Tag Archives: Lost

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.


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.


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.


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


Hemlock Realities


Some times,

Fantastic fantasy grabs ahold

Leaving nothing but this mirrored,

Narrowed view,

While separating one

Onto a mountain top,

With a back drop painted with well intentions.

But it ends up looking more like something,

You painted with hazardous paint,

From your childhood dreams.

That you eventually must eat.

The convulsing doesn’t seem to stop,

Nor does the hole in your chest

Pump an adequate amount of blood

Until you pour more idealism on top of them.

Then you spend so many moons and moods trying to feel human again.


You really aren’t.

You’ve been cast by your school bully,

Just playing their interpretation of you.

Everyone eventually so shocked,

They just sit by,

Speaking in hushed tones to your facsimile,

Hoping for you,

The breaths will slowly return,

The sky will clear-

So you can figure out what you need to finally do

To take care of you.

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. 

Uncanny Uncertainty


Life, and her curves.

Stuck in the middle,

Indecision at the helm.

A former life,

A fantasy,

Melding with all future destiny.

Tired of the choice,

Of my hearts fickle dance.

It’s apprehensive learning curve.

Tired of constant second meeting,

Living always serendipity-

And never catching my breath.

Revolving devolution,

Or is that evolution’s best.

Change On the horizon,

Which turn will get rid of

All those second guesses.

I lament to the sky,

As I float the boat,

To find time to ruminate

On this crazy ship’s deck

In the middle of this,

Newfound tempest.

Introspection: M(e.)

Brave Bearer of Stormy Seas: Vittorio Pellazza

Newly Found Time Worn Tempest Hymn:Jetta- I’d Love to Change the World




I was left,

With vastly difficult,


A controlling force

Has a hold of me.

Step by step I make my way,

Road is lit by trust and destiny.

But there’s no time to move,

No time to think,

No time to devote,

To share my scheme.

I’m tucked safe and strong,

In a distant place,

Watching from the outside

Looking in on everything.

I’m not here,

I’m wandering,


Learning to break free.

My interspatial travel,

Has me distanced,

Makes me foreign.

Hides a lot of meaning.

I can’t form the words,

I don’t want to.

I’m hanging to them so tightly.

Riding them through storms,

Holding them with hope,

Shining ever so brightly.

This cautious nature

Is needed, It’s smart.

It’s ordained.

I’m living a book,

That I once forgot to read.

That was until,

I met a man on a train

And he shared everything.

Now I collide,

Into serendipitous moments,


Reading the new pages,

Learning to see.

It has me busy,


And far away from anything.


Words M(e.)

Photo: The dark abyss of the search engine: years ago.