Tints of it all

It’s always been a path that has twisted the second I have put my foot upon what was perceived as stable earth. Especially any time I have made any proclamation of change or declarative to myself. Or anyone else for that matter. There was never really a beginning step, nor do I see the paths direction clearly now.

It has an air of taste but not fully indulge, regardless of the all you can eat buffet. It is the holding back children from the desert bar after eating all their dinner. A reminder to the senses that they are only in control of detecting deliciousness but not given the utensils to fulfill the salivation for hope and fulfillment.

Looking into the mirror has been a ritual in compartmentalism and I think I have become the pastor of preaching projection. The imagery that I am seeing in this reflection is of generic body parts and decorations on the anatomy. it’s not a clear picture, it is a bit foggy. And yet it is clearly seen as a component for an opportunity to critique my whole self, none the matter of the bold attempt to witness through another’s observation.

Moments of beauty linger still and wrap their scent stamp of importance. immersing ideas that memory and present agenda can somehow coexist. Breathing in a breath that was taken years already before and freshly adorned with a sound. This envelopment of calming acceptance has been trying to guide an old soul. The urgency of anew has been heeded. Moving into the fog has been the design all along.

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…

One step forward, two steps back

One month later and how do I feel…Have I gotten closer to the truth or further from what is real…I feel so much progression generally and regression specifically. In moments of space it is easily filled with the hopes doubtfully, and substantially its impact becomes harder to hold up, more straining to look up, more pressure to contain so it will inevitably abruptly erupt. More or less all up in your cup . is the cup half empty or half full.. Is the full filled with minds or minds full of static… Black and white intermingling noise generated from habit. It’s erratic and destined to its own path of channels that change, based on the programming to become familiar and yet it still feels so strange. The brain has kind of been rearranged and complains to the heart . Setting in motion the tearing apart of all the evidence built for the case of love being made and the components that make the defendant evade from the scene oblivious to its obscene behavior and pleading on the stand. It stands firm and demands the justice it had been searching for before . The glow wore , before it got brought back to the hearts court.

Already…

Is it already this day, two days before the day after tomorrow… another one of those days harrowing of sorrow… reflecting back and I recollect the beginning of the hollow.

The tunnel had been dug, been digging since the sunset dimmed, removing the foundation making flooring bend… impossible to stay stable, unable with the ground sinking in.

The reality starts to halt, the words just months before delivered, unfaltering unwavering no tremble or quiver… are no longer sourced as Love from who they were whispered.

I’ve been here before, the cycle starts turning and hits a kink in the chain… so much is familiar and yet it has an equivocal exchange … it was all raised and laid out with no grasp to remain.

It is already this day, the day before the day that comes after tomorrow… the proclamation set and yet now blame follows… such a sad reflection of the projection, once again, wilted by sorrow.

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 ….

processing, reflections, and phoenix

im processing …. and realizing there is a pulsing in the brain that is now abscessing, and simultaneously fracturing the essence of structure, …. breaking down all the zoning and the breakage causes a puncture,  the very core of stabilization… the shaking of the foundation created the shattering of the perfect reflection… only seen in the mirror of self preservation…. preserving the perverse and twisted of versions, the self visualized identity, … as the remnants lay at the floor of our souls debris… the destruction occurs naturally…. only chaos comes from the natural being while intentionally, reaching for the metaphysically, observed,  and released,  for the physical attendee to record visually… purposefully arising from the ashes with intent and poise, silencing the piercing shrieks that explode from internal noise….. with louder and more quiet, with peace and partaking of personal riot, the duality sits in one seat but has a co pilot… flying this aviation device in natures glorious defiance, navigationally pleading for direction or guidance …..while holding out for the results of this test, the years of experience are the only reliance….. relying on the self, based on what was once true, only leaves making the fool make a fool , the fool sets the new standard of what not to do, raises the bar of what to make sure to do,  ensure the new place in the opportunists new dormitory, a broken improvisation of “new” in an old story, a horror story, where peace is misplaced and love is brutal and gory, engorged, in self servitude and division of self sustainment…. watching the self try to rebuild within itself is devastating entertainment…. without the leading of the game of blame,  it seeks its own demise… falling further into the fiery path no longer disguised, and once again, out of the ashes with a smile, the soul will rise