So … confused?

I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what it is with this feeling I don’t want to let go

but I know I’m no longer healing

I can see the happiness congealing

into little pools. …

when I pass by

i see the reflection of only a fool

who keeps trying to jump over the puddle forgetting it’s a river

forcing myself to Drown,

pressing down

into a sliver of hope

waiting for it to Hold my body

and help me Float

Flow freely, I don’t wanna keep repeating these same mistakes

waiting and hoping for love to grow,

but it won’t,

how could it when I raise the stakes every day.

This is loves game to play,

bounce the heart back-and-forth between what is real

and what is my reality,

what is real to me?

I only shorten that time by the time I spend questioning

the time I spend assuring

that deception is luring and

obscuring the clarity,

the hilarity is the severity

of how disparity takes a hold of me

and I see that I can see

but I’m blind to the outcome,

trying to outrun

the inevitability that this journey is done, drug me down turned me into someone that is no longer some one’s

present and certainly not future…

it’s fear is pure.

Born out of hell for the last two years. And now I can see

how I am responsible for these

about to be tears.. .

All the hypocrisy

coming from my broken mirror.

No wonder it all looks mispieced

and no wonder my perception

is not perceived the way that I can, conceptually

this is a malfunctioning plan

if I expect to somehow reflect

these jagged edges

and expect you to understand

and make them smooth

and cut clean like hedges..

still broken and rebuilt

but preferred to stack my brokenness tidy and esthetically,

brick by brick of emotion

as to predict the pattern accordingly, unfortunately

or a misfortune for me

or perhaps it is all jumbled beautifully, but when you look you see

shattered and shredded stories

staring back at you

from your imagery of truth,

and hear from your preferred tuning

in or tuning out of the details

expressed through,

communicating empathy.

and the reply is emptily

offering empty hearts,

easily breaking apart ,

what little is left of loves art

Grief – it ruins

Grief,

It comes out of nowhere. It tells you the truth that lies want to use as a cover. It sections off nothing and offers no disclosure.

Grief,

It is allusive and gives no remorse. It sanctions nothing as sacred and promises to contort. It gives a visual of hope and has only desolation to report.

Grief,

It is forced upon those who are desperately trying to heal. It comes full force when Love is the life’s appeal. It transitions hope into a perspective of false ideals.

Grief,

It has become an inebriation. It transforms love into devastation. It gives face of light and darkens the illumination.

Grief,

It has made me monstrous. It has erased all forms of calming guidance and patience. I have become brutal and callous.

Grief,

I no longer know what to expect from me. It has taken my dreams and defecated on my reality. I am no longer who I want to be.

