Bent.

I am the face blended in on the train –
with open wounds bleeding blame and shame –
I am the darkness that protects the light –
blinded by a goal in sight –
I am the reasons why I hate myself –
just me to blame and nobody else –
I am the hatred in the moments alone –
when the place is quiet and nobody’s home –
I am the purpose that drives so many vessels on fire –
I am the face of the weary and tired–
I am not satisfied with the way things have become –
I am not going to accept what you’ve done –
I am the one who meant each word I said –
I am the one that you lied to instead –
I am the one who is sullen and down –
I am the reason none of my friends come around –
I am the cause of all things tragic –
I can make people disappear from my Life like Magic – 
I am the cultivator of this poisonous place –
I am afraid of my own body and face –
I cannot tell which creatures won’t bite –
I will eventually resign to this fight –
I am convinced that I’m better off without –
I am aware of what they’re all talking about –
I am the one who tied the original knot –
I guess that that’s a detail that each one forgot –
I am not filled with any cold from the snow–
I have mastered that defense system, you know –
I am a human fucking being –
I have a heart that pumps and bleeds –
I am not interested in dramatics and games –
be decent to me, and I’ll treat you the same.

Maybe Later.

I barely shut the door behind me before I burst into tears again,
Thoughts racing round my head without a place to put them in;
Every “ignored” phone call turns out to be a chance I’d been given,
To swallow down my fears and be the person I should’ve been.

So many days have left me without a spark of hope within,
So many lies spat onto me to get me to fall back line with them;
So many pieces of so many puzzles scattered across a line, so thin,
So many surfaced memories that I can’t push back and drop on him.

I barely shut the lights off before the tears begin to come unpinned,
I’m here – without the parts of a heart not properly sewn in;
And you’re there – without a clue as to where you’ve even been,
I just want to hold you while the world around falls in.

I hardly fall into a fitful sleep before the lights blaze brightly in,
And the alarm clock sings of misery and a day that will never end;
Waking dreams and nightmares of how likened you’ve become to him,
I had to cut my losses – before Life cut my throat again.

Dear Dead Man.

I must confess,
this note’s addressed,
to you, most evil man,
my own attempted murderer
my, once, beloved husband,
I wanted to confess to you,
the way that you continue to,
assert your unearned place
haunting me via Déjà vu,
black and blued right onto
your own daughter’s face,
I feel obliged to tell you ,
since you don’t have to see,
her eyes like a raccoon’s;
as her dead former “Father”,
free of the burden or bother ,
of any knowledge or attachment to,
what she’s managed to survive through,
yes, you still fucking linger,
a horrid and grotesque harbinger,
well-hidden,
unbidden…
somehow, forgiven through,
a darkly executed ruse,
she’s grown up somehow,
to be just like you,
you’re a Dead Man now,
no sweat on that trouble-free brow,
you must take this lying down;
you’re gonna have to know it,
hear it all, through and through,
it’s only fitting,
I wish you were living,
can you believe that I’d say so?
alive just long enough,
to walk in big and tough,
you always liked to think,
there’s nothing that can make,
those lying eyes of yours blink
but if you had to see,
if your eyes had to perceive,
such ruin and atrocity,
the fulfillment of your prophecy
as our own full-grown legacy,
glowing in your luminosity,
broken and battered,
just like you battered me…
the sight would make you blink.

Come.

Come see me –

this night;

in my dark cornered dreams

I beg of you to make me scream;

Come touch me –

Once more;

sweat your saliva from my pores

cut the wire and kick in the door;

Come stay with me –

come closer; revive;

wake me up until I come alive

let me feed the carnivorous side;

Come with me –

come in; confide;

touch every steaming hot place inside

never look into my crying eyes;

Come ruin me –

this night;

see my body writhe beneath

Come tonight and leave me empty.

Display.

Image from we<3it.

This is what happens,
or, moreover: what can;
when a woman is broken,
by the hands of a man;

these are the facets,
that the light reflects through;
our many faces of torture,
that somehow still smile on queue;

we sit on display in a window,
it’s all that we know how to be;
like a sideshow in a circus,
to glimpse tells a million stories.

A scale that is constantly sliding
from and to either of its ends;
A timepiece of nature’s abiding,
until it balances us out once again.

You’ve got the innocent, young, and the most naïve,
next to the masochist who can’t get up from her knees;
you’ll see the ancient and calm; the kamikaze love-bomb,
the wise, archetypal matriarch and the shivering fawn.

We are each so different, while exactly the same
our memories are connected by torturous pain;
we’ve accepted and together we stand once again,
against the demons that left us with scars in our skin.

The Struggle.

All that is happening now does, indeed, go back to the incident in Arizona. The surgeries that she has already undergone and recovered from have each been in attempt to separate scar tissue that has grown around Boo’s trachea from being cinched by a belt for nearly two days; also – her inability to speak has finally been de-mystified as well. The same thing is happening at the base of her vocal chords, as a result of scar tissue build-up, only the vocal cords have been permanently affected by residues left from the chemicals that Boo had been forced to drink during her captivity. The doctors have done what they can without sending her to a specialist for what is considered as “delicate surgery”; the next step to come.
Within the month, she will be going to Stanford for such things…and I have little doubt behind her strength or ability to deal with it. She remains in care still – a milestone in and of itself; she is bored beyond description, covered in bed sores, and must be feeling pretty low…yet, she hasn’t left again. Her little boyfriend (the one who do not necessarily like so much but cannot deny his humanity in comparison to the other men she has surrounded herself with in the past) comes to visit her now; I know that makes her feel like the world isn’t ending, after all. Anything that helps her to stay put and ride out the road ahead through her physical recovery – I am on board with it.
She has grown up so much…in such a short time…she is so jaded and darkened by her own experiences, that I watch her struggle with simply being cared for by another human being…it’s rough. But she’s letting it happen – as hard as it may be on her.

20150904_140004-1

Deflation.

“Hope is a good breakfast but a bad supper.”
~ W. Rawley

When you have a daughter like mine, this is the element that destroys you:
The incurable death wish that transcends even a hole in her own throat; Boo left the hospital last night at some point with an unknown couple and has not returned.
Granted, it is her M.O. to disappear from a recovery unit in the hospital, she has always done that. But never before has she had something as serious as a tracheotomy to worry about. She was notably struggling to breathe in the hospital – what is she going through out there? I don’t understand…I don’t believe it…but I am forced to accept the fact that she intended it. She apparently walked out by her own free will once again. She likes to think that she knows everything and has it all under control, somehow…and…well, we have all seen how well she keeps things under control…
So once again, as of the instant I woke up this morning:
My heart has disappeared to an unknown location outside of my body but still pumps and beats painfully.

inked us 2015