Alone
“From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then-in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life-was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lighting in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
A demon came in my view.”
-EAP
9/11/2025
“You have remind kind and strong and resilient
Through things that could have made anyone cold and weak
But that’s just the kind of person you are
You show extremely graceful strength
For someone who has every reason to be unrefined about all of it
But I don’t know if you have it in you to be any other way
You’ve thought about it
You’ve thought about knocking everything off the table in front of you until it shatters on the ground
You’ve thought about screaming in the isles in the store like you’ve lost all your courtesy to people who didn’t give any of it back to you when you lent it to them
You’ve thought about letting out all that pent up anger out
With the hopes that you can leave it there and never let it back in
But you know it always comes back
You know a lot more than you let on
Because you’re the kind of person that rather sit down with their demons until it’s sorted
Than to let them keep knocking for the rest of your life
You’re the kind of the person who knows anyone you ever meet will be greeted by them at the door
Unless you’ve already sent them packing
You’ve remain you
Instead of becoming a product of what you’ve been through
You’ve remained so many wonderful things
Even through some of the worst things
Because that’s who you are at your core”
-JB
9/6/2025
Witching hour-
Not a phenomenon for me but the norm
Suiting I suppose…
It’s arms pull me into the darkness
I’m covered in it
Black ooze
Tar
I’m tainted
My body seems to be failing me now
Or maybe I’m becoming more aware…
I’m exhausted but I can’t stop
I don’t know how
The aches and pains
The flare ups-
All are suddenly louder
I’ve felt betrayed by this body most of my life
So I’ve disconnected from it
I’ve been careless and destructive
…As if I didn’t still do this
Love and care has never really been modeled or reliable
I wear armor to keep everyone and everything out
Suddenly, I’m hyperaware of how rotten I’ve become underneath
There’s a lot of despair with this realization
But also this opposing feeling
Like I’m letting go
And it’s ok
I think, “This is good”
“It can finish here”
Rest lures my mind
Now it calls my body
I’ve learned not to need others
I take care of myself
Even when I give space
I go into it with a back up plan
Never letting myself believe they’ll show up or stay
People fail
They’re careless
Incompetent
This has worked out fine for me
Learning to rely on myself has become a strength
I’m so good at it that I fulfil the role for others
I can carry people on my back
I don’t hesitate
But I can’t seem to bring myself to trust
Trust that someone will catch me, hold me correctly, or take the lead
Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like
To become undone
Completely helpless in the arms of another
To feel settled in their ability to stay…
And not walk away with another wound…
It’s a fleeting curiosity
I lay down the next brick
9/1/2025
I loop around the same surface-level realizations
Acknowledging some degree of impact
Surely there was damage done…
This was needed to survive
To move forward, I say
But I’m not so sure it’s function is relevant anymore
I was rejected
But I also reject it right back
It feels like someone else’s memory
Like a different lifetime
I reject this person- this part of me
It goes into the pile with all the other versions of me
The dirty, the weird, the outcast-the unlovables
It takes a lot of mental gymnastics to deny your lived experiences
Inevitably these versions have informed the person I am today
The good, the bad, the messy… a lot of the messy
I’ve made the conscious choice to try on their narrative
I’ve carried the story my way and it has only weighted me down
Although it feels disconnected and even delusional-
Their version remembers me as a fighter
Yes, still wounded and scarred
But- courageous
Determined to stay in the fight… and win
As I stumble my way with integrating this exiled woman
I come face-to-face with a deeper realization:
I let them burry the only part of me I ever loved
Abuse and neglect steal your voice
Your soul is sold to the devil
However, I learned to find the oxygen in rooms
Quickly I picked up the patterns
My brain and my work would always give me access to a microphone
I made sure to always be the best at whatever I did
And I owned it
I may have lost my voice in every other area of my life
I may have hesitated or doubted myself in other spaces
Felt powerless and helpless
But in my work- I was always clear
The betrayal killed her.
They nailed the coffin shut
and buried her 8 feet deep
My knees are shaking but-
I’m standing on her coffin now
I’m digging her up
I will resuscitate her
But this time,
I’ll make sure no one can ever put he back in this hole
8/16/2025- Papí
Empieza la conversación desahogándose del cansancio de envejecer.
Me explica que ya no siente su cuerpo igual.
Ha pasado estos días ayudando a mi hermano con su carro.
Me dice que mi hermano no hace caso y que la responsabilidad le cae en sus manos.
