It’s not the same

I don’t repeat the same mistakes 

I make the same decisions, when faced with similar situations, in slightly different circumstances 

So yeah, you could say

I don’t repeat the same mistakes

Getting lost

 Somewhere between the exquisite horror 

and the foreign feeling of elation

Enough

 You had me with your words

You lost me with your actions

Stitching

Careful 

I’ve been 

Ripped apart 

Too many times

The stitching is loose

The cage is broken 

My heart is weak

Anemic it weeps

Scarlet stuffing 

She is

Exhausted 

Red Leader Rogue

Red leader has gone rogue.

Over.

I have been distracted by the idea of the ordinary. The daily struggle I half heartedly resisted. 

I’ve been living in a dystopian world. Working from home. It’s not real. Having a drink, walking the dog, doing laundry and taking care of people you couldn’t help before, but now you can help yourself whenever you want. 

Mostly, just fucking working. Working our asses off, more than we ever did when going into our 9to5’s. Loosely trying to help the masses, and trying to appease those looking down their noses. No big brother looking over our shoulder?

Pfft. Please. 

While the world shut down and most everyone buried themselves in work, posting about drinking and posting about how bothered we are by having to educate our own kids, when really we’re just catching up on all the shows we’ve missed - we’ve run the gambit. 

Cashing in paychecks and getting “honey-do” lists done, whining whilst cashing in without working at all. 

We are so focused on not being focused at all.

We were and are a country divided. 

Taking abuse from those mad at the broken system or imposing our own betrayals lost on our misprinted lies we tell ourselves. 

The brunt of what we face is something no other generation has lived through before.

So. Fucking. What.

We are spoiled. We have everything at our fingertips, yet rarely are we satisfied, always wanting more and constantly remarking on our achievements or ability to bounce back from bad situations we created for ourselves.

We take family and freedom for granted, and claim to want not, it too will be used against us.

Precedents. 

That’s the word everyone throws around. 

We all lose. 

We all die. 

We are all assholes.

We are all so self absorbed in our own lives, we forget compassion and kindness. Yet, try to build empires printing inspirational quotes on coffee mugs and tshirts. 

We carry our phones like we will die if not for immediate false gratification on notifications to stroke our egos and an insatiable need for the outside world to love us. We wreak of desperation, we will do anything at the cost of believing we can have just that one relationship where someone accepts who we think we are, and the notion that we will somehow be content and happy. 

Pfft. Please - we don’t even trust ourselves. 

This doesn’t start or end on any particular place of the timeline, we are Generations of fucking egotistical people obsessed with the idea of being loved,  understood and getting it right. Boasting of living our best lives, while hiding all our truths.

We all carry our own scales of justice and judgment, peeking through our blindfolds. 

The downward spiral. The loss of attention. The anguish and despair.

The changelings. 

I don’t know what the fuck I am doing or what’s going on. I am completely unprepared for a zombie apocalypse, or loss of our digital world wide web access.

We are too selfish. Even the exceptionally intelligent and uncommonly kind. Even the jokers. 

We are lost. 

There is no saving who doesn’t want or cant be saved. 

Especially when we are all too busy letting go and moving on. No one holds on anymore, no one, not while pretending to move on. 

7 billion dysfunctional people grasping at an illusion that we are all each extraordinary, yet all the same person with varying degrees of completely fucked up coping mechanisms. 

The angels that are left - don’t even believe that they belong.

Maybe there is a hope still, in the innocence of our youth.  But. The world is too busy destroying the next generation. Criticizing and pushing them to get things right where we failed. 

Listen. Don’t judge us. You don’t know what we were going through when we made those choices, campaigns.

Does anyone still hold themselves accountable?

No one does anything right. 

Fuck this. Fuck that. Fucking fuck sacrifice.

Seems the only ones to get anywhere are the merciless. 

So let’s all follow and turn a blind eye to the loss of character and integrity and just do and say whatever we want, not giving a second thought to our words and actions.

There are no victims of circumstance, it’s all of our own doing. We write our own books, and tear out the pages we don’t like. It doesn’t change the story, it just changes the story for the reader. We cannot run away from ourselves, there are too many mirrors in this world. Too many addictions, too many concessions, too little compromise. We are all running our fastest to catch the crazy train, just so we can say that we missed it, or, got hit by it.

