Category Archives: Introspection

Fragment -3.99

When they said she might be bipolar it all made sense.

One full day of hospitals.

More hatred than I could imagine from my own kid.

The one I had sacrificed for, spoiled, given everything to, the one I wore the same clothes to give to for at least 5 years.

The one who would never let me comfort her. The one I couldn’t help with bike riding. The one that outright lies for no reason about a teacher not letting her eat lunch when she’s 7.

The one that’s told me how to mother her, her entire life.

I thought it was my fault anyway.

Until the medical professionals started looking at me like Frankenstein because my daughter just swallowed 75 of her Ritalin pills.

Now,

She’s something else.

A different disorder.

But she’s got her therapist around her finger because damn is she good at that.

I’m just different.

Different with her, with my son,

My family,

Just less of something I cannot ever put into words.

It’s mostly war and quiet and tired mixed with it all. Whatever it is.

I’m not sure it gets better.

You get used to a certain level of the misery though according to some psychologist comedian.

So there’s that.

I just constantly hope that I can learn to not be like every other mother and keep my happiness disproportional to hers directly.

I remember the physicist.

He said his daughter was 35,

And it was another boy too,

It was the 8th stent since 15.

And I remember the feeling of actually not having to dumb my words down to have a conversation. Or having to sugarcoat anything. Or having to pretend I even cared to fit into a society that didn’t help any of the four of us before then. One that probably led to it all anyway.

I’m reading all the books he recommended now.

And it’s just statistics despite the advertising on the cover. Things I can do for myself.

Basically,

I just got this roll and it’s mine to roll with too.

I do get the occasional entertainment of watching men lose their minds over her.

Yes, she’s absolutely gorgeous, mostly nice when she wants something or attention, but batshit, her sperm donor is a military ballistics psychopath, she’s warp the entire rest of your life manipulative, never be satisfied, controlling, hoarder from my mother crazy. Good luck to you brother.

Me,

I’m her mother. I get the limited really good days by default.

Advertisements

Fragment Flying 1.0

I don’t want to burden anyone with the weight of love anymore.

Caring for a minimum of 18 people a day does not allow much left to give.

How could I be anything but too much and not enough simultaneously?

How would I be anything more than Saturnine the days I should have slept more?

I’d love to be a second sun instead, leaving beams for reflection instead of all this lead swirled with flammable gases.

But it’s winter in my marrow sometimes, instead of some light to fade the rain.

And all of my words trying to sustain life before the rings of my discontent cost me all of it, forever.

Maybe I just need someone to hibernate with during the right seasons.

Fragment -2.4

There was a time I would chase you.

One where I’d want to win so much I’d fold all my pieces I can tell you would adore before peacocking around in displays of a lesser love.

I’d flirt like an Eames Era harlot, victim, or assassin depending on the best to suit you.

These falseness fangs allude me most days now.

I’m tired.

More human than ever.

And it just doesn’t interest me really. Not quite like getting to know someone’s bones or celebrating their victories over their loses.

It’s left me on other planets.

Or swimming in tesseracts far from the fingerprints of such a vain instant gratification world.

Ultimately,

Left me in such solitude, I already so greatly admire and adore, I may just dissipate much like I appear.

So I leave it to everyone else to ask about what they need to know about me before just flittering back to the places stars are born.

I used to care about this more too.

I’d feel bad about owing someone something for their time or attention.

But it’s beyond me lately.

It’s my hair I’m growing to several feet of length for other dues or dedications.

It’s the only thing I can do after work for other people anymore.

Fragment 30.0

He said was married for a long time,

Searching my eyes for a flickering flight.

Another time and his eyes would have melted every inch of my smile.

Any other time his body would have been a welcome visitor of beds between stop lights and stories of nights passed by.

But all that’s left of me,

Is just a fight to survive.

A long roadside explosion

Leaving next to nothing behind.

There are hours,

Days,

Years behind,

With a skip left to climb.

It’s looming so heavy,

Like my frame once had,

Like the 70 hour work weeks of the last 2 months have.

But it’s the year of the earth dog and I’m going to learn to swim in the serendipity again.

With the animals that know death is a figment because consciousness is bigger than that, the people that figure it out, and the scientists closer to proving it today ❤️

Fragment 29.444

Valentine’s for me isn’t about romantic love. I met my friend turned sister at a tragic comedy play after break ups at 15. It’s our 20th this year. What unique perspective it gives the Saint consumers holiday to say the least. This is life’s humor, life’s end game, the personal perspectives hidden behind more than what people think.

Even not here,

I wish you a thankful 20th on this rock of sorrow filled, comedic perpetuity. Our laughter, healing salve for hopefully another 70.

May it be whatever you need it to be, even celebrating this one with me ❤️

Fragment 22.6

Waiting,

A special place for damned shadows,

Damned rain,

Damned hearts,

Damned pain,

Never ending sorrows,

Never ending names,

Never ending not agains.

Waiting,

Clicks ticking,

Clock chimes,

Waiting,

Waiting,

Just gathering a salty brine.

Ice cold breathing,

Hearts stopped beating with melodic rhymes.

Waiting,

Until the word…sometime,

Worth not much more than every other faded looking dime.

Please keep the nickel coated apprehension, trade it in for a life of living next time.

Trying to remember it.

A funeral but for the things I have to tell myself sometimes to just breathe.

A eulogy for all the things turreted towards me I thought I could help, or fix, or get back on track but never did.

A pyre lit for all the potential I see in people that they never discovered of themselves burning with the oil made of the pain that has resulted because of this.

What do people do after this?

Lost broken hope,

Every bit deep enough inside themselves just hoping one day it’s a Pandora’s box with someone else opening it thousands of years away unleashing it’s empathy back into light.

If I had hope currently, I’d believe that but it must have gone in with the rest while I wasn’t paying attention. 

So I’ll just wait here. Because I’m tired of kind of always just holding it up anyway. I probably deserve a break. 

Fragment 10.147

My story lies in the sorrowful

Screech of the violin’s mourning strings,

The vibrato of lung’s

Expressive dreams

When trilled to such

Passed history.

In the cascading twilight

Between what was

And what’s to be.

Yet,

They all believe

They’re the author,

Of the epic tale

Of the sun cresting

On morning’s dewy mountain top

Never seen by man.

I’m sorry every daling

That never heeds

My warning,

Men don’t dwell at such extremes

Until they learn to see before learning to speak.

You are barely treading the surface

Of the soul’s design.
(P.s. I don’t believe it’s wise to tell someone with the same mix and revolutionary mind as Van Gogh : they don’t feel the right way. You’d be beyond wrong. I can cut my ear off for a returned devotion if I want to love like that, thank you. Apologies if you don’t like love’s give and take mentality  xoxo)