Hate upon hate

I hate myself. I don’t want to do this to my children any more. I don’t want to be the reason that my kids are destroyed. I am destroying them. I am destroying them. I am destroying them and I can’t stop. I don’t want to do this any more. I wish I would have been the one to die. Although I am glad she doesn’t have to live in this bullshit of existence, I wish I would have died with her. I hate being who I am. I hate who I am. I hate my face. I hate my body. I sincerely hate my mind. I want to go to sleep and never wake up. I hate how I can’t find happiness within myself. I hate that I need others approval in order to feel good about myself. I hate that that’s only short term happiness. I hate that I perpetuate hate. I hate trying to love. I hate that I can’t feel love. I hate that my kids don’t listen to what I say. I hate that I’m the one who suffers the most. I hate that I feel like I’m the one who suffers the most. I hate that I am selfish. I hate that I’m selfish because really I hate who I am so it seems superfluous to be selfish for one that I hate so much. I hate that I need you. I hate that I want you so badly to come to me when I am feeling like this knowing you will most likely never come to me when I need you to really be there for me. I hate that I’m not that important. I hate that I am supposed to feel like I am that important. I hate that I have that need. I hate that I don’t want to play or have fun with my kids anymore. I hate how hard it is to find joy in their joy. I hAte that no one can fix this. I hate that I feel so unworthy. I hate that I feel so unlovable. I hate how complex and conflicted and crazy I am. I hate having to be strong and persevere. I hate that people foolishly think I’m good. I hate that I have to keep being something I’m not because I fear I won’t have love yet can’t really feel that love anyway so it becomes all a resentful bitter battle within my mind. I hate that I care. I hate that I want to care or be cared for. I hate that if someone was told to read this that they probably would have stopped after the first several hates because it is irritating to be in the presence of someone who hates so much. I hate that about humanity. I hate that there is so much hate in the world and so much violence and bullshit and yet all I can do is think about myself and my own hate. I hate having hate. I hate me. I hate that when I look into your eyes I can see so much love for me and the instant I look away I think you must hate me. I hate that the silence between us haunts me. I hate that it matters so much to me and I feel like you must be distancing yourself from me but the second you finally reach out to me , I feel love, and now it’s all ok. Or at least for the next five minutes of our communication process. Then I begin to hate myself again for letting that have a hold over my happiness. I hate that I have expectations. I hate that I want a life so bad that I could never have and I watch all the other lives and I wonder why I’m hated so much that I was created to suffer and want and hate. I hate that my life is better than a lot of lives. I hate that their mindset is much braver and stronger and more grateful than mine while they suffer so unnecessarily and immensely and it is all about some self righteous asshole hating that there are people who have less than them or look different than them or believe opposed to them and still those who truly suffer still don’t hate. I hate that you don’t text me first thing in the morning and tell me good morning and you love me. I hate that our love isn’t like the love we had when we very first began, when it wasn’t love but the love of the idea that it could be love. I hate that I’m sitting in a really cold house as I write this knowing that I will never have the ability to possess the means to make this house or any other house my own and beautiful and solid and safe. I hate knowing that I should be grateful. I hate that I’m full of hate . I hate me. I hate that the strength I attain comes from such raging emotion and it boils my soul and I can feel it’s reserves coming to the top and all the pain surfaces and I cannot stop. I hate that it’s my children who are in the fallout. I hate that it’s never something or someone who deserves it but my beautiful formable moldable impressionable, filling hate into their souls, children that are the ones who really suffer on account of my overflowing hate. I hate that I thought I was a good enough being to bring these precious prizes into a world and mother so full of hate. I hate that I feel so weak. I hate that hate breaks me down so far down and crumbles under my own perception of what I hate. I hate that I can’t prove your love for me to me. I hate that I feel like you are just appeasing me or settling. I hate that I think constantly about love and what that actually means and how is it truly shown when I can only see so much hate, meaning to me that perhaps all my hate about the way you love or don’t love me flaws the receptivity of your love. I hate that you do the opposite of what I tell you I need and it makes me question your love for me and I wonder if it’s that you can’t give me what I need but I don’t want to let you go because I love you and my biggest weakness is not hate, it is love.

It’s me, again

im sorry, i know you are busy. i know it is not a good time. but i dont know when is when i feel like my heart is on the line. never is there a good time. never is there a good place. there is never a good anything when i am in this space. and so that is exactly what i want to address. i cant understand when and why this is a constant part of my process. i dont want to be like this i dont want to be seen like this. i feel like im on the edge daily of a mental abyss. and that is hard for me to admit. but i say it all the time so that i can feel legit in my being legit in my existence like i am a part of this fight and i dont want the resistance. i want to be able to live freely in love. i want to know that you are in love. with me. all of me. especially the hardest parts that there are of me to love. and i should probably stop hoping that i should feel that from a human love. i should probably learn to let that love come from above. i try oh believe me i try. but everyday that goes by and i dont get the whatever it is i need from anywhere i try love, i die. a little bit more in my brain and a little bit more my heart goes insane. because, see, this torment comes out of nowhere sometimes. and this torment is created by my internal lies sometimes and this wisdom that sits deep inside my soul gets washed away with every time my expressions are turned away from. or not acknowledged. not drawn out from me, see… i want to be engaged with words that extrapulate the self hate away form my mouth away from my souls gate and the prison that i have built as my metaphorical estate. and everytime i have to be the one to say anything about my mental duress i get stressed because it is happening again, and i just cant win and i should be able to come to you but dont you understand that to me love is when you choose to infiltrate the demons inside me, with the knowledge that you will stand beside me and fight with me. i know that you are scared youll get taken control of, but when love fights next to me the fight is quickly over. and i am free once again. i can then resume my life and live once again. i can look into your eyes because they are so near to me and i didnt fear that i would be fighting alone while you waited for me to win on my own and come back to this world with a smile on my face. while you wait for me to be a in a space that you are more comfortable to embrace. love is not always comfortable, love is when you look at me and say that together we are able to keep growing stronger. and it will take longer for those demons to come back into my brain because you will be on guard and holding my heart close enough that the space is too small for the doubts to grow bigger and make me fall out of your hold, the grasp would be too tight and soon i will see that there is no reason to fight anymore. because everytime i have expressed my doubt of my self or your love you will have stood in the path of my resistance and you will be persistent and you will not be distant. but insistant that no matter how long this takes you are willing to be the one who will always win this race that i run against myself. and i wont have to fear that it is slipping away based on the games that myself internally plays agianst me and that the rest of the world. i will know that i am always heard. and loved. and i will win, and then … you wont be too busy because the time is so few and far between. and i will always feel like a queen who has control over her kingdom , no more doubts will be let in. and all the in the middle of the days woes will be washed away by the i love yous, and ill know that is true…

my name

the thing is that i don’t really know, ya know? i just kinda sit back and let it all flow, let it all roll, down my thick slick skin like a hippo in its oil, chilling out, not worrying about the recoil from any thing that was said or even implied. i lied.

