Category: Memoir

Hate on me… i lied

What am i doing here this morning? Did i not say i was gone from WP? Well a thought entered my head after reading a post in a closed group i belong to on FB… and decided to share here as well. So, what is the group? Survivors of Suicide. A group i did not…

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buried.

lie under, stand over, peer inside answers what is it about burning… remembering and forgetting a drag on a cigarette pleasing… squeezing life from a stone Dear diary war is crumbling this peaceful way, children hungry for more than scoldings growing food -alone. She tells me a warrior child easily wounded, her soul cries for…

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personal musings unleashed

as a child i nagged my parents to stop smoking… my dad was happy to quit and exclaimed “i can smell and taste again!” what should have been a breakthrough was left a defeat, mom moping and poking around, complaining as usual… she wanted her cigarettes… not wanting to smoke alone, she subsided the habit,…

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personal musings unleashed

We really do not know each other, do we? Years were spent cultivating all these hateful thoughts. Up until today, all that is wrong with life, seemed to be my fault. I easily accepted blame and never fought the day my mom banished me from their life. I was not the daughter she wanted and…

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no need

I wrote the above to help me through a day, last week. It was not meant for public consumption, but after reading Aguycalledbloke this morning, i decided to share. This is but a snippet of my relationship with my mother. Is it worth returning to this planet? Of trying to understand why i am so…

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wayward be

Who the hell knows if i will be here… today, tomorrow or any other day. If i am, hope your near by. If not, i will find my way… forward. Always have… been a survivor. Even of my own thoughts to die. Withholding food to starve my heartache. Suffocation, in moments, while i prayed for…

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growing up

Were you allowed to express yourself growing up? Or were your passionate explorations squelched? Arts were a forbidden country for me. A taboo. Superstitions of poverty and starvation, my becoming promiscuous, rang from my mother’s mouth. Dad silently agreed. When i turned 18 i told them i was going to college. When they did not…

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One more for the road…

Post. Not a drink. But i think i will pour myself a sour cherry bier from Victory Brewing… right after i turn off my phone a while. (I will be back…) Love this baby picture of me. One of the few where i am properly dressed. My shoes are shined and my hair is brushed.…

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A Guy Called Bloke…

via Secret Journal Musings Learning to laugh (even if it is not hilarious because we were hurt) and not take ourselves too seriously, makes for a happy heart. Rory is taking our human fallibility and giving it to us as medicine. Thanks friend!! Life is too short to become bitter.

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