Civility and Ruin.

Ever venomous is the tongue

spat in the darkness as the day has become

ever weakened in will is the Warrior’s son

ever reaped is the field the seed scatters upon

empty sits the place we meant to make our home

abandoned in the country from which our line comes

dilapidated in layers of dust and broken bones

ghostly and haunted by a truth all our own

 

 

Ever cavernous is the womb

hollowed out through and through

ever freezing more deeply like an ancient tomb

ever pleasing in secret to become likened to you

empty shall the streets remain for far too many moons

abandoned are the whisky glasses left in the saloon

blanketed in viruses we had no resistance to

ghostly is the line drawn between civility and ruin.

This Day.

In a different world with different endings
This is a day we’d laugh and play
this is a day we’d celebrate
a day with a new beginning
the love would be fulfilling
the night would not end with ushering in
so much emptiness
so much regret
This day would be reaffirming.

Big Differences.

Growing up, every year on my birthday, my Dad would make a point to become overwhelmed by sentiment, and then force his recollections upon me of the day that I was born. I typically spent the following few moments listening to him describe what life had been like prior to my birth (a dramatically dismal and rainy scene in which he, my Papa, and my older brothers spent their days feeling incomplete and longing for the missing piece to the puzzle of Life that only I could provide). My father never held back from parenthood, and he did everything with gusto when it came to his kids – his only daughter, especially – so the birthday strokes came on thick and lasted pretty much throughout the day until I went to bed.

Anyway, I think about this often (at least once a year); and can’t help but to compare these types of memories with those that surround me as the parent and Boo as the birthday girl (her 19TH birthday is tomorrow). It makes me dwell heavily in the land of self-inventory…and I can’t help but to wind up feeling guilty and shitty because I honestly don’t have such sweet sentiments in regard to my Life as a mother to Boo. I always used to eat myself that way because I would secretly feel quite different about Life before and after Boo (in comparison to those annual mountains of sugar that my Dad always fed me, at least).

Just been stuck in Plebian Mode all day over this stupid comparison, I thought I’d dump it out into the Universe and see if that helps it go away.

Curse the skies.

I’ve realized something within the past few weeks that feels like it changes nothing and everything all at once; I realize that the only reason I cling so desperately and miserably to any semblance of a relationship with my mother is because it’s all I have left. Without the ongoing disinformation that I feed myself regarding the likelihood of ever finding a fulfilling medium there, with her, my entire existence easily crumbles beneath me. The past and the future feel irrelevant; and the present moment is simply void of any true meaning or worth.

My good parent (my Dad) is long gone, curse the skies; my Papa too…and so went any ties to that line for me. I still technically have my brothers; but we are all grown up now and supposed to be separate, with our separate families…and, they each are, at least. I don’t begrudge them for it, either; and I am allowed into the warmth of each one’s circle occasionally, to thaw the frozenness in me enough to keep going. Sometimes, I feel bitter and very isolated upon leaving my brother’s house. My remaining full blood brother doesn’t speak to our mother when he can help it because he has the fulfillment of his wife’s huge and seemingly happy family to supplement. It was with him last week that I was having what seemed a trivial enough discussion, when our mother came up in conversation, and he said:

I try to avoid talking to Mom as much as I can; she makes me sick actually, to be honest…”

Coming from the guy who has always been on her side through the many years of turmoil and chaos between she and I, this struck me like a lightning bolt. I guess in a sense, it was validating on the one hand (as I feel like I have spent the better portion of my life in trying to make my brothers understand how totally fucked up and warped she can be), but damning on the other hand, somehow. I have been holding things together between myself and my mother through the catalyst of this specific brother for quite a while now, and without him between us anymore, there’s nothing at all.

My mother and step-dad continue to allow themselves to be used and abused by that evil Spawn of Satan that I bore almost 19 years ago. Apparently, both Boo and her no-good “boyfriend” still dominate the household over there. They made the choice to permit such bullshit, and so it goes. Boo’s 19th birthday is next week; and I am determined to let the day pass like any other day. I have not bought her a gift and do not intend to; as anything I have ever spent my money on for her gets immediately traded for drugs or given away to one of her stupid drug-addict, hooker “friends”. I don’t know how else to describe it, besides to say that I feel like I have given absolutely everything I have to give to that creature already. I simply have nothing left for her.

I will be honest with myself and say that I truly regret her; I truly dislike her; I truly want nothing more than to forget her completely – she has drained my life of so much of what’s important. She has spent everything within me already; the experience of being her mother has emptied me to my toes. I guess the combination of such an outcome for me, mixed with the perpetually deepening hollow in my heart and soul as a damaged and broken human being leaves me this way, feeling this way. Helplessness might begin to describe some of it; embitterment covers large portions of it; but emptiness pretty much buttons it up.

 

Penny-pinching.

Ah, the insatiable façade…
of government organization,
charged with the ongoing care,
of a child’s “protection”,
and look at the job they’ve done!
Producing mass demoralization,
burning without consideration,
crushing and burying memories,
fueling the hatred inside of me,
thriving within the destruction,
so many of my moments: stolen,
spiritually drowned and chopfallen,
hiding like cowards behind,
the safe-guarded legal confines,
professional rape of the mind,
is defined in some subsection,
of a somehow “acceptable”,
and despicably procedural,
forced systematic separation,
court-enforced parental,
very public lynching,
then perpetual alienation,
stealing and penny-pinching,
and completely legal,
purely conjectural,
the picture in full,
strikes the eye as odd,
an agency playing God,
motivated by sheer evil,
operated hypocritically,
signed in disappearing ink,
no control,
no cause for hope,
down with this agency!
Else soon enough,
they’ll own all of us,
in with the afflicted,
contradicted,
and doomed, too,
no light gets through,
tried and convicted,
by a government’s rule,
backed by ignorant fools,
cracked heads affected,
from such a shallow gene pool.

Soup.

Fuck doing what’s right to do
might have to confront the truth
and you may actually
at last, and finally
have to step up and pay your dues
every single bridge
burned down to a crisp
take the drama and dishonesty
as far as you can get from me
I can’t function like this
there you have stood silently by
done your part to take what’s mine
when all is done
and you have no one
don’t come crying to me this time
you’ve helped to construct
a place that is fucked
from wall to wall
trumping any and all
good in the things you should touch
Fuck staying in this primordial soup
this fucking unhealthy familial loop
when I am no more
around like before
who will catch your boot?
Always choose to color me wrong
over and over until the color was gone
but you can’t tell me what is right
you wouldn’t recognize the sight
pull your blade from my back and move along.

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.