I'm a failure

I wanted to say that I tried
I didn't try
I really wanted to create a list of all
my overachieving achievements
But I didn't really achive
and I'm too lazy to make lists.

Success stories are boring anyway
Specially in the good ol USA.
I think I should be a failure story instead

I failed at being a poor
stupid girl.
I also failed at getting pregnant
I failed at getting abortions and bitching
about how The Man
Don't pay my birth control pills.

I failed at being submissive and soft spoken
I really failed at finding a man
who wants a woman who is his
equal
or his greater
.... whichever.

I failed at subdoing my ego, my intellect,
my intuitions, my ideas, my love

Eventually I failed at living in reality.
I failed at being a normal girl and instead
opted to be an open book.
Or series rather.

A couple chapters of a thousand page
fantasy novel
and you may get the idea.

In some ways people think these
equate to
success.

"They are stories of a woman who conquers adversity. "

I would challenge you to see
that these are still losses
of an identity
Of a lifetime
Of a search
I really wanted to succeed at, in some parcel of myself. 

Bread hunt

I know I want to hand you
A silver platter
with delicacies

With delicate arms.

The platter is lost, somehow.
I could have sworn I paced in the cubbard
Oh right, right behind all your things.
I can't dig through memories to hand
another thing to you.

I can't riffle through my 'things'
to organize yours.
I can-
I won't.

The delicacies are lost on your pallet

You couldn't smell the roses if I had you in a room of coffee beans
for a thousand years
and handed you the first flower of spring
You would smell a bread factory instead.

Your sustenance would always come before beauty.

puzzles

Impervious to bullshit
I got your voice on high
Turn down the airs ways
turn up the oxides

Your skin is melting
but I'm flying high

Did you see the sea arising
or did you find your spindle
prick the finger
and loose your fucking mind

Imperceptive of the essence
I heard your steps before you thought
I counted your heartbeats
to know how many a minute
to stop

I made sure it was sewn together
every line written to fight

I made sure all the pieces fit
I put it back in line.

Again...rough

I put the fire out and hoped I would find the source of all the mess
I sensed that the odor emanating from your body
was death.
I found myself crouched in anger that you got out

None of us get out alive



You find yourself in the strangest places
In liquidy gels and bouncy pills
You seek to torment and not to mend

Your brain is floating around in that idealistic bubble.
I am so glad someone shot it out.. Not floating anymore is it?

I wanted to make a tapestry of that ugly little mess.
The bone fragments would make a good necklace. I like the poetic quality of serrated edges tearing at my chest and soft neck as I sleep. It would be like placing blades to my throat or sleeping silently next to a feral wolf. The caked scars and smell of lost iron would soothe me and I could use them to pick my teeth after meals. Practical aren't I?

I think it would make a great reminder. I would even leave the blood.

I think the guts would be funny to display. I guess it would prove you've got some.........nah;Just kidding.

You never had a brave day in your life. Your sweet daddy placed you in an iron cell and you pissed and cried and let him beat on the bars until it dissipated away and you rebuilt it.

You rebuilt it so you could feel the trembling of the bars and cum with the sensation of ringing helplessness. Your body writhes at the thought of uselessness. What, you think you hid it well? Scared is what you are-all you are. Now you'll be the littlest you've ever been.
In a tiny little jar on display. I'll make sure it's translucent.
I will make sure everyone can see the flesh and blood that created such a complex drop in a bucket.

The coke eats away at all the leftovers. Birds wouldn't even touch it. They thought it was an illusion. Too bad, really.

This is rough-read at your own risk

Do you feel me?
I don't think you do
If you felt me,
really felt me
Your puny heart would break and shatter into the thousands of little splinters mine has balled into
If you felt me and the gashes from dicks and pokers and switches and knives and guns and fists and tongues.

It all runs too deep for you to feel
Especially when you can't feel me or anything for the noise of your own self-concern.

Fuck imploding so you don't have to feel the splatter of me spitting out my own heart. I won't vomit my pain into a toilet so I can flush it away and hide it. Like a miscarriage from a rape that I must have asked for because there is a hole between my legs. That every man thinks they need to fill.

I won't spare you the daggers you left in my doorway and expected me to stumble over to reach your love. I won't pull the punches and kiss your feet so you grace me with your gait.

You are unwavering in your lunacy, unfaltering in your distinguishable extinguishable existence.

You were over before you splattered into your mother's womb and ripped your way out. Crying at the injustice of your own release into this world. When They left you to cry alone they left you as it should be, alone and neglected. Exactly the position to kill a pestulance.

