Inklings.

Don’t humor the inkling to test me,
Always searching for angles to best me,
Your presence must constantly tempt me,
daily fail on your part to preempt me,
Too pathetic to bend,
Bite at the bowl that’s empty.
bullshit side-stepping,
pathetic button pressing,
Get on track dead last,
Any shot you had to win has passed,
Neurotic tail chasing,
Your stupidy’s amazing
Go long, carry on,
its so entertaining,
Your need to bear teeth,
at absolutely nothing,
It’s so funny,
You humor me,
Not a soul cares,
If you never get out of here,
You made your bed and it’s filthy,
The stench of the things you can’t be,
So many piles of what’s needy,
You think your logic is stealthy,
But your face makes me angry,
I want to punch at you; God help me,
For striking a helpless puppy,
It made me.

Chase.

I once told you I hoped that you wouldn’t chase,

the path made by my footprints as I ran away,

not to follow my feet as they endlessly tread,

places called “home” in my paranoid head,

your eyes used to follow my eyes,

As they darted about the night skies,

you’d trace a pinky down my cheeks,

Down the trails from tears deemed obsolete,

do not follow my confused insanity,

into the cursed forest of ancient trees,

I don’t want you to see as I mindlessly carve,

indecipherable messages into their bark,

I‘d rather that you might remember times,

when I still held a more lucid state of mind,

as I was back when I first asked of you

to someday cut me completely loose,

back when my feet could not yet carry through,

with any of the deeds that I still have to do,

do not falter in those old promises now,

you must override your heart, somehow,

you must stifle the desire you’ve come to feel,

to follow me into the darkness of Hell,

I’d rather you carry on in the warmth of the sun,

to pick up, dust off, and carry on,

Past all the times that your foolish pride,

had you believing that we were solidified,

but it’s time to defy what we feel inside,

just let go and let yourself bleed for a while,

the loss will fade eventually,

same as my footprints into the trees,

you must finally stop any pursuit of me,

and let me self-fulfill this unwell prophecy.

 

 

 

Introspectivity.

It always starts out with,
that involuntary twitch,
eyes popping,
nervous rocking,
hard to catch my breath;

This much accursed gift,
heart haywire, mind adrift,
engine sputter,
pulse aflutter,
can’t run away from it;

A sand that’s too fine to sift,
these hands: too broken to lift,
no motivation,
slow salvation,
beyond a dark, longstanding rift;

Steaming piles of shit,
line my pathway to its pit,
a one way road,
on the map I hold,
of a soul that’s counterfeit.

Identify.

I told you
didn’t I?
you know
I had to try…
to hold onto
my own
hell-bent
detriment…
so indeed
and, earnestly
I let the
arrows fly…
loosed carelessly
to describe
my over-tired
and broken mind
there it was…
no doubt
all laid out
to scale
and personalized
to the very
best ability
of me –
personified…
yet, it’s trifling,
a novel compound
like your loyalty
unwieldy…
weighing down
wrought-iron-bound
an anchor  
drowning me…
I tried
early on,
to say why
spelled out
in bold lettering…
to emphasize
with clarity
such shortcomings
like to mine…

 

Deal Re-Breaker.

There’s this threshold inside of my brain that others either cross in a grain cut painfully against me, or never cross at all. It is a horrid barrier that I’m sure I have created myself; but it is a sound and solid barrier, all the same – an impenetrable construct by my own mind, immovable in my own mind. This is a threshold that grants closeness and kinship or falseness and nothingness between me and other people who come into my Life.

 

It’s hard to explain, but I’ve been trying my best when it gets brought up by (a) certain (male) people (person) whom I struggle to maintain “healthy relations” with:

 

  1. the way that my ability to even experience anything good or positive with an individual diminishes completely once I feel the slightest bit of vulnerability to him, because I am fucked up and my brain doesn’t work normally.
  2. the way that after I experience any vulnerability on a conscious level on his behalf, I seem to automatically try to sabotage everything.
  3. the way that if sabotage fails, I will resort to some innate mechanism of my emotions to execute the process of shutting down to him.
  4. the way that I spend the entire time this hideous process plays out in hating myself and constantly having to re-focus myself on what’s right, as opposed to what feels right.

 

 

 

Lowly.

I opened my eyes with the thought in my mind,

the futility of running this routine another time,

the cruelty attached to waking hours in sunshine,

the frailty that’s latched itself inside my eyes,

tells a tale to me against my own will,

spills the history flooded between me and Hell,

bites the fingertip feeding me strips of roast beef,

hangs me by my thumbs from a weeping willow tree,

steals away my everything,

down to every teeny piece,

I can’t even find the smile in my sleep,

it’s been stolen from me.

Gobble, Fucking Gobble.

I guess sometimes my nightmares must consist of things that directly tie into my dwindling sense of motherhood; as, there are mornings when I wake up feeling deeply wounded by this element of my irretrievably haunting visits to the realm of dreamland. This experience, when it happens, is enough to have me in full-blown tears of grief and devastation before my bare feet even touch the cold wood of the floor. There are so many sensations and notions attached to these mornings (thank Gods they are few and far between) that it quickly becomes difficult, if not impossible, to process any of them…they just sit there on the stagnant surface of my consciousness, too blurred and ambiguous to get my head or hands around. I guess today, I am thankful that these nights do not catch me slippin’ all too often…because when they do, I pay for it for a few days afterward.

Happy Turkey Day, y’all.