“Tú como mujer sabes más de los carros, y a él ni le dan ganas de enseñarse nada.”
En ese momento siento el coraje.
Se me calienta la cara y siento los brazos tiesos.
Interrumpo para decirle que mi hermano “ya está grande”.
“Ya no le puedes hablar como a un niño o decirle cómo hacer las cosas.”
Le digo que “uno se cansa de escuchar lo mismo”.
“Mi hermano era el preferido.”
“El príncipe de la casa.”
“El primer amor de mi mamá” — así me sigue diciendo.
Trato de controlar el coraje.
“Ustedes lo chiquearon y ahora se enojan con él porque no quiere ser nada.”
“Ustedes también tienen la culpa.”
“A mí no me dieron los mismos privilegios.”
Mi papá tiene la voz fuerte, pero cuando empieza a hablar se escucha más bajo.
“Mija, yo sé que te he pedido perdón por no estar presente muchas veces.”
“Trabajé mucho y me enfoqué en darles todo lo que pude.”
“Y no te voy a decir que no estaba consciente, porque sí vi que había cosas que no eran justas entre tú y tu hermano.”
Me da un ejemplo:
“Nunca le gustaron los deportes a tu hermano, pero a ti sí. Te sacamos porque él ya no quiso. Pero tú encontrabas la manera de seguir.”
“Yo vi que ayudabas mucho y siempre eras independiente.”
Ya no aguanto el coraje.
“Yo sé que me pides perdón de vez en cuando.”
“Aunque entiendo por qué pasaron las cosas, no puedo soltar el coraje que te tengo.”
Me duele decir las palabras que me dan remordimiento.
Quiero y respeto a mi papá, pero cargo en mi conciencia los sentimientos de una niña.
Una niña que solo quería ser niña.
No tenía sueños de ser independiente o de cuidar a otros.
Estaba sola. ¿Cuál otra opción tenía?
“Eso ya lo sé” — responde mi papá.
No le sorprendió mi coraje y tampoco se defendió.
“Quiero mucho a mis hijos… pero sé que te fallé.”
Vuelvo a decirlo:
“No puedo soltar el coraje. No se trata solo de mi hermano y de cómo mi mamá me trataba…
…sino de todo lo que me pasó… toda mi infancia.”
Otra vez su voz cambia.
Siento que voy a llorar y lo siento igual.
“Sí, eso como papá siempre lo voy a cargar. Por eso te digo que eres chingona. A pesar de todo lo que has pasado, mira lo que has logrado.”
“Eres un ejemplo para la gente. También para uno.”
No quiero llorar y odio tenerle tanto coraje.
No digo más en todo el camino.
Él tampoco continúa la conversación.
Ojalá esta conversación sea el comienzo de encontrar la paz que tanto desea la niña que quiere mucho a su papí.
7/8/2025
(Dream)
At a gas station again
I can’t remember who is there
But I’m alone…
He gets in and grabs my hands immediately
I drive to leave
I begin screaming as loud as I can
I feel a blade in my pocket
I find myself covered in blood
He is motionless on the floor
I can’t remember
I’m watching myself
There is no one there…
6/19/2025
We are a family gathering
Sitting in the back room
It’s my grandmother’s house
It’s one of the rooms they built when coming to this country
My uncle is there…he’s a quiet guy
My mother is there
And I think a few cousins
There is a pull down ladder to the attic in the middle of the room
For some reason I know it’s mine
My things are up there
Nothing seems wrong
People are talking
Then I’m talking
He enters the room and I stop speaking…
I freeze
I notice no one else is speaking
Everyone is frozen too
Looking at him
I have the worry people will see
See how dirty I am
I worry about what will happen
And what I have to pretend to be in this moment
What show must I perform?
The pull down ladder is right in front of me
He walks over and is very close to me
I have to move for him to drop the stairs
Someone asks what he wants
I can’t remember who
He confidently says a new shirt
I’m instantly mad
I can’t hold it
“What are you doing?! You want what?! No, get the fuck out of here!”
His face looks shut down
Like I said the magic words
He surprisingly doesn’t push back
He lets go of the strong and walks out of the room
I’m facing the entrance
Worried I’m about to be called a bitch or disrespectful
I turn and meet my uncle’s face
He shakes his head in disgust
In disapproval
But not of me
Almost to say, “this guy, right? Gross!”
I feel shame
He knows?!
