Category: poetry-ish

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The hands of neglect

It’s a double edged sword.

Even as a child I knew I had to be an adult to be free.

I had to be strong, responsible, comforting, protective, and attentive, for myself and everyone, as no one was for me.

But the trauma of who I had to be to survive is still ingrained in me.

That same sword trying to run me through.

One end wounded me as a child while trying to survive.

The other end perpetually wounds me as I struggle to escape my childhood learned behaviors that cling to me.

The same strategies I no longer need now that I’m free.

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Love Amnesia


It’s difficult to love you sometimes.

Somehow this causes me to forget.

To forget that I love you.

But I do. I do love you.

It isn’t the same as being forgotten.

Can love become muddy?

I suppose that’s why they say,

“It’s complicated”

Our history and tribulations

Resulting in love so opaque

We forget, because we can only see

The mud caked on our eyelids.

There is no way out, but through the mud.

Once we’re done, we need rest

Forgetting all there is chasing after rest.

After we’ve endured the parts that make us so different.

The problems that seem a chasm, do not sever us.

We will always have this thread tying us together.

Even when we can’t see it. It’s there.

Because when you say you love me

I always remember

That I love you too.

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Black sheep

Black sheep of the family. Some think its them, but let me tell you. If your family has always saved you a place and they want you around, its not you. How can you think you’re on the outside, when you’re there and they accept and remember you?

Even before we lost the linchpin, we weren’t given a seat at your tables. I regret saving any of you a seat at mine. I wish we’d realized sooner that we deserved more than twisting ourselves into shapes you’d all accept, love, and approve of. It’s become clear that we’ll never be enough. We should’ve never had to fight for our place.

Must’ve been some prenatal blood thinners while in the womb, cause it seems we’re sporting a lower viscosity. We’re just water, water under the bridge. Forgotten with the current, like we’ve always been. I’m washing my hands with it. I’m all set, because I no longer desire a seat at your tables. I know who counts us as their own.

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I Got Your Back

They stacked it up to the ceiling.

Jumbled and cluttered with their feelings.

Tripping over immature and insecure nonsense.

Breaking our backs over others limited sensibilities.

The oppression of what some people refuse to think or see.

You wanted to lock yourself away in a box.

Cage yourself from the weight of this cold war.

We’ve had enough of our society’s containers and assumptions of our characters.

That will continue to be the order, but our minds have to walk their own way.

You won’t buckle from the strain.

You feel you’ve been divided, but you’ve always had a shield and armor on your back.

There was never anything to worry about, because I’ll always be willing to follow you out.

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Just A Moment In Time

No longer a person.

Just a moment in time.

Time slipped away along with who we were.

A cagged bird with clipped wings.

A mute singer who used to sing.

Mercilessly, time streaked past and faded to black.

There we were trying not to choke on the people we used to be.

As we stumbled over who we had become.

While falling face first into the sea of who people perceive us to be.

So much bigger and smaller than we are all the time.

How can this be?

How did we lose ourselves?

How have we lagged so far behind?

Just a moment in time.

Young and vibrant only yesterday it seemed.

Thriving with promise.

All the paths stretching before our adventurous feet.

We became sad songs playing in the background.

Ever changing.

Just a moment in time.

We were restless and lost.

Aimless, we aimed.

Until we found the homes our strained hearts were meant to rest.

We found our feet and stopped trying to double back.

We caught our minds and threw off the weight that threatened to break us.

Our worlds lit up.

Everything that was big returned to a manageable size.

We no longer felt small.

Just a moment in time.

One moment in time that changed it all.

A moment in time that made us realize we had always been on the right track afterall.

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The Limbo Of Unrequited Infatuation

It’s like writing letters with someone. You’re waiting for a letter to come in everyday. Wondering what it will say and what the person’s been doing.

You finally get a letter and it’s almost more entertaining than you had anticipated the letter being, especially since it’s just a piece of paper with words. It’s also inquisitive enough to make you think all the letters will be as lovely.

After writing a response a while later you receive another fantastic letter in response. You respond again, but this time you wait so much longer than before to receive another.

When you do finally receive another letter it’s vague with chit chat type of conversation. None of your previous questions answered. Giving you entirely new questions and furthermore concerns that cannot be properly voiced through a pen to paper.

The letter itself is flat and neat, but you’ve become so attached to the delightful letters that this disinterested and disconnected response makes you crumple slightly inward. So what do you do? You try to be all the more entertaining to inspire the former interest you had received previously.

Unfortunately, you get these same type of letters a couple more times. The time checking the mailbox each day, becomes a larger number of days between each letter. Until you no longer receive any, no matter how many you send to revitalize a connection again.

However, after you feel you’ve recovered from your attachment, you receive a letter not nearly as entertaining as the first few, but it conveys more interest than the last ones you’d received. This gives you just enough hope to want more and hang on.

Even though the letter wasn’t much, it makes you feel remembered and special. You’ve foolishly become hopeful. But you shouldn’t, because your sender was probably either bored, lonely, or fickle. You get to thinking you’re on the precipice of rekindling that flame that burned at the start of the correspondence.

You haven’t learned this lesson. Or rather, you need to go through it a couple more times before it sticks. So you’ll keep getting the small amount of grip you need to keep hanging off that cliff, but never enough to pull yourself up and go on home. At least…not yet. You will. Just not yet.

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Don’t worry about that gaslighting period

You think you’re so kind to me. You think nothing of when you cut me up with your words but save all the nice ones for your friends.

I wonder when I stopped being beloved and became the lowly disappointment I am. You’re spooning out my guts and you say its all my fault. You continue to try to mold me to your specifications.

I’m always wrong and I’m never enough but you’re always in the right. I don’t want to wake up and find out what you’ll be disappointed in me for that day anymore. Each day you judge me. You don’t care to know me and accuse me of being awful instead. I have no comfort. I have no home. I’m tired and receive no rest. I’m alone.

If you say,”don’t keep it bottled up” make sure you’re not the reason I have to secure and tighten that lid.

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Thorn In My Side

Thorn in my side

Perforates my heart

Claws at me inside

While others sprint towards progress

You refuse to acquiesce

Despite the ardor you profess

Yet I wait

Each day stained

In a tedious state

By the end

Are we there?

Did you bend?

Or does my heart throughout

Become so riddled with holes

That I bleed out?

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That Time The Apocalypse Inspired Me

We’re all just ants. We’d accomplish so many fabulous things, bigger than ourselves if we didn’t constantly force ourselves to work alone.

But people let us down, so we have to count on solely ourselves and then we are alone working on the big picture. So everyone is alone working for the greater good, possibly, but we can’t organize so we fail, because the puzzle pieces aren’t being assembled.

We are chaos if we don’t work together for the greater good. It’s our duty to save what’s good. There is so much terrible in the world, it’s our responsibility to manifest and organize the good we can.

-These are the thoughts I have while I watched one of the last few seasons of Walking Dead on Netflix-

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