I want to tie up the alternate bubble you live in like a plastic bag filled with a lice infested comforter. I want you to live with no air as I have for months on end. Survive it, I dare you. So we can tie up the bag again and watch your pores seep ichor.

Over

The thrill has gone away.

I sit here tonight with a world in shambles.

I look at where my relationships have led me-at what I have thrown away. I know it was what I needed to do to get to the point I am now. My life is holding strong, but the one piece I asked God himself for so long ago in that house on Parrish Avenue is...well...it's perishing. How Ironic?

I guess I wonder how things can get so far from what they were. Disillusioned I am giving up on a dream. I gave it a fighting chance and now it's extinguished.

Love is great and I want it. I won't hurt this much for my fairy tale. Someone will give me the love I want sans the pain. One day.

I don't have anything epic to say. I am heartbroken, happy, relieved, disillusioned, tearful, grievous...I wish my mind would pick one.

Only in death

Palms up
His hands were palms up
So was his face
So in context,
I guess it wasn't so weird
to see him in surrender

In context,
His white skin didn't contrast
so much as it might on any other day
to sunlight
or Falling stars

His fingers were curled
I noticed
Like he had been holding some invisible wall
Like he had wanted to say
"Pause."
When pause would be his life
until he renewed his membership
on the corporeal plane.

His eyes were dark
Again, no surprise
Though I wish the light had taken his
and grasped his hand
and led him to knowing
that Palms up is how
we should live
not how we should die.

On trauma

I will write this as a beginning to an end. I have a feeling it will take a while to heal and move past, but I am trying.

I am attempting to move past trauma as a marker of my personality. With some insight from good friends I am starting to realize it's a crutch, it's a block and more than anything it is an undying pain that does not fade or go away in time.

I write this piece as a person who has been there, but also as an advocate.
For those of you who ask the question of "why now?!?" to a girl who has attempted suicide while in a warm loving home after having experienced ::insert multitude of abuses and traumas here:: throughout her life prior to this moment.

I tell you this. I tell you that trauma is not instances. You do not survive it.
If people thought about trauma as a soul-wound that would be closer to the truth.

 You do not live through it or remember bad memories as an adult or person who is no longer experiencing the trauma. I live it everyday and it has become like a filter through which I breathe, speak and interact. To be traumatized is to live in trauma. When a peson who has "been through worse times in their life" finally acts in a way that displays his or her pain. He or she is acting on an accumulation of daily horrors which often times cannot be recounted, cannot be moved past and cannot be deactivated for that person. Sometimes the person has lived through worse situations. I would pose this, however. It can be worse to try and live normally when all that is weighing on the mind. It can be hard for me to walk around and eat food, carry books in my hand and have a normal job. I feel like I am playing The Sims. I feel like ti isn't me. I feel like there is this little person who still lives in a house of horrors who has neither climbed out of it nor overcome it like some tragic hero. I think people see 'trauma survivors' as people who have come through hell to live a normal life. I do not live a normal life. I live a life I could see as normal if I could only attach to it. I cannot attach to a story that doesn't seem true to how I feel inside. So then, does it make sense why someone may commit violent of self-destructive acts after trauma has ceased? I think it is a rebellion, for me, to being normal when one is not congruent with their internal self.

More later!!

Beginnings

You know,
the silence was deafening
I was there every step of the way
I will watch you walk up yur first stairs and climb like your heart
was meant to when you bolted from the womb
I love you,
you know.
Maybe it's hard to see that as you learn your words
your voice
Your gift.

I want you always to know
your heart is in my heart
I keep you there
like an heirloom

Do you ever feel like you're just going to lose it? By it, I mean that something that makes you human. The voice in your head giving you the information to limit break and make it through whatever you have going on. You ever just think someone hit the wrong switch and turned it off. I think it is off tonight. I am one step away from crying my eyes out over suffering the loss of my mother. The woman who would stand up to these insane obstacles with no hair moved. She could do this.  I do not think I can do this. What is this? The boss fight of my life. What does this boss mean-again?

I lost my mom when I was 21. I said I was fine. I wasn't. I was on my way down when she died and when it finally happened she stepped on my head in the shallow pool I had left. Grinding my face against the shards of battles fought and buried below. I couldn't swim. I couldn't see. Eventually I floated back up, as bodies are wont to do, but the marring remained. By all this I mean that my mother left a hole in my logic that I have not filled. I found a place to move to in rampant need to find a nest. A place I could hide in and from, until I was well again. It turns out nests go sour and jumping into the first one I found was not the best idea.

mission

My Mission (and I choose to accept it):

To

                  Witness all the jumbled stories of lives lived.

                 Construct a tapestry of others' experience,

                 To enrich my own.