My cousins seem to know too
But everyone just asks me to finish my story
But I’m stuck
I’m getting small
I’m dirty
My mom scoots over and lifts me onto her lap
I’m grown and she’s petite but she does it effortlessly
She says, “It’s ok. I got you. Take your time… we are all here”.
This unsticks my knees from my chest
I feel a smirk on my face
I can’t look at anyone or speak
But the room begins to fill with conversation
The energy comes back…
Perhaps the life…
I exhale deeply
and awake
6/18/2025- Phoenix
(Dream)
We stop at gas station
I'm not driving
I'm sitting in the back. In the 3rd row.
He used my card to fill up.
My wallet and phone are in 2nd row on top of a jacket.
XXXXXX is pacing around station as the tank fills
This other guy pumping gas puts his whole head into the open car door
I immediately grab my wallet
Then my phone he's looking at me up and down
Keeps trying to ask me questions and engage in a conversation
I ask him to back up and get out of my car
I slide to the other side to get distance
He reaches in and grabs my hand to rub it
I ask him to stop and try to pull away but he holds it harder and harder
He doesn't listen
I'm enraged
So I push forward to get out of the car and move him out
Once out of the car he gets even closer
There is no space
I feel small
I felt cornered in the car
But outside I'm only more pissed he invaded my space
I yelled at him to back up
He won't
I get louder and louder
His body language gets aggressive
He's mad now
I start moving back to avoid physical contact
I keep my right foot behind me but then he starts to chase me
He grabs me
My skin feels hot- NO
I turn to fight
I shove him and land a punch
I punch him over and over
I'm out of control...
The rage takes over
He's on the ground
I WILL kill him
Then XXXXXX comes over calmly
I'm pissed because he didn’t help
I don't know where he was but I know he was around
He must have heard. Must of seen
He tells me I didn't have to do that
I'm pissed at him now because he clearly didn't see
Doesn't even believe me
I'm overexplaining what he did and all I did to set boundaries before losing control
He's smirking and saying I over reacted
I'm very mad at him now
He reaches for my shoulder to "calm me down"
I push him hard in the chest and he smirks again
He extends his arms
I walk away from him
He follows me like he wants to hug me, open arms
It feels condescending
He at one point goes, "aw" as I begin to cry
I'm hurt
I stop moving
He holds me at one point and I'm so mad he isn't listening so I pushed away
I'm hot, on fire
I think over and over, "no no no. This happened. I'm not crazy! You can't hold me until I forget!"
I yelled - NO!
I ask, "why don't you believe me!?"
"Why didn't you help!?"
"Why are you hurting me too?!"
"Why don't you care?!"
His faces changes
It's not stuck in a robotic smirk
I can't describe the look or his eyes
It's just different. Real, present
He only looks at me as I'm set on fire in that moment
... Consumed by the internal flame.
—————————
I wake up drenched
My hair is soaked.
Tight chest but not anxiety
There is an ache in my stomach- disgust
Headache and jaw clenched/locked
I chewed through my cheek. I taste blood.
There is always fear in my dreams but I quickly notice this one's anger
I'm not shaking this time
Its rage. I want to fight.
My heart aches
I try to settle into reality
Then the scent comes back...
"It's not real"...
The smell of furniture.... not just any wood
The smell of the inside of a drawer
Made of....plywood
The image of the bed emerges
I instantly open my eyes
"It's not real"
Breathe....
This is panic
It makes me small
I pull my knees in
I have a bad stomach ache now
Nauseated
Then the taste comes into my mouth...
No no
I cry....
It's not real....
I want the rage back..
6/10/2025
(Dream)
I’m in the office for the procedure
The room is cold
The lights are far too bright
I’m undressed and on the hard table
The doctor comes in and realizes I’m too awake
The nurse comes in
Suddenly I’m being restrained
I’m advised I will not be put to sleep
Being in my own skin is intolerable
I’m screaming so loud my throat is tearing
She cuts into me
No meds, no power, no escape
I cannot feel my body
They leave me on the table
Untie the restraints
I’m small
and broken
5/12/2025 Chaotic Reflections
I’m addicted to being depressed
I know nothing different because it has been my life
So what’s the opposite?
Silence? Peace?
That’s what I imagine
I have to seek and access things that do pull me out of it
do it more
the advance level is being able to find the resource in myself
I interpret this concept as a fairy tale
It’s not fair caring for how other people feel
I don’t want to be responsible for other people’s emotions
If they feel good-I’m scared of tainting it
If they feel bad- I’m scared to cause more suffering
I’m depressed and angry
And probably a lot of other things too
You say I don’t know how to talk about the anger or emptiness
Because I don’t talk about it
And I don’t, at least not with other people
But it’s always there.
