mother grim

open a beer
or open a vein
whiskey shot to the head
or gunshot
you don’t know
you don’t know me
& how it feels
sometimes
to try
every day
to be a mother
to these ones
every day
every day
every
day
i make this decision
bag of wine
or bag over the head?
relish these years
when they are little
they say
kids grow up so fast
you don’t want to miss it
they say
miss it?
i am deep as fuck in it
living it
despite myself
every day

have you ever heard of “highly spirited children?” yeah. i have four of those.
they are wonderful, beautiful, brilliant, funny, explosive, screamy, dramatic little things. i love them dearly, but sometimes i find my thoughts wandering over to the dark side.
right now they are with their dad–who again–challenged our placement agreement.
whenever he does, i examine my determination to keep being their primary caretaker–to make sure i am not doing it for selfish or controlling reasons.
i discovered that even though i sometimes think i am a crap-ass mom…i completely believe it is best for our children to have me as a primary caretaker. even though i sometimes feel i am going insane with the stress of being a single mom & of raising four strong-willed children, i think i owe them that little bit of stability that being with me gives them.
i have been there for them since day one. i have a commitment to them. so, sure, sometimes i think dark thoughts, but hopefully–expressing those dark thoughts will help me work out those demons so i can be a better mom.
that’s important to me, being a good mom.
not a traditional or conventional mom, but the mom they need me to be. a crazy-ass mom who (most the time) can roll with the punches.

ps. i don’t drink box wine or else i would have known to call it box wine not bag of wine. oh well….

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sustained on rejection

am i sustained by
rejection
like a panda
surrounded
by bamboo…did rejection
become my staple
& now
now that the bamboo
is scarce
do i actively seek
rejection
lumbering
past greener pastures
to find my
desolate
patch
of bitter rejection
where i can sit
uncomfortably
& gorge myself
on defeat?

one of the problems with not always being able to illustrate my thoughts as i write them (this one was written 10 days ago & i am just getting to it) is that i do not always remember what sparked my free verse ramblings.

my childhood was a big pot of rejection. out of six kids, i was nobody’s favorite. my younger sister (closest in age to me) was mortified by me & even suggested i do myself in. my peers at school actively avoided me. i was charlie brown on valentine’s day. i eventually had to go to a neighboring town to find a boy strange enough to kiss me.

so…did rejection become a familiar “friend” that i sought out as my adult life began? seeking out the boys who didn’t want me. focusing on them. throwing myself, relentlessly, at them. sending out stories to publishers without first attaining the necessary writing skills. staying on the fringes. watching, but never joining.

do i still seek out rejection? will i ever stop expecting rejection? will i ever believe i am good enough that i will not be rejected? has it become a self-fulfilling prophesy that keeps me exactly where i am?

just some musings as i wait to be rejected by a publisher & an art award…not even entertaining the idea of dating because–look at me–who the fuck would want this?

the other day i read my tarot cards. they told me that i need to learn to like myself. they told me to stop obstructing myself. to stop living in fear of moving forward.
but…i am not sure i know how to do that.
they never tell me how to do it.

i wake up crying

i wake up
crying
i am
crying
for everything
about everything
the dead goat
in my garage
the toilet
that desperately needs
cleaning
my lost youth
clothes that no longer
fit
the blood that flows
out
of my body
the bickering of offspring
the
non
stop
bickering
of offspring
my own
shortcomings
my own
lost
emotions
my cold cold
heart
my being trapped
penniless
with no where to go
no one to love
me
no one will
ever
love
me
i cry for
everything
i wake up
crying.

there are probably better things i could be crying about. like the state of my country. the suffering of so many people…everywhere. the dying oceans. vanishing species. clear cut forests….
i wish i could rise above my own misery to find a way to help ease the misery of the world.
but my overwhelming life just crushes the life out of me sometimes.

fallen VIII

it isn’t all fun & games
when you’re
the devil
when your darkness
oozes & embraces
for one thing
you can feel
all the pain
in the world
you feel it
so intensely
& you no longer know
how to need
you long to feel
human
but you shut down your
humanity
you had to
in order to not collapse
under all the
torment
you can still feel
the desperate
lonely
your own desperate
lonely
but you cannot convince yourself
to
need
the antidote
is need
you need to let yourself need
but
you
can’t
you
won’t
for you to need
is a dangerous thing
that will rip open
too
many
wounds.

i am exploring need in my working the healing wheel. i have realized that i do not let myself need anyone. if you ask me, i will state, “i do not need anyone.”
and in my head, this is true. there is an exit strategy in case of loss. for everyone i know, i have instilled an exit strategy in case i lose them.
i suppose there is something deeply wrong with me
that i refuse to need anyone.
so, weirdly enough, i have realized that i need to learn to need…but i have no idea how to do that.

my warm bath of despair

i think
i sink
i find despair
so easily
like it’s in the pocket
i forgot to check
but
it’s there
no
matter
if i’ve forgotten
it
or if i am holding
it
close to my heart
eyes closed
breathing in
the familiar smell of
it
warming my cold hands
on
my
own
essence as it drips into
despair.

so i guess sadness is a sweater & despair is a bath? i sure like to immerse myself in my emotions.

ribbons & curls

my insides
are all torn
to bits
a bloody battlefield
that used to be
my heart
or is that too
cliche
the mess of me
falling
apart
in ribbons
& curls
of
despair.

because my voice cannot be heard by the one i have tried & tried to talk to, i have started a work of fiction writing–no pictures. it is still forming in my head, but i have written the first paragraph. loosely based on the abusive relationship i am recovering from. i want to share it with people who might understand. also, i need to get it out of my head…and like i said, the person who needs to hear it the most, just won’t listen to it.

also, friendly reminder, there is a link up over yonder (with my pretty face on it) to other fiction pieces i have written & posted on medium.

help…

i don’t like to ask
for help
i will spite myself
go hungry
risk injuries
slip deeper into my cozy pool of despair
rather than ask for help
i spent my childhood
in my parents’ blind spot
& instead of acting out
to grab their notice
i built my little throne of thorns
to sit quietly
glare & think to myself,
i won’t give you the satisfaction.
i spite myself
instead of asking
for the most human of things
help
why won’t anyone
help
i think
as i close that door.

watch in real time as i battle my demons. tonight, oy, the last week…longer?…my demons have been chewing on the cords of my self.
chewing…chewing…chewing

i buried myself

i try to bury myself
with life
with living things
land, plants, pets, livestock
children
i hoard
to try to fill a hole
that deep dark unquenchable
hole
i call my heart
to feel needed…
but that need
it overwhelms me
& all i want to do
is run away
to shed my skin
to start
anew.

i’m in a bad place. i wish i knew why. i am a bad person. i wish i knew why.
sigh.
my biggest fear is becoming my own parents.
tonight i felt like i have become their shadow.
i don’t want to be my parents.
i want to be a good person.

but as my mom liked to say,
the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

pray for me, my lovelies…

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