To

                Use curiosity as my unit of measurement

                For how fully I am existing,

                For gathering, compacting and exploring every nook and cranny of this life.

To

                Breathe epiphanies and exhale designs;

                Thereby carrying oxygenated ideals

                In my vessels wherever I find myself next.

To

                 Internally combust when I speak about my work,

                 My love and my time.

                This combustion will (hopefully)

                result in the simultaneous ignition of those nearby.

To

                Emerge anew every day

                Support soul-immersion emergence

However,

             I do not want to change the world.

 I want to Sense it,

                 Touch it

                                and run through all the fields

                                                 of all the things waiting just outside

                                                                                every new door I will open.

My Mission

Type 8 enneagram

The challenger
It is true
I have power. I am power
It springs forth in my gait
in my spirit gnawing for a chance to break free
However I only feel like the power is working
if it is working to free and make powerful
the life of those who may not
harness their own inert strength

It is also true
that I was once a sociopath destruction unit
I do not mean this in a cute
"I was depressed and angry in adolescence". I mean this in a
I had plans to murder, sense.
I harnessed others' self hatred as fuel to make
them slaves to their own fear
I unleashed the part of the power that
makes villains in novels
I had a sad story that helped me make that character,
but I was still her.

Some days she still catches me off guard and springs up again

Now half my heart is spent on reigning in a terror

So the leadership
the go getting
I pay with half my guile
You only see half of me

Some think this half is pretty tough
I have looked into mirrors and saw a bereft shell
awaiting the next betrayal to rage against
I have seen true evil
and it wasn't in a cartoon, or in the ones who stripped me
of the beautiful parts I could have been
It was in mirrors when I happened to catch a sideways stare without my mask on

We all think we are crazy, monstrous even
We all are, to some degree
My monstrosity is my iron will
It looks nice when I wear it as a suit to dinner parties
with those who like to hear stories of valor, honor and the disadvantages youth who rose up. I rose up on the wings of hatred and sheer inability to accpet anything but my will-and others who saw a spark and nourished it. Sometimes at their own expense.
but terrible when I use it as a blade in the same breath.


I say this to worn those of you who wish to be Alpha
Who wish to make the rules
I will always push against the world.

The world will always push back.
The struggle will continue until I decide I have pushed long enough to be safe. 

Roaches

The crazed roach and me:

(Setting: Home alone with computer and no Rambo to join me in my neuroticism either.)

Round 1: Roach impedes my ability to brush my teeth by being in sink. Solution: I sprayed bug spray upon him until he disappeared into my sink. I then sprayed bug spray into the holes of sink and...drainy hole (which I do not understand.) 

This was an altogether short lived success because the whole ordeal did 2 things. It made me forget my purpose outside of winged insect slaying and also made me paranoid of my bathroom and all known services to me. For the 5 seconds I remembered, anyway.

Round 2: I sit down in my chair to calmly consider writing stuff-like an important advocate and counselor person does; only to hear ominous skittering noises from various locations in my room.

..................................................................................

Finally, I see a batshit crazy roach failing at crawling up a wall (not near to me at all).  

At this point, the roach enters my holy-shit-terrifying-zone, wherein he is above my head and therefore armed with the ability to swoop down and dive bomb me at any given moment. Because hey, sometimes roaches loose their cool and run towards the large moving object and light. Yeah, I KNOW, it's insanity!

I say Okay aloud a few times to come up with a plan. The roach is climbing up all the walls. He has lost his mind after being chemically doused and this is one kamikaze mission to retreat...or kill me. This roach is unpredictable. Essentially, he was the equivalent of the last man standing with no family or ways out. Times like these living beings do rash things. Like fall from my ceiling onto my head or skitter far too close to my existence to be comfortable. I get up to find a shoe or apparatus to apprehend this crazed creature and discover another Roach about 3 inches from my shoe/weapon. ...........................................................

Round 3: I jump up out of my chair and stand in the clearest part of the room scanning all things above eyesight for rogue creatures. None found. I search out the spray-this has now become a gang mentality of lunacy that I can neither predict nor comprehend.

I finally decide to go for Wall-fail roach first...cuz I can see him....determinedly failing at climbing the wall and hitting the ground with a ::thunk:: every few seconds. I get the spray and go after him first. However, the roach has taken the high ground ABOVE MY FREAKING HEAD and is therefore non-apprehendable 'til he is out of "fall on head" position. Him falling from the wall had already put me on edge...(I never knew where he would land). Anyways, He skitters above my food; confronted with an ethical dilemma of sorts I weigh my options. But first I frantically tell him," Bro, really? You gonna play like THAT?"

