I would once become angry so angry fits of rage manic phone calls hours upon hours of making myself clinically insane I would show up drunk on a doorstep at 4 a.m. screaming crying tiny mascara rivers painting my cheeks black snot bubbles above a snarl no sense only scorn I could feel my heart being wrung twisted and contorted burning in agony from its mangled state A particular kind of torment one never forgets or hopes to endure again and I recall the panicked and confused stares eyes darting left right making sure the neighbors weren't witness to my psychotic scene I only wanted answers Why wasn't I worth the effort? What made me Less Than? Why was I bending like the reed and there they stood, unyielding oaks? Well. Years have come and gone ticks on a metronome keeping time for no one listening except myself I'm older so very Much. I no longer pitch fits dramatic displays are beneath me and more importantly take up far too much energy of which I have less and less One thing... the years have done nothing to diminish the corrosiveness of lost love's affliction The ache of my heart's suffering isn't reduced No It all still hurts the same It is only more familiar An unwelcome unavoidable guest I am forced to entertain every so often The difference now is I am much more aware of my worth despite the accompanying wretched emotional injury and no amount of tears wails impassioned pleas deranged theatrics and/or any and all will make a dent in someone else's minimal perception of my value It doesn't lead me to madness not anymore I am only burdened by sorrow for what the other person lost failed to grasp refused to see what could have been so. I mend what has been fragmented Allow myself the solitude to heal And in the quietude of another long night the metronome ticks ticks ticks
Category: Sadness
their indifference, my shame
i am always embarrassed when i miss those who don't care to even give a thought of me it's like ... excitedly babbling about a subject of interest only to find that no one is listening or even cares caught up in their own self-contained bubbles so the words, exploding glistening once rainbow bright with vivacity slowly lose their vibrancy colors sad wilted with losing life bleeding away into gray silence that is what it's like my heart hemorrhaging prismatic poetry to an audience stone-faced indifferent unmoved that is how i feel i have to remind myself if i knock on the door of a house with no lights i shouldn't be surprised when no one answers it does not lessen my shame
Untapped Potential Gone to Waste
He claimed to be "deeply in love" while continuing to ignore the concerns of the object of his supposed affection hurting her with inaction inflicting pain through purposeful neglect attempts at gaslighting when she came to close to shining the light on the darkened corners He specialized in self-delusion She knew this. She was not fooled by the facade She came from a family of people like him Yet, She chose to see the goodness So She gave chances. She offered patience and kindness. Because, as always she saw the potential in the person. She believed in evolution progress growth But She never lied to herself the way he managed to avoid self-truths day in and day out. And she knew in her heart of heart of Hearts recognizing what Could Be didn't make up for What It Wasn't. And it Wasn't Love.
Only For You
It's been an up and down not quite right everything scattered everywhere kind of a month as usual I weave my way through the chaos not altogether gracefully tripping over this and a couple times that but I had a minute and chatted with an old friend and maybe it's because we travel in the same circles or perhaps because the universe saw fit to summon you back into my consciousness we spoke of you briefly and I said I wished we had never been together because I missed your friendship that was enough of that and I went about my measured sprinting in accomplishing all the things needing to be accomplished and then the cruel joke from humorless gods a song one I hadn't heard in almost a year picked perfectly its moment to reemergeturning the still embedded knife slow in my gut a reminder that it was beautiful for a minute but also knowing with the heaviness of its truth it was not so glorious that it was worth losing a friend.
little by little
the wheels have been put into motion as the night goes long and my fingers fidget i laugh small short soft i've no ring to pawn pass on tuck away in a small box pushed to the back of a drawer to be forgotten until it is remembered during sad solitary sauvignon nights no so contemplation continues there was never a proposal the 'big rock" moment joyous tears speech impeding shock the announcement and following picture to the circle of friends oohing and aahing the phone call to parents sharing the same jubilant surprise no just an obligatory acceptance of wedding the mother of his children i would like to think he loved me i would like to believe i was more than a live-in maid nanny chef personal assistant i would like to hope that it wasn't all for naught yet i don't i can't i won't instead i will keep churning the crank operating the cold and tired machine rickety yet integral to and capable of shattering the shackles which once bound me to him
Tia Molly
I kissed two fingers and then pressed them upon her cold surprisingly smooth forehead my boys kneeling beside me kept quiet no one told them to they seemed to gather the gravity of grief all on their own I didn't expect the tears she and I weren't close yet there I was crying the heaviness pervaded my being I knew immediately I was heartbroken for the ones she left behind friends children but mostly her sisters... just as tiny and frail just as angry just as hopeful just as loved just as stubborn in the face of lives which never came easy I sobbed. Here it was. Mortality. the blinding awareness of my warm two fingers pulsing while pressed against her cold and surprisingly smooth forehead
Misconception
I felt seen by you.
Sadly, I failed to notice
Just how blind you were.
Straightforward Haiku
I miss your friendship
So much more than your presence
Next to me in bed.
Shadows
It hit especially hard this morning.
The Melancholy.
It’s been a a good long while since it has happened. The weight of the past crushing me while I sat in my car waiting for the light to change to green. All because I took a minute to examine my surroundings. The neighborhood hit with gentrification. All the old replaced with new.
The burger place was now a bank. The corner pharmacy now empty, a For Lease sign clinging to the storefront, dusty and tattered. I knew this area once. Long ago, another life, a homeless teen sharing a basket of fries with the other delinquents. Lifting bags of chips and hygiene products from across the street.
I drove past the alley I slept in.
Before I learned that my body was a commodity that could be exchanged for a night out of the cold.
All the independent coffee shops with the bottomless cups keeping me/us warm during the long days…gone.
I felt my eyes welling.
I tried to shake the shadows off.
I kept driving. Taking deep breaths. Fighting against the rising tide of panicked sadness. And then I saw the greasy spoon I took my first child to when he was still in diapers. Yet another version of myself that I couldn’t bear to be reminded of. A young mother who knew nothing of receiving unconditional love but poured myself into loving a child I could barely care for and knowing it. Letting him reside with his father because I didn’t have my shit together enough to provide for him the way he deserved.
Drinking until the guilt faded into the next sick hungover morning.
The guilt turning into feelings of being unworthy.
Being unworthy turning to multiple attempts of suicide.
I always failed.
Because at my core, I was a coward. I didn’t want to live. But I was afraid of dying.
The pall was enveloping me quick.
My cheeks were wet with tears. This city, which I had tried to run from before, was bombarding me with all the things I had tucked away so neatly. Or so I thought. My mistakes, failings, friendships, loves, heartbreaks – my heart was flooded, drowning. No use now. So I succumbed to the tide pulling me under.
Sobbing, I thought of you.
How we were going to “make new memories to replace the old”.
There is no such thing.
The old will always resurface. Intertwined, reminding of us of who we were. What we have been through. We can be grateful that we have progressed. We have transcended the previous models. I am Me, Model 273. Maybe. I don’t know, I’ve lost track of the many skins I’ve shed. I just know that I will continue to evolve and that soon, the places and time we shared together will eventually join the rest.
Another shadow following me until I stop moving.
Splinters
How do we miss
and continue to love
the ones who have hurt us
irrevocably
is it the moments
though brief
full of promises
promises
never kept
always broken
(breadcrumbs for
emaciated birds)
shards of
good intentions
scattered
slicing
through stubborn
normally thick
skin
with ease
(tis but a flesh wound…)
like tiny splinters
hidden deep under fingernails
there throbs
a constant pain
of remembering
what was
what could have been
what will never be
But Otherwise Fine 