at least that is not what my heart says to do. it says to turn around and say, fuck you. it says turn around and end this abuse. the misuse of my heart is so easily acceptable by myself when myself is feeling a little mentally untrustable. is it un or is it able?

waning i make my way to a table of cards that you dealt i pull up a chair. it’s fragile and broken, in need of repair. and it is so easy to observe, relentless, absurd how much the seat of which i sit reflects now for me to see what i always have heard.

fuck you.

alright i wont say it again, but sometimes these words are the only ones that can begin to describe the amount of energy it takes to contain all the chaos and darkness that consumes this supposed brain, when i have to refrain from explaining to you the actual you.

you say what you need to, say what you must… but the persistence and insulting insistence makes me inwardly combust. it’s all unjust, emotional dusting and spiritual stifling, remaining too long, but now i am strong,

and strength is my name, literally, everyday of my life i have been fighting for something figuratively, but also fighting for life every day positively and truly, seeking out the higher truths which have led me back to a bit of my characteristic youth.

and has led me back to explain something deeply about me to you. it’s not all about what you did to me or what i didn’t do, its not about the twisted result how with myself i am repulsed when i should have been upheld., held up,

hold up, no no no,

it’s about how i let me slip away how i fell into the silence game, how i gave away the meaning of my name, and redefined over time. reimplied whom it is i was supposed to be, yet here i am rediscovering that me is a she who is fine and able. she is learning to cast shadows to those uns and shine light on the ables…

fuck yes. i am stable.

i am labeling a path, “now mine to take.” and im sorry for the pain youve endured on behalf of my mistakes. it wasnt me. or i know some was, but im getting the impression that i am better than i was, but now with a voice. and a desire to voice it, tell my truth, whatever that is. no matter the consequences.

and i realize that not all energies, with mine, will form alliances… i realize that it doesn’t change the fate of my future intolerances. oh the dancing of chances and the passing of glances….

i am now learning i was good but i was quiet and withdrawn, those are for reasons that could take days to go on, wanted to speak, but i never did. like i was a kid whose voice was heard but not really.

so, really, now, i am hoping that i will, now i can, i am trying, no longer trying to cling to a life where it is all about self silencing, that self sabotaging route needs to step out of the way, because im here, to reclaim this day,

for me, strength is to remember my name

No one cares

I had a hard day today, none of them are my friends

I had a hard day today, another day of hope and pretend

Things are harder for me now, it’s harder to get through

Things are harder for me now, I struggle through what is easy for you

I am broken now, you just run along and play with them

I am broken now, you say I’m using that old excuse again

I’m struggling, ever since my baby sister died

I’m struggling, please see my brokenness inside

I’m dying, drowning in my brain

I’m dying, yes the – my baby sister died – excuse will remain

silent strings

the dictation is super strong even though there are no words, there is no song…. the chords that are not playing overtake the audio and the audience sits applauding, oh the intensity of the spectators felt triple fold the under the pressure of the encores and the lighters waving around and putting it all under the light and all over again, these feelings, having to fight back the emotions but they are always in control so the are just let loose and maybe will present some healing, i am hopeful….. but while the smile on the face of the one tearing it all down walks around flaunts around there is more stone thrown on the ground and it is crushed by the “greater” and “better,” what will never be built …. forced to watch a structure be remade by architectural guilt, in a world that is conditioned by hurt and making sandcastles out of the driest of dirt… foundationally impossible and yet still it is tried, and it is failed.. and it is swept under the rug and declared clean and repaired, fully detailed. on the outside appearance it is fresh and giving young and determined and the crumbling remnants are left to the mouse with nothing, troubling…..how much so little it appears to one, to the other is much, too heavy, the smallest of items to some are checkmarked too large a burden to carry, on the backs and the hands and the hearts of the wounded loved, no matter how high i try to rise above, there is a constant leveling a spiritual unsettling and bringing down of elevations, and there is less of me and more of the jealousy and less understanding and more impractical demandings of my heart to understand and move on and be free, and it still looks down and sees the strings ….

write or wrong

At a steadfast pace in this existential race, I’m ever wandering on a path that steadily, is being erased.. I jog along trying to keep next to my mate, but that map is quickly being misplaced. It’s in the plan to exacerbate, forget to mediate and just begin to elaborate like my ears are a fresh slate.

