Why getting dumped on Woman’s Day (weekend), during Women’s Month, honors the Celebration of Women, Woman’s Day, Woman’s Month, Woman’s Life.

This may seem ironic at first. Getting dumped honors women you say, how’s that? I know, it may be hard to see that as true at first, but the playbill that we have all been watching, was not what I auditioned to be a part of. I think it is safe to say, that a lot of leading women “roles” are actually a monologue of the deflated main character’s hopes and dreams. So what better way to step back into the limelight the woman was destined to play, than by being let go by a director who lost the lines to the script?

Break a leg!!

Oh ouch, I mean that figuratively, because we may need that balance as I explain just how empowering it could be to get ditched by the garbage delivery service. It’s like scoring a vintage Tiffany’s lamp in someone’s “FREE” bin on the curb, that you just got kicked to. Perhaps it can be visualized as a rare recording that just got remastered and goes platinum in a week after being dropped by a “bigtime label.” Actually, if you’re thrifty, it is as invaluable as the Juicy or Coach bag tucked away in the back of a dirty shoe shelf at a Goodwill.

Ok, ok, but why is this such a good deal?

Frankly, because I am, as you are, worth more than the mass produced cheap trash that was being fed into my soul.

The dish that I kept ordering and tasting was delicious though. Like downright made my mouth water. Every single time I sat down back at the table and I waited for my yummies, such a tasty and delectable appetizer. I was hungry though. The chef and I talked and clearly he was still a line prep. I love a man who can cook. So he kept feeding me the little delicious morsels that were filling me up, with an order on the line for the main course. My hopeful chef though, was still picking out other ingredients. He was ordering and eating from other menus as well as cooking really well for personal company. It was as if this prep cook was bringing back some of those leftovers and trying to serve them as fresh and uniquely supplied from his growing garden. I got food poisoning. Every time I bit into the prepared meal, I was dished out more watered down, reused and polished colanders caked of uncooked yolks.

The yolk was on me….

Let me tell you folks, the yolk is runny. Almost as runny-y as I am…..was….back into the shallow end of a pool that I thought kept getting deeper. Deep enough that I seemingly kept drowning in the buoyancy. I like to swim. But here’s the thing. Sometimes my water is really really dark, stagnant and pungent. I think I must be my own pool boy who just came fresh out of the gym, but has no flex. Mostly though, often I am a deep sea scuba diver that cannot navigate the way through a pond of my own wastewater. It is this environment that any sea-goer of my ship must fare at any time the storms roll in. But they are ripples from the rains of tears that were collected from the scorches of the thunderbolts at sea, where my nets have always been cast, since the time I was a Moses in the reeds. A collection of a liquid story.

An open book kind of story.

A story where it can get really difficult to trudge through those rambling rants of agony and loss. A long narrative where the writer has emphasized every letter to its fullest enunciation, giving exclamations to the most grueling grief. I narrated chapter after chapter of disbelief and debilitation followed by triumphs, joys, and reconciliations. But when the readings started reflecting and recording the rips the pages have held since the beginning of the press, the reader suddenly forgot how to read, shut the book. When opened back up to the joy of expression, after spurts of censorship, its an easy read with short stories of love, growth, and excitement. Yet when the next chapter, needs, to have its own title, needs to be enveloped into, co – authored and on the same page about where the rips are from and why they keep ripping, it suddenly becomes a comic book to the reader. Audible laughter became the veto to my voice and the red pen to my memoir.

MY memoir, MY Memories….

Many memories I have that I will hope to wash off the body like a temporary tattoo, where once the image was bright and crisp but the lasting result was a dull residue. Unlike the marring fingerprints from handling a collectible art piece to handily, some of the markings, the scar on my back, will not wash away, scrub away. Thankful I am now aware that I can have something incredibly beautiful braided onto my skin and seek healing in the process. As an artist, what is any better a way to express a scarred and tossed away clay lump of “too much mess,” than to become my own flowing and evolving masterpiece of self allowance and mastery?

A mastery of mind release.

See? It is now to become a release of all that was bound up in reflexes heightened to rubber band reactions. Wound up as tight as it could wind and triggered at its last of elasticity, snapping out of sight, and all that is left is the waves of energy left behind. The reverberations generated have shaken the casing off and created an emergence of what is to come. A flooding of all that has been dammed, from all the damns that were uttered, has come rushing through, ready to cleanse the basin. Gleaming and polished porcelain now, a receptacle of rejoicing once the voice was free to flow.

