is it?

am i allowed to tell it like it is? i feel veiled and slightly filtered. i feel like i should be able to tell it like it is. but i am not sure if i do. sometimes i believe that i the story i represent of myself is true. like, i really am that fierce. like i really am that brazen. but i dont tell it like it is. i tell the veiled, the filtered version.

if i was allowed to tell it like it is, really tell it like it is, then there would be an intensifying disdain for my presence. there would be an ever present caution of character when i arrived. that might be cause for me to become brazen. but i dont tell it like it is. i tell the version that your ears are hearing.

if it was allowed for you to hear what i am saying, really telling it like it is, then there would be a real genuine empathetic growth in relationship. an understanding of expression and not an attack on what the original interpreter suggests it means. but that would take a miracle, to hear it like it is.

it doesnt feel like i am able to tell it like it is. it is personified through the filter of personal experience and interpreted with a lens of altered perception. though it may be of the same resonance, it is never the same received as to which it was delivered. hear it, but not like it was.

would i be able to receive it like it is. it is a pondering that lingers. i applaud jokingly for myself as i attempt to persuade myself to believe that i would have none of the altering that i accuse generally amongst fellow human. that i would be able to hear what is being told  to me like it is as a genuine expression of their inner heart and world and it is their process that is true and therefore important to tell. for me to help them understand that yes, empathy and love are a real thing.

I need…

To be told I’m loved. Even if it’s late.

To be told I’m loved. Even if it’s early.

To be told I’m loved. Even if I know it.

To be told I’m loved. Especially before I sleep.

To be told I’m loved. Especially when I am sad.

To be told I’m loved. Especially when I’m being difficult.

To be told I’m loved. Every time I’m full of doubt.

To be told I’m loved. Every time I want to run away.

To be told I’m loved. Every time I feel distant.

To be told I’m loved. Proved by desired time talking.

To be told I’m loved. Proved by asking me to be near.

To be told I’m loved. Proved by asking about my heart.

To be told I’m loved. Providing a safe space for my healing.

To be told I’m loved. Providing open ears to hear my feelings.

To be told I’m loved. Providing a vision of love without fear.

To be told I’m loved. Desire to share time and energy.

To be told I’m loved. Desire to learn more and connecting deeply.

To be told I’m loved. Desire to know and inquire my mind.

To be told I’m loved. Devotion of kindness and empathy for my pain.

To be told I’m loved. Devotion of priority to reflect affections.

To be told I’m loved. Devotion to my being, because of love, only love.

My house is so quiet

My house is so quiet. There is no one here but me. I’m not used to this feeling.

My house is so quiet. My mind is incredibly loud. I’m trying not to be proud.

My house is so quiet. It is close to time for bed. I’m begging for a quieter head.

My house is so quiet. There is ringing in my ears. Maybe that is just the echoing of my fears.

My house is so quiet. It seems so lonely inside. Is it from me or you that I’m trying to hide?

My house is so quiet. I need no lights on to see. No one will notice I wear your shirt to sleep.

My house is so quiet. I wish I could know what is next. I pray for resolution, for the heart, what is best?

My house is so quiet. Maybe I’ll hear the voice of reason. I yearn for the truth and our warmer season.

My house is so quiet. I see that resemblance from us. The next choice needs to be trust.

Where am I?

Where am I when I am searching inside? Can anyone still see me or is it a matter of mental seek and hide. I feel faded and not fully alive. I feel jaded like it’s difficult to contrive.

I sink deep into what I don’t want to feel and relinquish my hope. I splash about in the shallow end and desperately request a rope. My hands flail about and my effort is choked. Back to the bottom of the waters, my view comes from a fogged over scope.

In an awkward silence my thoughts begin to escape. They string together in an unnatural fray. I begin screaming inwardly for something important to say and I’m never quite sure if the words come together the right way.

Until it comes I will sit in my wonder. Until it is impressed and permeated I will mentally and verbally flounder. Will I know when it has arrived or will I hold it in front of me and ponder? Will I keep it at arms length or even a distance further and longer?

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.

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.

series; the mind

dangling, it has its own feet, sweeping me off into a delusionary suite. a room full of choices to which my hopes cannot compete. treading, it steps along the lines given to follow, tiptoeing softly among the path that is inevitibly hollow and hard to stand beyond the shallow end. grasping, it is losing its grounding, the directional chaos is compounding. the navigation of what direction to trust is a confounding compass.

pleasant, the satisfaction attained, when accomplishing a goal acclaimed, set out and in reach it is ascertained perhaps even easily. joyous, it is high in elation shaking hands with rejoicing conversation and communicating through proficient verbalization leaving no flaws of meaning. What is said is what is heard and the over analyzing is no longer a paralyzing part of the deciphering agony over words, I pass the test.

Dropping, a rope that hangs selflessly awaiting for the next useful demand. Swinging into the weather and pulling away from its tethered command. Offering an anchor to let away the experience of expectation with one hold in fear and the other in glorification. Gripping the idealistic approach knowing that it is just a fast paced reach of hopes reproach and slipping under the conditioning that was supposed to be a decision. Knowing that whichever way, letting go or reaching higher the result is an unwanted mess.

Playing, as if choices were really choices. Speaking as if those choices were given voices that were heard and submerged in the acts and actions of applicable life situations. Listening, yet desiring the change of station where what is absorbed through the delivery of chords doesn’t take over stimulation. Betting against the odds that it will end up in a win, fighting the urge to give away the cards that were given, and being asked to play or to pass…

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.

A series; body

it is a time capsule and it knows pushing the limit. it is in the beginning stages and yet is approaching its finish. it bends and twists and also straightens its edges. it houses experinces that pushes minds off of ledges.

it sways and remains immobile. it reaches further into the unkown and remebers the infantile. it moves in a fashion that is foregin to some. it is disgust to others it is beauty to none.

it has housed souls beyond one and it has desire to keep growing. it is isolated sometimes by choice but yearns to be chosen. it is the infinite and everlasting and insists it is finite and not worth the effort of holding or clasping.

it is a miracle and deserves to be revered. it is immaculate to which nothing can be compared. it is often used for the purpose of superficial carnage and left aside while its spirit is picking up the wreckage.

it is strong and terminally weak. It holds big breaths of hope yet exhales the bleak. It remembers the sunshine and warmth while projecting a coldness of disposition forth.

It is bound by desire and trembles at the touch. It offers less and requests too much. It could be yours for the rest of time, yet still with or without, it is mine.

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…