring me back to you. I can hear the warmth of the winds resonating through your body; A song of innocent agonyThe anxiety of an unyielding soul. Golden Autumn, sweet sorrows, forgotten; Come flooding back to me as I’m only yours. Mold my body viciously and perfect me for your pleasure. I am the heaven, the flesh, the earth, I am yours.
End