Flowing freely …

Freestyle forming now. It becomes time to see the freedom in becoming free. Not inundated with the pressures of not being able to withstand the opposition to expression. See now, the hardening chiseled away and reveals the treasure of those pressures. A diamond. Lighting the pathway which has been cleared to lay the new foundation of my Kingdom with the precious gems of the noble build. It becomes time to apply my own masonry of paving the way to a star studded encampment that will encompass all that is glistening in the glory of growth, and no longer held from progress. A lamp unto my pattering feet…

As I finally walk away…

Walk away from the table of poison where I no longer have to wonder who’s garden you pillaged to plate my palette… As I float away from falsity of finding depth in your shallows and shark infested wade pool that just waits for me to emotionally bleed and feast on my fears… As I saunter along into the sunshine and seek out only the growing seedlings found along in salutations of honesty and full hopes… I am upcycled from the bin of bruises you boxed me in and will encase the world in an array of raw and real reverence. I have become the priceless point of existence where all that reflects back to me is an understanding of what I know I am worth. And as far as being discarded in the dump, I realize that you are what you eat. I ate a lot of garbage, I became a lot of garbage. I was fined for wanting to reduce, reuse, and recycle from trash to treasure. So, while the garbage man is still making trips back and forth to the dump, I, a rare and valuable creation of star stuff and bright lights am able to find the value of the depths and rise above the heaps, where there are no more shadows dimming the hope and love I have to shine.

Shine on, me, you, crazy diamonds.

Interesting scene

I can’t stop and it’s twisting up my head. It spills, stains my brain and makes my view full of lead. I see only nothingness as the target in my chest has been washed over as unimpressive, unimportant. It must be an imported goal, complete with unidentifiable instructions leaving a hole where it was intended to be whole. Gaping, kind of oozing from a wound that is nothing short of self abusing as I sit here expecting or even hoping for the perusing of such words I have put out to be read. Most likely taking risks of it being misinterpreted. Although that would be welcomed moreover than any false hope, and following paths that keep my interests broke. The trigger that pulled the gun of loves infliction now has chambered echoes of bottled indignation. Insulting the very beginning of held out foundational building. I keep building. Seeing with a blind intuition and leading myself into clear confusion. Seeing what’s not there, but knowing it is. Giving bits of fresh air but those breaths are short lived when I see the amount of time and space afforded to something stealing away, causing priorital decay, pushing the interests further away. With that, stay. Stay there in that example of complexity, in that world of feeling not quite wrong but rightly denying the subtle intensity. I see. It should be me, maybe too clearly I see. Maybe too clearly i just want to be seen, a scene hard to turn away from. And now, killing me, I play along, willingly. I want the heart, the soul, the brain to be freedom.

just a pretty girl.

And then I realized, I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that there was no difference between those others and myself. See at first I thought I was less than them. I thought that I was nowhere near the bar they had set. I don’t have those skills. I don’t have that body. I don’t have that status. There is no way that I could ever be that.

And then I realized that I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that there was no difference between how you see them and how you see me. See at first, I thought I was more than them. I thought that I must have set the bar higher. I have admirable skills. I have a body that you crave. I have an aura about my status. There is no way they could ever be like me.

And then  I realized that I am one of those pretty girls. I saw that perhaps there was no differentiation between the lust for those and the accessibilty to me. See at first I thought that I was chosen over them, but maybe I was just settled for. I have some more than excellent skills that make you shake, but maybe if they gave the time, youd exprience the same from them. I have a body that when your eyes are closed, you slip into as though maybe it is one of them you are thinking about. I have a status that says I want love and will take it if it seems as though maybe you want to love me, because they are taken or live too far away. There is no way that you would pass up on them because they are much more than me.

And then I realized that maybe I am just a pretty girl.

Into

I want your hands to run through my hair and pull me down on to you.. I want your grip to wrap around my hips and it becomes me that you are into. I want you to pulse inside of my body so deeply, it makes the state of the earth spin tremblingly. I want the force of our friction to create a burning fire of affection and there is not a department to call that could quench this explosion. I want to fill your eyes so full of adoration and evocation that the visions you see are only of me and I am your only destination. And when your hands become one with my back and run down the curves of my soul and fill the cracks of my heart, I’m so full of your body I can’t feel anything other than you inside me. All of me with the fullness of all of you… reverberate over and again .. deep within.

gratitude

i woke up hungry with gratitude, i wasnt sure where the serving had come from but i knew it needed to be part of my new food group. i want to cut it down piece by piece and observe it. and savor it. and make it digest and become part of my everyday mood.

