Category: Poetry

Are you ok?

“No, quite honestly, I’m not.”

No, I’m not ‘ok’, I feel like I’m packing for a funeral. Each day draws me closer to the sobering reality of the crushing heart wrenching soul agony I’ve been living in for the past 6 months. Saturday I will drive 10 hours. 10 hours to see my oldest child who I haven’t seen in over 6 months. Who I haven’t spoken to in over 6 months. On Monday I get the awesome joy (sarcasm intended) of witnessing the Court Martial of my first born child. On another day next week I have the grueling opportunity to listen to my daughter as she tells prosecutors and the judge everything he did to her. I never wanted to hear the details. She’s growing into a beautiful young lady. It kills me to know he took her innocence.  She knows what’s it’s like to be with a man. She already knows how to where a tampon for Gawds sake! She shouldn’t even be comfortable with wearing one!!!! 

Oh my gawd! I hold my chest, it aches. It pounds. It hurts. Tears (as usual) stream down my face.

I’m packing for a funeral. The veiwing of the body, then the burial of my own soul, as I listen to the details then the sentencing.

No. I’m not ok at all.

My Rights

I have the right to remain sane. Anything I say or do, can and probably will be used against me at any given time. I have the right to my own opinion. If you do not like or accept my opinion another one will be presented to you. Do you understand these writes as they’ve been given to you?

I am “the Write to sanity”. Pleased to meet you.

  

QOTD

There are people who want to make men’s lives more difficult for no other reason than the chance it provides them afterwards to offer their prescription for alleviating life; their Christianity, for instance.
Friedrich Nietzsche

A song of suicide

My son wrote this before attempting suicide May 7, 2014

I’ve lost my way

I know I must grow up fast,
No time to make this last.
I’ve got to be rollin’ down the bin,
No time for irresponsible sin 

I am the one to make this go around,

But I’d still like to be 6 feet under ground.

Is this the way?
For sure I cannot say.
Only time will tell,
If we win or if we lose.
For we live with the choices
That we choose
  

April 10, 2015

He took her innocence
Shamed her youth
He calls me “mom”
Hurts worse then a broken tooth
He didn’t stop with just one touch
He kept going back
Had her innocence in his clutch
He calls me “mom”
I hear his voice,
see his face
He’s in my dreams
Through my thoughts he does race
He calls me “mom”
I see his sin
I hear her cries
She calls me “mom”
My soul begins to die
They call me “mom”

July 16, 2014

I like a clean, tidy, uncluttered home. Although, I don’t mind it to be lived in from time to time.

At this point I will now refer to my husband as my “ex”. After all, isn’t that the goal

My ex is extremely OCD and anal about having a clean home. He didn’t even think it should look like people lived here. He liked it to look like a “show-case” home at all times.
We have several children, and you can imagine how stressful it was for me to keep up with his demands of keeping the house clean. Somehow, I managed it. I kept it neat, tidy and uncluttered. After many years of living this way, I’ve adapted to enjoying the house more when it is clean. It’s less stressful. I feel like, if my home is cluttered, then everything else in my life is cluttered. Possibly because I heard a preachers wife say those exact words and it fit his belief system.
Since he left, the house has been a mess. Hang on, I have a few excuses. First, I am sole-provider of everything! So, I’m really busy. I am self-employed, I have a cleaning service. Ironic.
Secondly, I think because he demanded it, I quit. I stopped cleaning because it was what HE wanted.
Little by little, I am conquering my house again. This time because I want it clean. He doesn’t live here anymore, so who cares what he thinks! On a positive note; I cleaned out the fridge and found 2 beautiful Purple Haze Abita beer hiding behind all those biology projects. (Winning!)
Oh, and I do not judge people with messy homes or hoarders or clutter. I don’t even like to complain about them (like he would). Those messes pay my bills.

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Photo courtesy of google

July 14, 2014

The walls are closing in on me
So fast, their vacuum force is sucking the breath right from my lungs. I feel trapped. I feel I can’t breath. I feel I can’t move as they get closer and closer. It’s getting stuffy, almost stifling hot. The air is thick and my chest feels heavy. It’s getting dark, my breaths are shallow. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe. I can’t see, there is no light in here. Total darkness. They’re moving closer and closer, I can feel the corners. It’s pressing on me faster and faster with urgent force. My arms and legs can’t keep the walls from getting closer. Trying with all my might, pushing as hard as I can. I am no match for the strength of these walls. Walls are supposed to be for our protection but theses walls are going to be the death of me.

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July 11, 2014

“He walked away from everything, who was I to think that he wouldn’t walk away from me also.”

Those were my closing thoughts yesterday. Although my days are twice as busy now that I have all the responsibility of caring for my family. My days are more fulfilled. I feel accomplished. After setting a goal to not worry about what he thinks. It freed me to be myself, and to do as I please.
Now that I am busy working for 2 people and being 2 parents, I do not have time to engage in his childish BS. While I am working he is sending back to back texts full of accusations and self-pity. I laugh. He has no job, staying with his brother… He only has time to throw BS my way.
At the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I’ve accomplished many things. Not everything, but plenty. And oh! I forgot to reply to his text, go figure.

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Seize the day

July 2014

How ironic that I am currently lingering in the same place… Must be a habit😜

Lingering In bed with so much to do
Haven’t enough energy to get out of bed
Laying here working on my thoughts to subdue

I cling to my pillow and write a poem instead
Push that thought over there and this one over here
Keeping the ones I don’t want to forget

Lazily I turn to this day as I peer
Into its list of activities it bids me to attempt
I calculate the time and some will wait I fear

I reluctantly release pillow to begin my assent
Nothing gets accomplished while lingering amongst sheets
Although their comforting warmth sure do tempt

I arise to face the day and it’s activities defeat
Until this evening,my pillow, once again to it I’ll retreat

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