So I don’t want to give it any more space than it already has
I move through things quickly-it’s survival
But I also do talk about these things
To myself, in my head
Believe me it’s not a stranger
But this gets exhausting with all the other noise in my head
It doesn’t serve me to recount the things that have happened
I guess that’s why therapy stopped working…
I’m tired of hearing it
I’m tired of the pity from the person sitting across from me
I’m tired of the complaints and grievances that come out of my mouth
So what your mother didn’t want you?
So what you were raped as a child?
So now you’re sad? Okay…
Yeah, it sucks, and?
The past is stable, we can’t change the facts
Talking about it doesn’t help
I’m just chasing my tail as I recite details of a life that has no significance
I don’t know what I’m angry about
That might be a lie- it is…
Anger has been the drive of my life
At least a main source
Fear is debilitating, but anger-it’s actionable
I’m angry about the circumstances of my life
My upbringing
The abuse and neglect
The disregard… The invisibility of my existence
but then so what?
i’m justifiably angry at my mother for the actions she took
and justifiably angry for my father's passivity.
So what?
I’m angry with everyone else who came to take pieces of me
And reminded me in the most cruel ways that I’m still nothing…
So-what?
I survived through my work ethic
I’m a fast learner because everything has rules, patterns, and structures.
You just have to follow each step and it results in the final product
This is the part most people have access to
I’m scared of showing more of myself so I don’t hurt anyone with those parts
I give a fraction to people
So sure, 20% to you
I do it because I worry the rest will hurt them
People don’t like darkness
Initially they may find it poetic
The foreign nature of it might be appealing
Maybe they think it will make them feel more alive
But this fades…
people don’t seek darkness
why would you pick the dark girl with no face?
Over someone bright? Not a chance
And I don’t blame them
I’m hyperindependent
And when things build and get worse, I pull away from people
I protect those I care for
It’s an egregious assumption to think others don’t have their own battles
I slowly pull away so it’s not so obvious
But eventually they seek me out
I get mad because I want to be alone
“I’m protecting you damniit”
And if they get sad about it then I feel awful
But more mad because I knew it would happen
I just want them to think I’m fine and now worry about me
Not need me or be attached to me
To let me go…
So yes…
I have no say in who loves me
This is true
And sometimes that feels like a burden…
I tell you I pull away to protect those I care for
To make sure the hurtful parts of me don't bleed all over them
and yes, this is true
but this isn’t the only way pulling away protects people from the things my darkness desires
But I can’t say it
There’s no one to tell
No one to share the real thoughts and feelings I project onto my canvases
I think the words but don’t dare say them
I can’t see it- this perspective you speak of
I don’t like myself
How do I change that perspective?
I don’t care for life
How do I change that perspective?
I feel stupid
like I’m a burden
Again, I don’t want to hurt people I care about
Who do I think I am to think I have the power to take someone’s light away? You asked.
I suppose it’s because I know it’s possible
I understand because somebody took mine…
I think there is a point in which you can break people
Hurt them, damage them
Do things you can’t undo
The poison that wrecked me was left behind in me
So then, am I addicted to this because I don’t want to get better?
I don’t want the other perspective bad enough?
But this couldn’t be it
It doesnt FEEL like the answer
I've spent SO much time, money, energy in trying to like myself
To want to live
I've run out of ideas
Yes, I’m tired and always been
This feels different though
I won’t do it like this anymore- I can’t
The weight of the last 2 yrs- really 6 yrs is hitting me
My world flipped on it’s axis
I started all over again
It was just about moving
No time to process or feel it
You don’t think about the awful thing
but as things have slowed down in the last 8 months
I’ve realized how empty I am
How depressed of a person I am
How much of it I still carry
I’ve known these things but I’m not so sure I’ve observed myself this way
I immediately think-
was it really that bad for me to be this fucking depressed
this addicted
was it really that bad?
then the other thought is- does it just mean I’m weak
You say I can’t keep the list going.
The list of the things I hate about myself
But I know I can, because I have
The more I dig, the more I explore myself- the more I hate
I can start with my body
I can talk about my personality
or the habits I have
I can give you an on-going list of the things I watch myself do or say
that I wish no longer existed in one person…
and if I try to make a list of things I like-I quickly find the negative side
It becomes a list of things I don’t like without me noticing
I don’t feel others understand
And I don’t feel like you do either
Sometimes you misunderstand me
And its on me to clarify things
But I don’t because I think - what does it matter?
