Something Harder

•April 24, 2017 • Leave a Comment

Conversations and observations have brought me to ther point of sheer and utter….

Screaming at the top of my lungs…

And then a pause…

Banging my head on the wall..hoping..hoping..praying…the last stop before being pushed off the cliff…

The pit stop before the fall..

And this time I am enjoying the fall…

Today I was told I have rage…

And my polite answer back was…you have never seen my rage…

Only one person on this planet has witnessed my rage…

And that would be my father…

Many people say…anger is bad…

I dont know..I think complacency and turning your eye away..is the crime…

if someone is angry…they just might be awake enough to know that something either with them or someone else is just not right…

I have seen anger because one has been called on the carpet…for their lies and actions…

And I have seen the liar..fly into the insanity of spit spewing from their mouth as to…”No big deal..GEEZ..”

And that is where anger steps in…

And we will encounter many people who will say, we should not be angry when one encounters another who is lying, lying, lying and still expects you to play with them…even as you see bodies lying about the room, that you have to step over..

Should I be happy?

Should I be sad?

Should I forgive and forget?

Should I offer the other cheek?

Why are we so willing to beat the crap out of Trump for lying but accept it in our personal relationships..?

Perplexing at best…

OR…

Am I to recognize that there is a sickness…a disease…and the liar wants the disease to be mine…?

Or forgive and forget…

Turn the other cheek…

And how many times..?

How many deaths..?

How many tongues cut out…?

How many surgeries…?

How many apologies…?

How many roses..band aids..chocolate bars..sweet kisses and I Love You’s will do..?

Anyone have an answer….?

How many times do I have to hear…Help Me…please help me to stop drinking…how many times do I allow myself to be used like a dildo from the reality store of misconceptions and ideals..?

How many..?

How many times does my life…my precious life..have to be put on the line…

Till I am one of the bodies lying on the floor..?

Till death do us part…?

My untimely death of course…?

Because now I am in a better place…?

The harder thing…really is this…

Knowing that this world says…

After I have been raped, abused, molested, my innocence stolen from me, stolen from, all that I worked for taken away because someone who made a promise got in a bad mood because I did not act right, used as a hole, children turned against me..but not before they got a few kicks in, spending my life wondering if I will one day get sick..

That I am not allowed to be angry..

Because why..?

Because anger makes you do what..?

Remove people from your life that are trying to kill you…

Or..

Not be played with like a cat toy..

Or…

Speak the truth…

Oh yes…if I remove a liar..a thief..an abuser…well then I am not available for abuse…I am not available for you to use me..

Because if I believe I should turn the other cheek, for you to pummel another blow upon it…I am always available for you slander..

And thinking that your dead ass that smokes, drinks, uses people like holes is my fault…

Am I close…I think I hit the target…

And no..I get nothing..

I do not get glee, that another has chosen to drink over having me around..

I get nothing…

I got nothing from last words with my father..words I had spoken to him a million times..

And got nothing..

Not even a false”I am sorry”…

And I hear it now…you should not expect anything…

Why..?

I am to forgive and forget the brutal rape of my father…daily to all his children..including his sons…

Umm…can I watch while you try to forget…and then attempt to muster up that forgive part…?

Is that what we say to the parents, the mothers, the wives..of the black men we slaughtered…?

Because they are angry and are defending themselves…

Because we do…

We say cute little things like Chill…they had no idea what they were doing…it was a mistake..

Mess up once that is a mistake..keep doing it..that is a decision…

And then back to our cell phones,,our drink we just cannot put down..and believe that one was in the wrong place at the wrong time..that her skirt was too short or her pants too tight..or that the child was not wanted, so I can throw it in a dumpster..or I can handle the car, I mean I just had a few beers…or that I am not the Proverbs 31 wife and mother..or that my skin is the wrong color..and that I deserve to die..OR..OR..OR…etc.

See people we have been led down a dark road…

And we blissfully following it..with the people who would rather send a text than pay attention to the fact they are driving..

We are dealing with stinking death…wrapped up in pretty advertising…and we salivating…and cannot wait to get our hands on the next greatest thing they tell us is important..

So here goes…

Im pissed…

I am angry..and it is seeping into rage..

And I aint gonna try and make it go away..

Sorry if I offend..but not really…

But playing with death and making precious life like a piece of tissue paper I just used on my ass..is not where I play..