I’m irate.

I’m needing to medicate and replate this dish thats been served at my table. The one that has a misleading label. It comes with a menu that is written in fables. Words so smoothly ejected that they make your understanding feel disabled.

Without the able.

Locked in a stable and stuffed in a cradle to be kept at bay, while all the nay sayers neigh, and display the inability to articulate the right thing to say. It all comes out in disarray.

Today. Not today. Someday. Some way.

Weighing the past to the future while missing the present, the reality being filtered by resent. The distance growing rapidly by coupled dissent.

I relent.

I indent my paragraphs to acknowledge priority of speech. I use this avenue to release.

Please.

I am incarcerated by your freedom of speech, and the twisted justice has my faith impeached. My body beached. Floundering in the chaos and fleek. Flock, forgoing the family flight. Standing still while watching lies pass me by, reeling from plight or a lack thereof. If there was pride from the guide, there would have been love.

still screaming, silently

We just go on day by day. Well, I mean, you do. You think I do. You see me in the “everday,” so I must be going on too. Moving on. Every one just moves on. So typical. I am in no way judging, it just is what it is….

But today was like it was just yesterday.

To me, it was just yesterday.

How could it not be?

Sometimes I think it gets harder. There are so many expectations of me, and now more.

I just cant even imagine…. could you expect this of yourself?

I have a plan or rather a goal, but I have to reset this goal every day because each day it amounts to a pressure that breaks me down. Again, I have to rebuild.

This just happened yesterday because I have to live it every day. Each day I wake up, and all three of my earthside children wake up, I, remember the one who never woke up…..

Compartments

And then there are those times in which you hate everyone who has a baby who survives labor and delivery. It’s this fraction of space and time that occupies or rather seem to invade your lifespan in a blink of existence. Of course you want everyone to survive or transition with ease and as whimsically as possible.

Let’s face it though, it makes me cringe.

Every. Single. Time.

Except for when my best friend had her baby. I anxiously awaited news that her c section went fabulously and that little man was well. Then as soon as I knew all was well, I got remarkably resentful, and not of her (not of baby either). Now it meant that I would forever look at this precious realm of innocence and shroud it with the constant reminders of what we were going to relive again. Our eldest and our youngest… all the firsts our “lasts” were going to share close together… now replaced by all the firsts and all the nevers.

Somehow I have to really compartmentalize all the compartmentalized compartments into even smaller sub compartments to stay sane and claimant on our relationship.

She gracefully understands this process.

This is a gripping effort on ripping away the pain hold  that grief grabs on to, desperately.

It is incredibly frustrating to be angry with someone for just being alive. It’s not really even them though. It is the seemingly blatant disregard for my soul that the “creator” would constantly allow these situations to unfurl at my wounded base. Which, by the way, is at such a weakened state that the slightest breeze, even intended to be comforting, is trembling earth all around. It is natures gamble in regard to whether or not the structure will remain standing. The structure itself has no plan, it just waits.

There is rarely a day that goes by that doesn’t hold a note of laughter sounding off behind my every attempt to breathe quiet to my brain. In every essence of “just be” there is the subtle waft that lingers too, with an “on your guard.” In the constant effort exerting from my everything to enjoy anything, there are equally what seems like exorbitant amounts of endless prodding of my personal patience practice.

And along comes another compartment.

The section where I have to put the realization that there will always be more babies. Also, I am able to love and cherish my best friends baby in a way that i may not have before… Perhaps he will need me in the future and the little box of subconscious resentment (which, i don’t actually resent this baby or his mama – in any way, truly) that has been built into my normal will be quashed and I can let babies be born with a warm heart… but until then, I separate my pain from my love, for his little innocence is the only current hope I have to reclaim love for the cycle of life. And soon, I will no longer be able to provide this type of life cycle, which, I’m building a compartment for as well.

I didn’t know it then, but I do now…  Archaea’s death was not just hers, nor “mine,” but all the little intricacies and interweavings of what life is made from. The vein of life and death are the same and it all flows together. Every movement is intertwined with realities and possibilities and limits, and like energy, we are exchanging each others movements all the time. Thus creating another opportunity to present more pain, confusion, distortion, for every release, focus and clarity.

Every baby’s birth is my baby’s death and the death of me, our lives, reality….

I wait.

I build compartments.

I long to build one to stand on and let birth, babies, and unicorns be my open platform of personal power!