close.

rather distant
we no longer speak
God and i broke up

last night
silence spoke for me
tears to cleanse

the past futile
my arms too short
to reach wrongs

committed by closeness
pain hurts when joined
by love. peace and joy…

being. entwined.

All of life is not misery. It just feels of late, a cloud hovers. Suicide blaring red letters across the skies, as if to tempt the coward.

For me, WordPress was never about publishing a book. The issue of publishing a book are the words forever etched into time. I rebel against such a thought. I strive to be free of this world. Why would i lock up my soul to mere pages? My desire exists beyond the confines of any mind.

So WordPress becomes an outlet to release my crazy thoughts. A cathartic exercise. Skimming the surface, I fear going deeper. What lurks there most would tremble, be repulsed, or worse, not understand. I feel lonely enough with these thoughts, without comments overheard. To those who don’t believe hell exists, welcome.

My gift is to burn my poems. Send them as ash to the Creator, in hopes they bring fresh beginnings. This present life has enough sorrow without my permanently adding to the drear and desperation so many witness and feel. Second-hand emotions are lethal.

My prayer is future generations will be afforded a pleasant, happy life. Absent of mine.

All of life is not misery. This too shall recover. A new skin revealed, to dress the wounds. A phoenix rises on the horizon.

writing towards sanity

why would anyone ever acknowledge they might be beyond sanity? even stranger, to thank another, for seeing your reality?

Reality: a place to avoid. Hurt exists there. Not in my world. I am immune. Oh! once i was hurt. well, plenty of times…

then i ran away where friends frolic in my dreams. Glad your here…

and if you should go
need space to rearrange
the spell i cast
my heart understands
for my reality
but a dream, can still hurt.

death wish (suicide lies)

guilt drives staggered bones
the edge becomes
a point to ponder

what matters beyond
his farewell
unannounced -death arrived

luring me closer
take the plunge
you can thank me later

A quality insight from Mrs. Fish

— Read on danielpaulmarshall.com/2018/06/10/a-quality-insight-from-mrs-fish/

There are always as many layers in each piece written by Daniel Paul Marshall as there are to our individual psyches. I have learned, from past experience, we decide to dig when all of life fails. Most assuredly when we struggle in amazement, “How did we end up here?”

This struggle’s search means we roam our own minds along with perusing other’s insights, to answer personal questions. Daniel Paul Marshall always becomes a mountain to scale. I am not afraid to climb and quite often like to feel small. The idea of being intellectually swallowed hole is not frightening. At such a time, i tend to be lazy and will shift into making the ascent easy as possible. I have found in order to be a PhD candidate poet, i would need to tap reserves that currently are kept safe for rainy days. I never venture far from the comfortable. (Enough of that tangent… back on the original road!)

This particular post drug me up from a pit i am well accustomed. I routinely, lazily graze in my despair but in a rare collision, this post brought a flurry of thought.

Please consider bringing yourself to the discussion at the original post. I would love to read your thoughts. Does this post enlighten or further blur your perception of you, your children and the space between? Or perhaps your relationship with a parent?

I am considering note-taking and producing a futures map, dealing with my daughter. She tells me i am her best friend, which makes me feel wonderful. But below the surface smile i sprout for her benefit, i fear her future. Where are people to love her as much as i?

new page up… the year is 2018

Emotions get the best of me. I try and walk the straight and narrow. I dump all caution to the wind and wonder why I struggle in this muck I bring upon myself. I may never learn.

I am in an in-between stage. Is this puberty? My writing does not seem to improve with age but I get a few comments, now and then, telling me to keep going. Do not give up! Your star is hanging low and if you reach a little higher you might just grab and tame the light. They tell me to keep it in my pocket for dark days… for they will come.

I fight this feeling to let go. I am sure you have read plenty of posts where I was ready to hang up this blog. Then I realize you never get everything you want (except from my husband and kids…oh! they spoil me) along the way but you will get what you need. Right? I think someone else said this and the tune is humming in the back of my mind. A good reminder that it takes mental stamina, endless loneliness, determined effort and possibly a bit of luck. Although, not sure about the luck. But being in the right place at the right time might just give me the boost I need to believe in my self. Again. After all, I was cheered on to write in my youth by the person who kept me hidden for my own good. Unfortunately, I am a sponge, easily squeezed of life.

I think it would have been better for me had she let me go. Find heart ache. I never experienced true heart ache, married to the first guy who ever paid attention to me. Living a fairy tale dream of a man on a white horse, destined to save me from hell’s eternity. Thirty years this July. And no it has not been a cake walk. The past few years have been most difficult dealing with a depressed and anxious teenager on the brink of suicide.

All this changed when a stranger saw something inside my heart that was seeping out in trickles, through words strung like pearls. I reached out, secretly, but I could not give what this person needed and we both abandoned ship, feeling used… I am a bleeding romantic. My life is lived 90% in my dreams. Not so much the other person. Unfortunately, I am easily netted and cannot shake the ties that bind my feelings to a blank screen that feeds me nothing.

So I go forward today. All hope enclosed within. I will try and keep writing, no matter the pain it brings. The tears produced. The sweat induced. This sorrow I will carry in my heart as people enter my life and exit through my pores, leaving behind an essence I try and capture for future days. Days when loneliness is too much to bear and I whisper into the wind, waiting for someone to hear.

Part of my being is to be completely understanding even if I am left pained. Self-inflicted wounds are a familiar feeling. I easily act upon my fragile heart. This is a side of me I rarely, if ever before today, have confessed. I assume it makes people comfortable. It leaves me wounded. I can rage like a trapped bear. Other times I whimper like a captured mouse in a exercise wheel. Run through my thoughts, unending. Getting no where, fast!

I will never change this piece of me. It is what makes me the most proud. To say I have sat with the hurting and have tried to bring a smile to their face. For this I will never apologize to myself. For this I will pass away and glow for future people to know that it is not things we possess but the essence of others. I venture forward, in hopes I can become a star, guiding paths with wisdom and grace.

To future hearts.

Happy writing, J

shift

this world shift
puts us in a tail spin
rudderless
without fuel -choking on fumes

i need an exit plan
will you be next to me?

i promised you a fairy tale
a night -ours alone
and at this rate
dont expect me home too soon

i have an entrance exam
and i passed with flying colors

( if it doesnt make sense, i blame the alcohol.)

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 crazy today? Am i not making progress any more? Am i not rebelling against their prison, set-up to chain me to the past?

I am my own person. My parents are gone. They had their chance to live. I have today and i cannot live in their fear… a person cannot fully live, regretful.

My love of nature is born from my dad. For that i am eternally grateful.

Direction, June 2, 2018

Run free Jeanne! Run free…