The Ten Commandments — A Poem By Nicotine

The Ten Commandments.

A Poem by: Nicotine

Nicotine's Twitter: @MuvaCig

ONE: day, there was a light that sparked in my mind and it shined on the fact that I am unsure of what GOD is. You see, as an artist, my art is my God. I lift praise with my fingertips tickling the clouds, and my kneecaps planted into the soil. My tears of thanks - the water that makes me grow. The grace of Art wraps itself around me and reminds me that I do this for the greater good. It tells me that even though some nights my stomach is eroded by the acidic waves crashing constantly into its soft shell, that soon the hurricane in my stomach will settle and my ocean will be filled with life and purpose. It tells me that even though my fingers ache and creak like rigid old steps, that those old steps are what lead me to my glory. and I say Amen.

TWO: many times I have found myself alone with my art, thinking, "I have created all of this. I have created life and death in my art. I have created madness, beauty, and wealth. I have created faces, and nature. I have created everything and I have created nothing at all. So who is to say that I am not God?

THREE: years ago I tripped over my tangle of emotions and fell into a never ending pit of confusion and hurt. With every ticking second, the echoes of my cries bounced off of the cold walls - louder and louder, eventually covering father time's footsteps, causing me to lose track. I am blue. shivering cold in the middle of an emotional sea and the scales of my sadness are brushing against my feet. dipping me deeper and deeper with every stride. it begins to rain. Blues. Reds. Pinks. Greens. Whites. Yellows. Milligram after milligram. I yell out WHY GOD? WHERE ARE YOU GOD? YOU DO THIS TO ME, GOD? NO. GOD. and I sink.

FOUR: a very long time, now, I have spent my Sundays searching for my long lost self. I light candles in remembrance and in hopes that I will return. But I fear that I am too far gone. I must have wandered off into the depths of downtown and gotten drawn into and caught by the glow of the heart of the city. I turn canvases into missing posters and sheet music into sirens. I turn flowers into smoke and slip poisonous drinks inside me. I lie awake for seven days and pray that I will find me.

FIVE: was a memorable age for me. I was killed by curiosity and revived by satisfaction. I asked many questions that required many answers.... for instance: They say that God is the creator of all things. That God gives his or herself in everything that is given to you. So... maybe my mother is God. She gave all of herself to create my world. Everything I have is everything she has given me and she has wilted... for one flower can provide all for multiple bees only for so long. She has lost petals, but there is beauty in her distress, and still she stands, roots deep, well grounded. No matter how hard the wind blows, she will remain. strong. So maybe just maybe... my mother is God.

SIX: a.m. and I am still awake. The cold air drilling holes into my eyes like the woodpeckers do the great oak at this time. My skin, smooth and pale as if Michelangelo took his time perfecting my surface. I feel hollow and broken, not like chocolate bunnies on Easter mornings, but like clams after salty fingertips pry their precious pearls from their soft pink interior. How do I make this feeling disappear? Do I close my eyes and count to ten as if I were a child in fear of what the darkness holds? Do I hold my breath until my face resembles a warm blueberry pie? How do I rid my heart of its disease? How do I turn the wine into water? I chug it down. Wait some time. Close my eyes. And let it die.

SEVEN: of my friends left me behind within a nine month period of time because they didn't like who I was becoming. I was caught in a web of my once lover's false feelings and sticky situations. I became spotted with no sickness and bloody from the wounds inflicted. I started my nights early, getting dressed in my finest of threads only to have them torn and tattered by the time he was through. I brought my makeup bag to cover up the smears of black and smudges of blue, and I stayed. He laid in multiple beds while his side was always empty, but I stayed. The morning after one too many nights of sore slumber, I woke up and realized that I was the one being untrue to myself. And to this day i beg me for forgiveness. To this day, i beg me to stay.

EIGHT: seconds was all it took for my alarm to wake every nerve in my once numb body. My brain yelled to my heart and my heart called out to my soul, and I knew you were guilty. Charged with taking my fears and insecurities and killing them off with a single touch of your hand. How is it possible to steal something that i had tried so long to get rid of myself? Is it a crime or is it a favor? Do I hate or do I thank you? I gulp and feel glass glide down my throat and I choke. You kiss my lips and steal my last breath, yet I am still living. My body hot, and burning. Is this heaven or hell? Is this love or seduction? Should I trust you?

NINE: times a day I make sure that my loved ones know that they are in fact, my loved ones. On the quietest of days, I will yell out to the world about how much I need them in order to keep my own turning. I hear the bellies growl and I pour my soul into a bowl and pass it around, giving them each equal amounts and they know that they will never growl again. I see their legs trembling, attempting to push through, carrying the weight of society and I lift them to higher grounds, where we plant our flags of triumph. Where we plant our flags of love.

TEN: years from now, I will look back on this poem as if it were an altered reflection in a fun house. I will know exactly what it is, but I will not be able to see it clearly - i'm standing in the middle of a busy, fog filled street. In ten years, I will be diving into pools of happiness and relief with my children, thankful that I stuck to my art and myself.

Present day - I want no gifts from anyone. I do not long for their belongings, for I know that life will bless me with everlasting gifts of joy, and success.

I do not know if I will find my god on my ten year journey. But if i do, I will find myself, knees planted, fingertips high, and crying out my thanks.

Amen.