Trauma said to my self-esteem:
"Hatred of self is the currency for love that would otherwise be freely given."
Except, all of that hate doesn’t equate
Love — that which is freely expressed.
To my soul, Commitment confessed:
"Abandon ship! To love and be loved is too big a risk."
To my heart, she cried:
"I love you. I’ll show you."
I’ve been walking a tightrope ever since.
the first time she smiled at me/it felt like her smile was forbidden/She buried her face in my pillow and she laughed as she bared her fangs/she never used them as a weapon with me/and I felt like I was one with the pack/Age wasn’t a factor and we/ fell in love starting from my first glimpse of her copper hair/Lines I traced in her hands/Often, I’d wonder why she’d chosen me/evidently fate had chosen us
There’s always been someone there when I felt like I wanted to end my life. Giving up is harder than pushing forward when there are these indigo children just like you, begging you to listen. So I do. I do not mean indigo children as in ancient aliens or the oval-shaped dudes on spaceships. I mean indigo, the color a child chooses to smear on her oil-painting as she tells me, someone who is three times older than her that I cant control my life, and that when I’m sad there’s nothing I can do but feel something.
There’s always someone there when I want to end my life.
She welcomes me home and does not know I have been trying to be a safe place for others to lick their wounds in, but still I am the altar left to collect dust from their mouths.
She says we’ll get out of here. She welcomes me home, and I forgot that I wanted to die.
There’s always someone there to remind me of what it means to be alive.
Time moves on, and I have held on
Still, I will weep for the child
That got lost in the abyss.
I can feel the ache in me
When I think back to all those homes
That I could not escape
I was too old at eighteen.
I left with nothing.
I am twenty-six now,
and sometimes I forget my age.
I forget that I'm in charge of me
I'm in charge of my feelings, now.
At times, this joyous freedom is too big a responsibility.
This is normal to a degree, but
Sometimes I forget my age,
When I think of
What people are capable of
Doing to a child
Sometimes, I forget my age
When I think back on where I've been
Or when I say I want to go home;
I forget that I pay rent
Sometimes I forget to remember that I am home.
Sometimes my mind forgets that I'm home.
I want to go home
And know that I am there,
Yesterday, I did not turn around.
There was some comment
About how I'm a blonde now,
But, I'm not.
I let you pretend
That our house wasn't on fire.
"Do you like it?"
You ask this in a way that reminds me
you like to make my mouth your favorite fishing spot.
I've learned a lot about lying from you.
You only came over to look around.
But you've covered your eyes.
I look over and I see your child
Repeating the same mantra,
"I am not a dock, there are no fish here,"
We repeat this together until you leave.
And then you do.
Our life resumes.
It breaks my heart when something I believed in, disappoints me in the biggest ways. Perhaps, you know this feeling too. At some point, we all do – mothers, wives, caretakers, musicians, scientists – wherever you fall on the continuum, you are appreciated. You are worthy of your purpose.
Your story does not have to end, nor does your soul wish to remain useless; it may just be time to trail off the beaten path, or simply take a break.
As a passionate person, I thrive on fighting for good. I thrive when other people are lifted up. While I acknowledge my ego’s existence, I genuinely love helping people.
As you may have predicted, this sometimes pigeonholes me. I am often put in a position for the world to devour me, without so much as giving my spirit back.Things are looking up, however. I met a beautiful friend, named Katelynn:
I was able to get rent paid, finally; this affords me more time to get all the details of everything together to see where the road takes me. Moving into a bigger state would be a better option for me, for a number of reasons, including better health care.
I’m looking forward to seeing where the wind takes me, and I hope to see you around.
Hey there. Today is April 17th, 2019. Today is mom’s birthday. Today is also the sixteenth anniversary of her passing on April 17th, 2003. Some folks are kind of shocked to realize that she died on her birthday. Like… almost as if it was a bad omen, or as if it was unfortunate. I’ve always thought it was a matter of perspective.
These are some heavy times for the lovers, the introverts, and the givers.
At the risk of coming across as blasphemous, I am personally glad my mother is not here to bear the burden of these polarizing trials life has handed to us.
Perhaps I may have had a rough decade or so and maybe my view’s a bit skewed. I digress.
As time goes on, the blindfolds come off; allowing my worldview to grow exponentially. I am grateful for growing pains. I hope to experience as many as I can.
My mother only lived to be twenty-seven.
I am currently twenty-six.
Admittedly, I have recently been plagued by the hope that I will not die at twenty-seven like my mother. This phenomenon is not uncommon; though I do find it odd how it hit me so suddenly, so heavily.
Death will not come for me. I will not allow it. Give me another five years at the very least and then we’ll talk. 😉
I’m kidding. Pretending is something I am atrocious at. Therefore, I won’t pretend that I plan to evade the reaper. On the other hand, I do not intend to go down without a fight. I have always struck out only to come back swinging.
Ask about me. 😉
My destiny does not have to align with my mother’s, and I don’t think she wants that for me. I will not allow her passing to override the joy of my own aging. (Honestly, I think I get more attractive the older I get). I’ll be a hot old lady.
I love the confidence that comes with aging.
I wish I was able to witness more people embracing the passage of time.
My mother was so young. She was just starting out. She had such love and light to give to others. She was hurt easily. She loved easily. The classic blessing begets the classic curse.
I have definitely followed in her shoes when it comes to being a lover. I love, and love, and love. These days, it’s called codependence. If love is my affliction, I think I’m doing pretty good for myself.
I didn’t love my mother as I should have. Who knows love at ten? Though, I love her now, every day, fully. There is not a day that goes by that she does not cross my mind. It is a feeling that cannot be grasped.
Yet, I can think of no one who deserved the freedom of the afterlife as much as my warrior of a mother.
I love you, Ma. I love you with all of my heart. I think of you daily. I know you don’t like to see me agonize over life the way I often do. So, I’m trying to get my shit together, Ma. I’m writing again. I try to be a good wife. I talk about you a lot. I wish I could see films about you. But, that wouldn’t suffice. Take care of your granddaughter
Happy Birthday Mom ♥
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