i want my attitude to reflect that of my gratefulness. i want it to show that even though i have been put down again and again i will rise up above this mess. like i always do when considering you. when considering it all really, ive been through.

a fall from so high that you shouldnt probably survive. but i did. i ve fallen more times than i care to count like literally, when i was a kid i fell from 30ft, 3 stories high.. and i fell down on to my back and it may have been something i should have died from, but i didnt. it was all ok. a scratch and a bruise and after  a hospital trip, i walked away.

it just goes to show that each and everyday there must be some kind of angel circling around me, guiding my steps and saying it is ok to fly. but sometimes i dive in too far too fast. and all that gratitude and gratefulness takes backseat, doesnt get the vip pass, and it wanders around kicking its little feet dragging behind me behind my ungrateful ass.

and every once in a while i will look back over my shoulder and remeber what it was i was grateful for and i’ll take a smile. and that gratitude comes back again. even though it was stuffed so far down within and so far down deep because the energy it takes to muster up that thankfulnes from the atrocities of your  life’s tragedies, you forget about bliss.

youre dark youre desolate and your life is in danger. and you give up a little bit. but you reach out a little bit. and then here comes some love in the form of a stranger. who reaches out a hand of hope, compassion and understanding , but not understanding why just knowing they think that you might be worthwhile in this life and they want to hold you close so that you can see it too ya you know where they say they hold you  so tight its like glue? putting you back, pieces together its true. sister it’s true, brother let me tell you

i can weather it no matter the storm now ive seen it all ive been through the worst. but this love that has come up through me makes me feel like im first. makes me feel like im in charge , like im the one who belongs like im the one who is strong. like i am the one who can keep going on and i do and i look at all the faces of you and i think you have been there for me and i will be there for you and you and you and you have kept me going and your love encapsulates me and keeps that little light of hope glowing

and i am thankful again i am grateful again i am hopeful within and that is because of you and your love and the attitude will become my daily food. and I will eat and I will consume and nourish back to you, 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…..

Insult to Injury

there are certain words you just don’t say

there are certain games that you just dont play

but when i say you i mean me

and the insult to injury continues, ensues, all casually

how do you recover from blatant disregard

how do you regain love into a slaughtered heart

will you, i mean,

and when i say you, i mean me,

and the insult to injury continues peruses, subtly

it is crazy to me that this is the belief

it is absurd to me to think this is relief

when i say me i mean me but why not you

and the insult to injury continues, second naturedly

who does that to someone you care about

who thinks that about someone you can’t live without

when i say who i mean me but also you

and the insult to injury stings, opening wounds liberally

most would agree if they saw it all

most might see the story so tall

and by they i mean social society

and the insult to injury stacks opinions digitally

does it all pan out and make sense to you

does it seem just a little bit off from my view

and by you i mean you, the real true you

and the insult to injury projects new avenues

second to numb

I haven’t slept much.
My mind seems to overindulge in the hyper analytics .
It appears as though I am my own worst critic.
I don’t have any trust.
The image that was first drawn became smudged out by reality.
never before had there been such heart striking fatality.
The future is stuck.
Struck down and held low in despair
Struggling for breath in loves thick and suffering air
Much too deep of a cut.
No bandaids will hold this compounding fracture
no longer can it all save face and straight stature
No longer whatever it was.
I’ve become an advocate of Stoicism for sanity , a binding pressure to create a custom built identity
Crumbling from shock’s touch.
Tremors of half way thoughts and troubling perspectives
Questioning the quest and the pursuit of objectives
Reclamation is a must.
I’m trying not to be intimidated by myself to be me, allowing a freedom that will course its mark eventually.
I have become increasingly numb.

one.week

12 hours from now it’ll be one week.
One week since the worst day of my life.
One week since I literally lost a piece of me.
One week since my old world stopped and the messed up version of my world started. One week since my heart died.
One week since I began thinking God doesn’t care.
One week since I’ve started hating everything I don’t have.
One week of pure torture within my soul.
One week that has included comments from random people that rip me apart.
One week that is revisited minute by minute by visions of horror over and again, reliving it over and again.
One week since I felt the warmth of her precious belly.
One week since I could put her little hand in mine.
One week since I could smell her, kiss her, hold her.
One week since I gave up on miracles.
One week since prayer might not matter.
One week since I could apologize to her.
One week of searching for her.
One week of desperately wanting to go back in time.
One week of hell. One week of wanting to disappear.
One week of anger.
One week of sadness.
One week of loving my husband more than I knew I could.
One week of anguish.
One week.