So call me what you will…I will wear each and every label with pride…

Yes, I am angry..I am pissed..

But understand something…

Your dead…just a corpse walking the planet with a cell phone glued to your hands..

And I am not…

I am a life force..you cannot extinguish..

For one simple reason…

My anger..

 

The hardest thing…

•April 24, 2017 • Leave a Comment

The hardest thing ever…the deepest wound…the most difficult assault upon this heart we take so for granted…

Is to love another who has chosen death in a million small ways..over the love of you…

To hear my voice..beseeching for another moment when they are fully present with you…

Moments are rare, yet you would give your soul to have one more moment…one more exchange of words..despite them being rolled in anger..weeping in tears..

The hardest thing, I have ever tasted is the tears running down my face, knowing that was the last conversation..you will ever have…

Until you read the obituaries and see their death warrant in black and white depicting a person’s life in a few small sentences…

Hoping you can hold your tongue to those who have watched this person you love, drink themselves into their final coma..knowing that they could have stopped them, long before you stepped into the picture…

Realizing that 12 step groups do not work, because they never talk about WHY…damn them…

And rehab, in my little ability to smile these moments..I chuckle…strip them raw and then send them out to sea with a pack of chewing gum and a strainer…

The hardest thing ever…is watching someone you love bury themselves a hundred times a day…doing everything you can to show them there is a reason to put the alcohol down, do not get in that car, put the pill in the toilet and flush and please oh please do not let your body be used as a hole..for another to get off on…oh please..

The hardest thing is thinking..your love is enough..that maybe they will choose you..but they do not..

They choose alcohol..pills..porn..and letting their body be used like a hole…and then try to use your body like a hole..

The hardest thing…is staying angry when everyone tells you to CHILL..

The hardest thing is trying to forget..this is an illusion…a good one indeed..perfected…

The hardest thing is holding on to the person, the being..the life breathing under all those lies they try to sell you…

The hardest thing is telling yourself they mean nothing…as you weep yourself to sleep..

The hardest thing is staying away..holding your breath..wanting to hold them so close to you, like they are under your skin..and believe your touch is enough..

The hardest thing is believing you are enough…and then knowing your not..

The hardest thing is waiting..waiting..

Until it comes…and you know…you are not enough..and never will be..

And how many times do you need to be told…you are not good enough..

But this time, you let it sink in…

The hardest thing…

 

Hold

•April 7, 2017 • Leave a Comment

A hold…a hug..

Same, similar, each in it’s place..

I feel the difference.

I hear the difference.

I taste the difference.

I voice the difference.

The hug welcomes, perchance a greeting. An acknowledgement of knowing.

It can be measurable. It can be contained. It can represent.

Hug..Hold..

Hug can cause a smile, wipe away a tear, give greeting to the next space, the next sentence.

The hold..the whispered ache of what is engaged.

Hold approaches..lightly traces from the hand to the shoulder. Petals of rain lingered from one place to the next.

The eye release, the shy speculation, the thought of what the hand, the arm, the shoulder may contain.

And knows what it contains.

Space, air between, timid expectation, wanted or pushed aside.

Steps falter, unsure, quizzical look upon the furrowed brow.

A sigh, a release, an acceptance of what is next.

Space cleared, thoughts interrupted, an opening to the moment that has been closed..off..boarded up and nailed closed.

Sideways turn, wrist grasped as one turns to flee..the closeness..

One can not live with, and the closeness one cannot live without.

Panic..thoughts race..what..what if I…???

What if I let go and feel this for a mere moment.

What if I engage and take myself from the this stoic position, this place.

Back turned, whispers spoken, face the hold head on.

Hold breath.

Speak and imploring, pleading to not get to close.

Forget that I exist.

Step in and pull towards..

Oh the shoulders release, break down, head drops, another gentle hand lifts the chin.

Look into this space.

Arms come about the shoulders, pulling in, placing head upon the shoulder, maybe resting on the chest.

hear the heart, hear the breathing. Choppy for the moment, slight staccato, rushes in and then silence.

breathe held, whoosh released, fall into the space. Will I slam into the floor..?

Does the hold catch me.

I cannot breath. I cannot see. This has to all be feeling. No logic can involve me.

No analytical summary of what this does and how. It is.

Eyes mist, thoughts race. How does one know that this is a hold, not a hug.

Not a brief interlude of pity, a pat upon the back. Consolation not asked for.

Did my eyes betray me..?