Do I apprehend this rogue creature who carries toxic chemicals on his hairy little legs with more toxic spray over my dry food supply or do I wait til he somehow falls thereby getting the food contaminated due to his wall climbing failure?!?!

I was poised, standing on my dresser to gain some leverage-and he moved away from the food. I went to strike and he was then on the ground. I followed him doused his ass til movement ceased.  It was brutal-I accepted my fate as a murderer, then. 

Round 4: Other roach is hiding in my dirty clothes pile on the floor. Again, ethical dilemma: Add more toxic spray by doing a covering  over the possible hiding area of the roach or let roach roam til he climbs up my leg to strike?

I covered the area and determined I would somehow remember that these were not available to wear unless washed. The roach comes out and...I, well...........I screamed. Then I noted he was desperately running away-leaving himself in the open. I got the shoe and struck.

Now-Here I sit 2 criminals doused and apprehended; Afraid to go into my bathroom in case there are somehow more in their lair (do palmetto bugs have lairs?) and vigilantly listening to all surrounding noises for thunks.

Oh, and it is like a toxic waste facility in here with spray clotting my breathing passage ways.

Yep-I don't think I know who won this battle!

::Guys, should I add pics to this and make it legit???::

Play on sticks and stones

Sticks and stones
They break my bones
and words all but desert me

Rocks and weapons
Wipe face from bone
Words are all that hurt me

The sticks can break and cuts crust over
Welling horror  to the surface
 scars they leave are always shown
Offer bodily mercy

Stones weigh down as I eat them whole
A part of my own squalor
Piled high I stand in spirit shown

The rocks settled in belly holler.

They erode
They crack away
Leaving a shell that is bruised
not tainted

Rocks make weigh
Strong together
Weak in waves
Asunder are but fodder.
......
..........
.................
..........
.....

Words
 severed limbs
Places that were once flowers
shoots that grew to new world
fantasy facades
Words are wounds
that bleed dry as I walk, no limp to bid me
broken

Sticks and stones
The feeling bones
Words
how they have deserted me. 

Get over it!

Get over it
Get over it like hover?
Like be outside your body and just look at this thing called your life
and your passion.


"Oh, just get over it"
Like a hill,
I will muster all my might and run like hell
Speeding past the hill and to the other side..................................................

I never stopped to graze or look when I got on top and then over, that hill.


Get over it. To me,
means someone else is asking me to have some sort of disorienting, out-of-body experience.
That I just get out of my experience and get over it so I can see it clearly, from all the angles?

 I say getting into it is more fun.
Like getting into whatever you do, throwing yourself at it like a zebra in full tilt when there is a lion on their ass.
I am saying I want to get into trouble. To get into myself and lie comfortably,
skin and organs folded over my emotions and experience.

I want to live depthfully -in a sea of my own experience and live the stories of others, eyes clothes heart wrapped in the tidings of their confidence.

I said it before and I will say it again.
I am not here to change the world
I am here to get into it, to hear it, to feel it.
Change is inevitable and it will come with or without my foot
 touching the proverbial puddle to
 make some ripples.

So when you tell me to get over it.
Like I am some canopy
shading myself from the reality of life.
I tell you that you cannot live over it.


Your life is not a party in which you are the wise man lofted above it all.

Or perhaps you live in a loft and are considered wise.

I don't think you got that way by getting over it.
Or surviving it. You got through,
extracted all you could in the maelstrom,
 found yourself on the other side,


 in a loft...being wise.

Loss

If I could love even a little less
A day less, per say
I may not feel like a dredged riverbank
I would be a bit wiser
Stronger
Alone.
It would be a gift
If my love were not tidal wave
upon wave
Of unsought feelings.
I have brought it toward me
I lye with it at night
When I am there I turn away
If I could love a little less
I could face it head on
For now I will face it
back turned
muscles heavy with the burden of a thousand loves
and losses. 

Meant to be

Sweet child
I am sorry
for you have been lulled as I once was
I am sorry for your love
As I have been sorry for my own
I pity the heartache your life will bring

I know what it is like to be trapped within
the walls of love
unable to see anyone through the image of the
mans back
whom you lost

I wish I could wipe it away.
I wished I could wipe myself away
way back when

I am now bound, truly
as I was once only bound by heart

I am sorry for your loss.


Love is a beautiful thing until it strangles you
I could say he is here because he loves me more
because I am beautiful
Because my energy is bountiful.
I really do not know why he sits with me
I do not know how long we will sit together

I only know for now
That is the gift your love for him has given me
Know that he cares
Know that your orbit pulls him
I do not know if mine is greater
The question will always linger
no matter how many answers he provides.
I offer you what I can,
condolences for your loss darling
I lost it too