Run mutherfuckers. Run. Hurry the fuck up so you can stand so very still.

What legacy can you leave behind in this world right now that would make any difference? What glimmer of hope are you unselfishly leaving behind?

It should be those in service of humanity, along with the poets and artists that save us. 

If it is, then this would be worth writing. I am no artist, I am no poet, I am no soldier.

Perhaps it’s my want to be any, that has solicited some hope. 

It’s all cyclical. 

No one is safe from death. Yet it’s all we fear. 

Don’t fear the reaper.

What about the love?

What about the hope?

What about the now?

Fuck it! 

I’ve gone rogue, mutherfuckers. 

Red leader out. 

Over.

Necessities

They don’t know you like I do, how could they?

Those big brown eyes and long lashes that swallow people whole

That energy and vibe that spring life into the soul

You’re absolutely fearless

A perfectionist at heart

With notes of floral blossoms 

And your lust for life and wisdom to impart

You stand by your convictions 

And wear your loyalty on your sleeve

You fight for those you love

Without the luxury of being naive

You are my inspiration 

A fighter with a fragile kind heart

You will always be my little girl

Without you I’d fall apart

What I deserve is the truth

Want to know what I don't understand. Probably not, but I am going to tell you anyway. 

You say I deserve all this love.

It's easier to live with the unsettling truth, then to buy into something you think I want to hear. 

This. This kind of bullshit breaks my heart. I would rather have been told you found someone else. Tell me you don’t love me and don’t want me in your life. Just be fucking real with me and allow me closure. 

The truth I can live with. It’s the white noise and dishonesty I cannot abide.

funny how you find yourself 

somewhere in the middle 

only after reaching the end

and starting at the beginning 

knowing you were there all along

Tender

Twilight lingers tenderly in haunting eyes, while wolves patrol the shallows anticipating the spoils. 

Intensity drips from their gaze and undresses the night with unspoken words seemingly whispered in crashing waves.

Darkness howls like quiet moonlights and heavy sunsets.

Like a fire that weeps endlessly between moans and hungry kisses beckoning more, more, more.

Favor me

lace me up in scantily adorned verse

breathing in butterflies

and gasping for air

Common ground

When you feel yourself connecting

But you keep pressing pause

That’s when you begin drifting 

It’s called sabotage 

Seems a lot of people’s favorite thing about being in a “relationship” is being ignored

Tit for tat

Howl

Just a bloated belly abaft

Lackadaisical foam 

Illuminating a muted darkly sky

My moon begins to groan

Much Ado about Nothing

Nothing

Nothing to drown out the silence

Nothing to silence the truth

Nothing ever changes

Nothing stays the same 

Nothing here to see

Nothing left to understand 

Nothing left to fulfill

Nothing left to give

Nothing left to lose

Nothing left to gain

Nothing fills the void

Nothing left to compute

Nothing ever happens

Nothing ever will

Nothing to fuss about 

Nothing much to tell 

Nothing much to say

Nothing but the best

Nothing to hold onto

Nothing seems to satisfy

Nothing really matters

Nothing comes to mind

Nothing means everything

Or 

Maybe

Nothing is a stubbornly persistent illusion that is situationally subjective and a trite simple word perpetually misused.

I wonder what would happen if we all said nothing at all.

“I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing” ~Plato

“I love to talk about nothing. It's the only thing I know anything about” ~Oscar Wilde

Not silly at all

 

Not silly at all

 It’s not silly at all

The satisfaction of paying my bills

I remember sitting down with my Mom at the formal dining room table. Usually after my brothers had gone off to bed, her teaching me the importance of paying bills and prioritizing. 

She would open all the envelopes and stack everything by necessity and due dates. 

She wrote everything down on a legal pad. Then would turn on her adding machine and start tapping away. She would crunch the numbers, and take to scribbling notes on the legal pad again and then with a swift hand, since this was long before she nearly crippled her hand, she’d furiously start writing out checks and put them with paperclips on the bills, stopping in between to jot more notes. Then settling in and striking away at the adding machine. She’d run the numbers twice, sometimes a third time, then she’d balance her checkbook. 

I would roll my eyes, knowing she kept all the joy of using the adding machine to herself, only later when I was a year or so older would she let me take over this duty, one I relished quite a bit. I was too slow at first, maybe because I just shy of seven or eight, and I would have to start over as she called things out to me. 

