Unhealthy.

I don’t want to describe any hurt feelings,
Or rake the coals over for any lost meanings,
I have no desire to dissect everything,
Or get to the bottom of your horrid mood swings,
There’s no use in spending a shred more on you,
This wide open freedom was long overdue,
Your venomous essence and landscape of doom,
Your sour-puss presence that swallows a room,
I feel many stones lighter since going my way,
That shadowy darkness is drifting away,
After over a year’s worth of character play,
Now I can focus on myself everyday,
I’m tired and weary of vampires like you,
Who do what you like and like what you do,
Getting over on anyone you can spit your lies to,
And you’ve got a chip on both shoulders, to boot,
The effect of seeing true colors at last,
Has been to make me question our collective past,
That pedestal crumbled and dumped you on your ass,
The truth has set me free to get far away, and fast;
And I know damned well that you’ll lie to yourself,
About the unfairness of the hand you’ve been dealt,
To transfer all blame is a game you can’t seem to help,
I finally comprehend how bad you’ve been for my health.

Fool The World.

Who do you think you are?
…to tell me anything of my success (or lack thereof) in climbing out of my own very personal Hell to face the world on my own two feet, without the shelter of duplicity; when that girl you used to think you knew has been dead and buried for 27 cold months, without your having the slightest clue of that fact…like you’ve been here…ever…like you can even begin to count my sorrows on your ten arthritic fingers…like you can even begin to fathom the hem of my garment…like you can ever say that you “know” me or anything that I am or am not. Who do think you are to pass your own pompously final judgment on what kind of thing I can or cannot be? Who the fuck are you to render me unworthy of walking in your park? Who do you think you are to attempt to make me feel “loved” and “appreciated” by sending me boxes full of my sledgehammered heart’s dusty remains…with a grenade pin at the very bottom. Who do you think you are to poke my unhealed wounds? Do you think you are something special now, after all is finally said, and, I unquestionably know how little I ever meant to both air holes on either side of your neck, despite the sweet nothings blowing out of each one? Who do you think you are to tell me that I’ve won…won at a game that I never wanted to play…that I’ve won, when it feels like sheer nothingness…
Your meager attempts at life have always earned you too much of a harvest with little effort put forth…so self-absorbed and incompetent at being the things you try so hard to portray…
But that’s all you are…is a portrayal on screen.
You’re image is grainy and you’re faded beyond recognition, you always were.


Really, who do you think you are?…to burrow yourself into my soils and explode like nuclear fission beneath the roots of my stunted trees? You hold no sway over me, you can’t hold the tethers that string to my blackened, squelching heart…you can’t hold the tethers that string to that cavernous pit in your own chest where a heart should be…who do you think you are, anyway…to surprise me with such a heinous and poisonous truth behind your essence…to release the toxic particulate of your explosive insecurities into my atmosphere…raining down your ice cold rivulets of self-loathing from the skies above my fugue. Who you are to the rest of world, the world you try so tirelessly to fool, the one all around you – you are what you are…but just who do you think that broken thing is? You ooze brokenness…despite your self exonerating conceit…
I know who you think you are…and let me tell you that it actually coincides with who I once thought you were, the similarities are uncanny…but the lights go out over the memory of all that. The lights go out behind the curtains of your fucking languish…and evermore, phantoms of your gains and losses will trickle through your simple brain and leave a stain across your nose. You clean up nicely though, and need not worry about the soul you’ve sold to fool the world.

Yeah yeah yeah.

So when I used to have this horribly monsterous and abusive husband, one of the things most strongly engrained in my memory about that period of my life is how I was accused of things constantly; things that never even crossed my mind, much less actually represented reality.
I vividly recall waking up one night from a dead sleep in my bed to his hands around my throat being choked nearly to death because he truly believed that I had been flashing signals and signs out the window to a car that kept driving back-and-forth up-and-down our street in the middle of the night. The reality behind this was that I had no clue who that person in that car was; and, definitely had not been flashing signals and/or signs to them from my window; I had been out cold with a sinus infection.
My recollections of that period in my life are full of such instances; times when I had absolutely no control or involvement in the things that I was paying the most brutal consequences for. The helplessness that defined my life during those years was immense; so immense, that it’s still with me to some extent, even today.
My most recent attempt at a meaningful and worthwhile relationship has failed at last.

This has been partially due to certain lingering effects of my own residual trauma i.e. the inability I continue to harbor reagarding trust and commitment, its true.
But the main cause behind the most recent going down in flames I’ve actually come to recognize and acknowledge for what it has turned out to be:
My natural response to the helplessness put forth as a result of repeatedly being accused of things I haven’t done.
I have come too far to fall back down into such a miserable situation in which my own true identity has been marred by the paranoid and insecure notions of the other person in the relationship.