Did my voice crack when I said the words..” I am good, nothing to worry about here”.

Pulled towards, moved in, arms entwined, push and pull.

Fight, pummel upon the chest. I do not need this…

I needed this years ago, as that child weeping…confusion filling all the gaps and open spaces.

It is here it will not go away.

All that I held as my offense.

All that I used to not need..this.

Came to that hold.

The question I ask myself as this begins..is..

Can I let this hold swallow me up..

Can I be as that child, who lost count of all the holes, being filled with..words and glue..?

What happens when I cannot contain that hold..?

What happens..

What up with the nice…?

•March 28, 2017 • Leave a Comment

I watch shows about chefs…

Shows about cooking…

Shows about stepping out of the lines drawn about us by our own hands..

Shows about creating beautiful food..knowledge of food..from the most difficult conditions..or perceived conditions..

Most of these “competitions” have ruthless competitors…note the word competitions…

People who will trade you in for a snicker-doodle in an instant..

People who will watch you get hurt and smile because it put them one step ahead..

Nor like an alcoholic..who will gut you for a sip of liquor..or sell their grandmothers antique lace bedspread for a six pack…

There is some Karma note in there, I am sure..

We have many in this country and not many if any in other countries..except one..

And it is the farthest thing from a competition..unless you are competing with yourself and trying to learn something or do a skill..anything well..to the best of your ability..

The British Baking Show

Has me transfixed…

Not because my love of cooking or baked goods…

But because the people are so kind..truly kind..

And I am dumbfounded..

I kind of do not know what to do with such reality…

Hmmm….

Sitting in my bubble of people who pass their illusions of reality about, can make one a cynic…

Yet what if you stepped out of their perceived illusions..because those are meant to keep you looking their way..

So I did..

And the flood gates opened…

I found many lies and liars..

I found that I was carrying on me their illusions that I dumped onto my life situations..and damn if that did mess up my life…

Now back to reality…

This show..The British Baking Show…is wow…

People are there to learn…people are humble…and that show taught me the definition of humble..

People share knowledge..people actually care…and they are glad..happy..overjoyed when another “wins” the round..because it only adds to the betterment of the whole…

Man oh man that scares me…

I have not been around that..I want to say ever…but I know in grade school I had a teacher like that..who when one student stumbled..it affected the whole group..so we all “repaired” so they were good and the whole group was good..there was no me..me..me..

And to be honest I cannot think of any instance of it being okay to be me..me..me..

Because everything I do..affects the whole..

I found that out in applying for a job..

I let another person who has a real sick attitude to puke on me..because he does not like people..why..?

Because they do not accept his vomiting on them..and I let his acid attitude bleed into my heart…

So I took everything wrong..and I made it about me…

And aint nothing about me…except the things that are about me…and do not confuse that with self care..

What I do..even writing this post..affects the whole…all of us..

Just like my choice telling a person I know..that I will not accept their drinking as a replacement over me..or even safety..

That I will not be placed on the same level as a drink..a beer..a sip of gin..nada..

That I will not be part of that game..and the destruction it sends out in waves to the whole..

When I did that..

I said..there is value..tremendous value..I have tremendous value..even the person on the corner asking for something…

So my view of thinking..(for a short moment in time)…I got to get the punch in..I have to make sure my stuff is protected…I have to make sure none of you ninnies get in front of me…made me believe lies and then be stupid..

So I realized, my new employer..had a valid place from where she was sitting…and it did not anger me anymore..it made me sad..

Because she had to say to a person over qualified, that it was needed for me to do my job..not because of me not doing my job all these years.. but because of those who did not do their job and she had to be their mother..and father..and hall monitor..and teacher..and the parent we refuse to be to our children..because we want them to like us..

Screw them liking me..what a patsy..

And so I do my best job…because it affects everything that happens while I am there..what happens after I leave for the day…the energy I leave there..it affects the whole..

It creates…The British Baking Show

Where everybody is an task to work towards a goal for the whole..

No lies..

No backstabbing..or setups so you win the prize..

Because this is not about the prize..

It is about the whole..and how this heart operates..affects how another heart operates..

We think..no one sees us in the garage or back hallway..pop the pill so we are given the illusion of virility and confidence..

We think no one sees us in the kitchen or outside while we pretend to play with the dog..take a sip or two or three…and more..and smell like something close to the dump on a 98 degree day..