There was always a seriousness about her as she put all her focus into completing this religious mundane task. I knew the ritual alone meant this was important. 

I loved to sit and watch her, my legs swinging as I fidgeted in my chair. But still sitting politely with my hands crossed in my lap. I would always slouch a little on the edge of the table and she’d correct me, “Sit up straight like a lady, please”

As I got older, I often knew when things were tighter in the purse, by how deep her brow furrowed and how she’d twist her mouth to suck the side of her teeth, momentarily distorting her always beautiful face and polished appearance. 

I remember the smell of the paperwork in neat piles organized on the dinner table. The table my brothers and I sat and wrote “I will not ____” a thousand times on loose leaf paper when we were in trouble(no, my parents did not spare the rod, this was just a bonus), or where we’d do our homework for hours in the evenings.  The same table my parents insisted we gather as a family often and have meals together, and they taught us to eat properly and have good manners and conversation about current events and discussions about the world around us.

My parents taught us to value hard work and also be a part of a family and community where everyone contributed. This was not lost on me.

I understand the certain look of fulfillment she had had at times when the bills were all done and she would ask me to gather everything up and tell me where to put it all neatly away. She’d say, “You have to stay organized” and my parents are so well organized they could be serial killers.

While my childhood may have been more “charmed” than others, my parents were adamant in teaching my four brothers and I about hard work ethics and the value of those charms. They insisted on each of us getting jobs very early on and wanted us to understand anything worth having was working toward. Make no mistake we lived in beautiful middle class neighborhoods and took vacations and wore nice clothes and always ate very well. 

As an adult I wish I could say my life choices allowed me to continue on that “charmed” path. 

The satisfaction of being able to pay all the bills, was something that seemed out of reach for more than a dozen years. Always robbing Peter to pay Paul, I’d let one or two bills slip by and pay them next time, rotating between necessities. I made it work, and at times even with three jobs would fall short. I’d make concessions and find somewhere else to pinch or moonlight for a few extra dollars cleaning houses or reorganizing a legal filing system for a family friend. I would hustle. But the struggle to get ahead won’t be soon forgotten. I’m not bad with money, I just fell behind as a single mom of three with very little help. I busted my ass and I didn’t give up. I gave a lot of effort and time and a whole lot of love to make up for the things money couldn’t buy. 

I’ve come a long way and it wasn’t without constant challenges. But looking back, I know the life lessons I learned not just from being taught but from observing that this wasn’t just a lesson, it was an important part of our understanding it was necessary for us to be successful in our lives. Steady the path, work hard and be grateful. I had healthy support and love in ways my parents may not have known they gifted to me in my youth.

Finally within the last year or so being able to push ahead, save some money, take on a car payment and actually take a vacation for the first time in a while. I did that. Me. Some months were harder than others and I’d have to push through with only a few bucks in my pocket until the next payday, but here I am celebrating the little victories.

The road has been long and I know there’s miles to go. I know better than to think things couldn’t fall behind or worse, but I am trying to plan ahead in the hopes that they won’t. Staying sharp and remaining vigilant with my budget.

Life’s funny. And always subject to change on a whim. I hate to coin a million phrases, (I’ll save that for my Mom) but I am better to count my blessings while I can and send out the gratitude and positivity back into the universe. 

It’s good juju and we all need the good juju. Chin up.  

A feathery thing

Resigned to the idea that my heart was no longer viable, time had hardened it into stone. 

How could this perpetual thud in my chest be so sincere and resilient amongst such grievous wreckage? 

A smooth stone sculpted in a bumbling gurgling brook of drowning tears had declared it thus. 

I, taking to and folding in fetal to embrace my enduring solitude, could not escape the quiet moments that began to crush all eternal hope. Left alone in a cage of unrelenting cerebral assaults, came to the realization my essence was far more fragile. 

This heart of mine, my lovely lyrical heart was really just a feathery thing that too often took flight, soaring at such grandiose and marvelous heights only to plummet again at such agonizing and terrible depths. 

Never still, the wings of hope carry my song, and it lives on the sweeping wind. Sometimes it sends me spiraling and sometimes on melody and rhythm, pinion and plumage I magically glide.