Sometimes you make assumptions that are also incorrect
Sometimes I don’t correct those
Sometimes I let you or others think I’m dumb or confused
I often say “I don’t know” when I really just don’t want to tell you what i’m thinking
what does it really matter what I think, feel, or understand?
I’ve been doing it on my own for a long time
People are unreliable
Sometimes people don’t care
Sometimes they do help
But it’s easier to skip the step of finding out
If i just have to manage on my own in the end anyways
Healing happens with others…
but i’ve learned to be by myself
I do fine by myself
Lately, I wonder if this is something else broken about me
Is seeking and prefering solitude a problem?
Is it really about me not wanting it bad enough?
What would it mean to change it?
If I change my perspective about myself and life…
then it would mean
That I was worth forgiving all along
That I was worth loving all along
It wasn’t that fucking hard
So I refuse to see Her
To see Her face
To watch the weight of so much darkness slowly dim her light
The light of a child…. that maybe was never all that hard to love
I’d have to face all she lost or never had the chance to even have
Simply based on the randomness of life
It would mean that all i carry isnt because I deserved it
But because there were people in my life that had their own stuff that they couldn’t manage
I just happen to be in the line of fire when those dark fantasies poured out of them
So it has to be me that’s fucked up
thats damaged
and deserves it
because if I didn’t deserve it
then what unbelievably fucked up luck i’ve had
how unbelievably unfair
and my brain immediately rejects that
it wasn’t that bad
who are you to say poor me
to say what unfortunate circumstances i’ve had in my life
no-it makes more sense to deserve it
to be ugly and fucked up
I wasn’t worthy of anything different
and all those things damaged me more
so it makes sense more happened
each time he came back-it was because I was already dirty…
And I didn’t want it to be anyone else
I didn’t want him to take their light too…
the other hard thing about what it would mean is-
I don’t know what to do with this story then
So if i change this perspective
and let myself believe that the madness is over…
that the thing I was striving so fucking hard to create for myself…
actually, happened.
If I let myself believe that
I don’t know what my nervous system would do
What my mind would make of it?
If there is no more fighting, no more battles?
is it really over?
I was fighting for it but it wasn’t about achieving it
I didn’t think that was possible-
It was about surviving
so then would it mean I truly beat it?
And if I did, how do I explain all that was?
How do I tell the story of me with an ending that makes no sense?
I’m so fucking tired
And they’re all telling me to slow down
a part of me doesn’t know how to
how to begin
and another part-protests being told what to do
Or maybe people telling me there is hope
I fear what if for me there isn’t
and I try with dreams of this ending
but it becomes another discouraging wound
I’m the most mediocre person
there is nothing special about me- you’re right
There is nothing special about my experiences
there isn’t
I’m a very ordinary person
And I don’t know if the things that happened to me were that bad or if I’m just a bitch about it
I don’t know but I’m angry and bitter all the time
I couldn’t tell you what exactly about
Because it’s everything
it’s because I can’t make sense of what was
And changing my perspective means being angerier-rageful
I’m angry that i’m here, angry that I’m alive
Angry that I can’t get the blessing to leave
That I had no say in the choice to be here
and even before I took my first breath I was resented for my existence
I’m scared of the power that kinda rage has
But that’s the thing, if I really am this wounded
damaged
wouldn’t it take someone exceptional to overcome that
to beat the statistic
I’m just ordinary
The ending doesn’t line up
I don’t share many things
Not in detail
How cruel to make someone sit through it
The other reflection is about being liked
I do want to be liked
I would like to be liked as I am
And not in a-selfish kind of way of resisting accountability
I just want to be liked
without having all the things wrong with me or off be a project to fix
I already know
hence why I didn’t want to show you
but if I’m brave enough to show you
and I have to hear about how it hurts you…
How it makes you sad
it reinforces the idea that I think those things are awful too
And I watch how they bleed into others
I want to be liked
without having to protect you
I am so tired of being told, “i’m sad because you’re sad”
“it makes me sad that you’re sad”
“i don’t know what to tell you”
I feel their anxiety and pressure to “fix” this thing that I am
And it becomes very clear it’s not a part of me they like
so i go back to the 20%
I think this world is very dark
I think there is a lot of evil in it
and we all have some degree of evil
so the last thing I want to do
when I see light in others is dim it
I don’t want to dim it
I don’t want to take away what little light there might be in someone or this world
4/10/2025
These appointments leave me irritated
In one way or another it’s the same conversation
“Slow down”
They all unanimously advise
This isn’t the first time I’ve sat across people insistent on this point
I’d wave away the remark
Push my body harder
Role my eyes and mutter, “Watch me”
I manage every diagnosis
Take the pills, do the procedures
But don’t stop
My therapists have highlighted how I neglect Her
Now, I’m being told I neglect my body too
I argue my points
Attempt to dismiss their comments
But this time they don’t let it go
Suddenly, I don’t feel I have a choice
But then I think, I do- I could do nothing
She looking at my chart
Then checks my pulse
My pulse of life, energy- low
I’d say it’s reflective of how I feel
Of how invested I am in this world
Again, the words are said to me, “The answer is to slow down”
I crack a dismissive joke
Which only seems to make her more frank
“The answer you’re seeking is to slow down”
“Look,..I get the sense you’re brilliant and have figured out a way to run from a painful past”
I attempt to deflect…
“You have created a whole other life for yourself. Decades of this is catching up. You’re not young anymore… the answer is to- slow. down.”