We think we sleep it off..or we got a handle on it…

And then the dominoes start falling..

And no matter what you do..you in the lineup..

So which cooking show you want to be on…?

The one where you lose all your fingers…because someone said…they got a handle on their sickness..

Or the one where you give another a spoon from your drawer because their spoon dropped on the floor..and in the end there is this cake all can eat from..so beautiful..with no calories or fats..

Choose wisely..

Because the decision is not like Glamour Shots where the illusion disappears when the makeup is wiped off and the hair weave needs to be taken back..

The decision falls on me..me..me..

For you..you..you..

Falling Leaf

•March 20, 2017 • Leave a Comment

 

Falling Leaf

 

Wind moves, the skirt stirs, fingers run through the lines of my sweater.

Hands spreading chills across the back bone

Tickles like the winter sun, cascading down the back..lifting the hems

Turn sideways as chill mixed with the remembrance of spring,,goosebumps up the leg.

Falling, twisting, almost upside down..almost

Life in almost..

Edges starting to brown and pull into self, the familiar scent of me,

Turned over..backbone raises to the skies..wind wisps and I flinch sideways..

Adjust and then float..

Falling..lift up..picked up by the fingertips..

Held in suspension..head down..almost crashing to the ground..

Wind fingers wrapped about the ribcage..squeezed..is there breathe..will there be breathe again..

Pushed up while held down, silent gasps for breathe, Light flows through the cracks..what is being seen…

Brown, earth..muddled color..seeping to the edges..just alive will not allow me to float..

One part anchored to the ground..another part reaching, pulling to the heavens..

Gusts blow..pushing shoving..thoughts kept contained for the times no one can hear..

Weep from me..

Swirls in grey masses..is how I imagine the wind at dusk..

Falling leaf..

Just as the sky will determine what the next day will bring..

Red to coax the sun to return itself tomorrow..with soft, pushy clouds that play peek a boo with your thoughts.

Lifted, moved, jostled a bit with the promise of another moon to speak into the night.

Grey masses of tension layered with lights dancing beneath the wings, lifting up and up, no farther..my thoughts may come out and in this instant I want no one to hear them.

Purple mixed with shots of blue to produce somber lilac..is it anger or confusion

Or neither..

Just a show for the benefit of all who pause to watch..

Gust from beneath the leaf. Yanks and twists and turns..

Feet down. Ready to stand on the brown, with green interlaced..

Shoved and then stillness.

Float..like the hawk..on the gusts..lifts its head to feel the filtered sun..so much light..

Arms go slack, trusting resting on the moody wind..

Glad it contains the thoughts I do not want anyone to hear.

Currents of feelings run through the legs, sortings..

Stutterings..move up, drop down, plunge from the high dive..

Falling, crashing, right before impact, lifted up..pulled up like a grasp at the back of the neck..right before the fall..

Slammed awake..gasp and repeat..done all over again..

Grabbed, lifted, tossed about, plunged into the hold..silent thought..feeling so full it feels absent..

Rocking, raging water..nicking edges..the rush goes all over..more noise and then suddenly silent..

Falling leaf.

Summoned back to the air..to float..wondering if I can stay here in this imagined limbo and only, just only look at this thought..which contains everything.

Water cold races over edges, splattered about just enough to get the gasp..

Skim the rock edges, patterned about like a statue carved in standstill and tells a story with just a glance.

Under water, holding breathe..

Falling leaf.

Held under, look about..

Rushed to the surface to guarantee breath..

Does this dance mean I am alive..

Or is this alive they tell us to live..come in these moments..

And the rest, which appears to be mundane..keeps us seeking for the rushing, swirling, upside down wind..

Meant to catch breathe, meant to hold breathe, meant to smile at the breathe.

Falling leaf.

Leaves dancing low on the ground, pieces coming off, little chips of the total.

Defined in this way, that way..

Why then does it weep..

Why does it return to this ground..

Hard and bitter at times..

Green and sopping with tears, laughs, eyes wide open moments..

Scarves scattered about..dancing like cotton balls fallen from the glass jar..

Teetered from one side to the other..

Dance reminiscent of the hammock caught in a gust…with no warm length of life to hold it steady.

Twisted, turned, wrapped upon itself..

Striking back between the two trees anchoring it to this world..

Grabbed at one end and then the other..

Held tight..

Falling leaf..

Wind lifts up while the other pushes down..

Reminiscent of the hug, the hold that settles you into a deepness so vast, you want to go deeper..