My voice surprises me when I share, “I can’t- Don’t know how”
“…You can stop running now”
She leaves me with an answer I don’t want to hear
And one I don’t know where to begin with
4/10/2025
I think I’ve been in this hole for the better part of a year
Something’s off
It’s hard to catch when I’m in it
The remnants of the past call to me
Luring me into this hole
They sing me the lullaby of death…
The world around me feels fake
It’s unsafe and distant
I slowly push through the atmosphere like molasses
I often feel like a corpse
Some zooned out zombie
Half dead…. half alive
I prefer this at times
It’s familiar
I keep Her locked in a room
Down a very long hallway
I can feel Her and I can hear Her
But I don’t dare look back…
It’s hard…
I try but sometimes it’s better to feel nothing
I feel the pressure build inside me
It’s crawling under my skin
…so-I make it stop…
When it hits— there’s this relief
The other night it triggered a purge
As I slipped into death the tears fell
Tears of gratitude- for the relief
Tears of disappointment- for my cowardness
If I surrender to death
Then I don’t have to witness my cowardness
And I certainly don’t have to acknowledge how sad of a person I truly am…
3/22/2025
Did I go too far?
I believed knowledge to be the key
The master key to unlocking my sanity
How couldn’t it not be?
I’ve been in the pursuit of truth-
Unlocking as many doors as possible and as fast as I can
They come in and out of my office all day
Like a flip book, their silhouettes sitting and standing so quickly
They shift in their seats
Crossing and uncrossing their legs
This key seems to work for other people
Is that how it’s suppose to work?
Does knowing too much impact its efficacy for me?
Did I sacrifice my opportunity?
Why doesn’t it work for me?
2/22/2025
I often wonder about how other women experience this
It’s not something I question out loud
Logically, I know it had nothing to do with me
But a louder part recognizes she birthed her greatest pain
I've spent my entire existence knowing I wasn’t wanted
I haven’t found a way to undo it…
I think it’s something i’m suppose to live with
You pick up the pieces,… carry them, and keep moving
Regardless of the cards you were dealt…
… the mother you got…
Life knows how to trigger the unwelcomed thought
“I want my mom”
It’s followed by this strong urge to pick up the phone and call a women who loves me more than anyone on this planet
A women, who may not be perfect but loves me more than she loves her pain
She's always rooting for me
Always knows what to say
She’s my biggest cheerleader
(Even knowing all my mess)
She's always protecting me
Making sure i’m taken care of…
Despite reality Im pulled into this fantasy
It only lasts a fraction of a second
I almost instantly remember… there is no one to call
Over and over I relive the experience
Like i’m hearing the news for the first time…
“You have no mother to call”
It doesn’t hurt like it use to
Having someone to call is like winning the lottery
I don’t think people truly appreciate what an amazing gift it is to have a mother to call…
A mother who picks up
Who shows up…
But, I think I still get stuck
Guilt always lingers in the corners of my grief
At least my mother, isn’t dead….
Right?…
1/28/2025
The image replays over and over
Sometimes I can’t find the words to describe an experience…
Images seem to work best when words fail
I imagine the ink on the quill hitting the paper
The paper, parched, quickly drinks
The ink bleeds through the subtle dimples of the sheet
This is the feeling that spreads
My body releases the air and tension it’s been holding
quill on paper