And catches your breathe you forget to breathe, nor do you want to remember.

Move across blacktop and sporadic puddles..lifting ever so slightly onto the grass..bordered so it does not wander.

Resting head down..momentarily..

Moved up..going higher and higher

Leveled out.

Falling leaf.

Moving fast, twisted around, spinning with a lightened head of a child who slowly loses it..gives in to gravity..and seeps to the ground..

Opened eyes, world spinning all around in the edges.

The rest focuses..on the point of contact once more..it stays steady..

Arms splayed, beseeching for the heart to stop in its parade of jolts..

Sink in..edges still curled..like it wants to hold things close..

Why will it not move, why lie still..

Sink back in..spine moves closer to the mattress of green. Still lifted slightly above the edge..never fully down..almost prepared for flight..always prepared for flight.

Falling leaf.

Still

How still

Wait

Breathe held

Know what is coming

Edges trembling

Folding in for the hold, hug

Picked up again..sail away

Lost in the wind

Again for the ride

Falling leaf

 

 

 

Stories

•March 10, 2017 • Leave a Comment

We all have them…some more numerous than others.

Some more tragic..

Some more like a family movie..

Some more with disguises to keep the questions away..

And some that make people question..

Sometimes the stories do not match up to the person we see standing in front of us..

And is that more of our illusions being dumped on another..

Or truth..?

Why do we bring out parts of our story out at..inconvenient times..?

And why do we tuck away in our coat pockets shredded tissues of the remnants of those stories..and why have they become lint in our pocket..

Does what happened to me as a child have any real bearing on this moment..

Or how much of it am I allowing to have bearing..

And why do some stories make you decide to never be like the story..

And why do we use the story to feed our addictions..and be just like the story before you..

Am I my story..?

Or is that what I use to keep me rigid in this description of me..

Are we all so determined to make value of our story…that it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy..

Or what..?

Am I just a mother..

Yet am I also a lover..

Am I a hard determined..balls to the walls employee..

Or am I the writer that screams at me hourly…put the damn pen to paper..

Am I a woman of a description..

Or has the events plagued upon the girl..created this girl..

So how much of my story am I..

And how do I daily..second my second..cement that in stone..

Today I look in the mirror..

One of the many days spent in reclusive introspection..

And this surge of electric anger causes me to flip off my image broadcasting itself to me..

I fight this story..

I claimed it as my own for too long..

And I did not write it..

Someone else did..

And I never signed off on it..

Kind of like my marriage I never wished to enter..

And would and did fail..

Not because of qualities non existent in me..

No..

It was a story I was told to follow..

A plot I never agreed upon..

A relationship the farthest from real..

So now I base everything on it..

And say…I cannot succeed at relationships..

Does my story fit your description..

Or is it bleeding into other’s lines..

I am fearful..stomach clenching, pacing about the room..like the tiger in the cage..

I am scared of this relationship failing..speaking words that are not mine..refusing my needs..and stating words that a 53 year old white woman, mother of four is supposed to say..

You know the words..

Devoid of passion..

Yet how I would love to curl this being around the definition of me that is writing these words on this page..

The one that creates..

Not the mother..not the wife..not just the lover..not the hard worker..nor the one who has waited in patience for decades and can now be in the dictionary as the definition of patience..

But the one I just flipped off in the mirror..

Because that is me..

The one hiding in the mirror..

And I just cracked the glass..

 

The umm of letting go

•March 6, 2017 • Leave a Comment

No other words have ever upset me more…except the words of “I love you” right before the slap.

Letting go…

YIKES…

I can say I have never said those words…yet something similar…

Yet what I say at this moment is this…

Grieve you beautiful person you…Grieve..

Stop please putting pretty clothes on a boar..

Stop putting glitter on vomit..

See it for what it is..

Believe them for what they are..because they show you right away..

We just spend so much time putting on our holographic glasses..projecting images onto a really sick reality..

Yeah I know..

I gave a lot of my precious time to it also..

I believed that I was damaged goods..

Grieve..

Sit in the tub and weep…

Stand in the shower, pressed against the cool back splash, vomiting up all the lies and illusions…

Grieve..

Realize the amazing amazing being that you are..

You believe..you hope..you persevere..you love..and do we have to even talk about your faith…

The death grip goes away..

Understanding enters..

And you can walk away..

And never..never..let it go.

 
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