That is not a relationship. And that is not healthy. I’m striving for healthy and have realized that the thing I’ve come to comfortably call “my relationship” was (from the beginning) the opposite of what I’ve been seeking out.

Inward and upward, though.

It’s a new year.

Staggering.

Goodbyes that are perpetual,
The lies that are eventual,
Replies ringing contextual,
Both my hands hang at my sides;


Strive to covtrive the beautiful,
Survive and defy the refutable,
Alive in what’s wise and meaningful,
There’s a flaw in my design;


The fling flung at the unbearable,
A thing that’s become something terrible,
A string strung from me to the pedestal,
Emptiness clouds my mind;


Regret will pervade the unmemorable,
Dissent describes the unfavorable,
Neglect persuades the inevitable,
I can’t claim to wonder why;


Moments unraveled into landmines,
Torment travels through real time,
Encroachments that sting all my blood line,
So staggeringly ill-defined;


This face, tattooed by suffering,
Disgrace has a presence that’s smothering,
Replace the sheer essence of everything,
Recovery’s not always kind.

If Only It Hurt To Be An Asshole.

So…I am plagued right now by several people in my life who seem to think that I am an idiot. I may not always say things in the moment, when someone is attempting to play me like a slot machine, I may not always even realize it at that point in time, but I will realize it. Trust that much. I can’t stand it when people are unable to own their own bullshit in life; much less when said people insist on trying to shift any blame or responsibility over such bullshit onto others when they get called on it.

I have my own bullshit and my own problems. I have my own issues to work on without other people constantly trying to force feed me the workload of their bullshit as well. People just don’t seem to comprehend how fucking stupid they look when they do this, as if I can’t do the math and see what they are doing, or trying to do. Do other people not see how low that takes them by behaving like a 2 year old? Do other people actually think that these pathetic and constant attempts at deflecting the TRUTH will somehow carry them through life? Without losing everyone who might have really cared about them?

It would just be really nice if other people could own their shit, even once in a while. It’s really old being mostly surrounded by people who always want to shift blame and try to make me accountable for shit that has NOTHING to do with me. If only it hurt to be an asshole, maybe people would find a way to check themselves.

Walk, Talk and Breathe.

Friends that refuse to respect of me,
the smallest of ways that I ask to be,
excused from their own stupidity,
yet – they choose to abuse,
and they find these things funny…
A family turned to the judge and jury,
no hand extended in my times of need,
the after-burn of that first, initial sting,
the day I noticed they were on an opposing team…
Others play the friendly role all too regularly,
to the point it’s obvious there’s no true identity,
behind any of the faces in the places close to me,
just life-sized puppets that walk, talk and breathe…

Grandeur.

I have been,
listening…

and hearing you…
your every cent or two,
every jerking move,
and yet you prove…
to somehow be,
totally and completely,
shocked to find…
blackened faces,
fill up the spaces,
between the lines…
Hello, big guy!
I will be fair,
I won’t deny,
through my grandeur…
what did,
indeed,

appear and seem,
to be,
a valiant try…

for your part,
at least
but, then again,
surprise!

Nonplussed…
it’s still just,
without compromise,
and really shouldn’t be,
such a novel thing,
that I’m not listening,
after so much,
of the go and touch…
the itchy sting,
ear-ringing,

fucking redundancy…
see the burning,
behind my eyes,
see the hatred,
memorized…

please just let me be.
As, so it goes that,
eyes like mine,
chiseled by,
the passing time…

are not destined to see.

Staggering Cruelty.

Yesterday, I was called “so cruel” as to be “staggering to the mind” of the person who chose to voice such a mean-spirited thing to me right now. I was called cruel because I carved out the next few days completely for my mom; so that I will not have to worry about juggling or racing around to fulfill commitments I’ve made to anybody besides my mom. Upon being called cruel in this context yesterday, I realized something quite clearly:

If being with my mother as she lives out the end of her life equates to my own cruelty towards a single person other than her, so fucking be it. I have dread this circumstance for my entire existence, and it has finally come to meet me, to take her away forever. I may be a self-absorbed bitch for ignoring any and all of my other connections to other human beings at present, but that’s the way my crumbly cookie has fallen apart

I am 110% pre-occupied with my mom’s situation, and if that is abnormal – – – shoot me; and then, go fuck yourself real good.

You’re A Worm.

I wonder if you realize how disgusting you are for what you are doing; no need for me to go into detail…you’re fucking gross, dude.

Two things I have learned in recent history that 110% do it in terms of TOTALLY TURNING ME THE FUCK OFF:

  • Being talked to like I am an idiot.
  • Trying to be taken home by a guy (that I used to fuck, a chunk of time ago – like years) who is now sporting a 22 year old girlfriend.

Like I would EVER sleep with you again after knowing this condemning fact about you, dude?… get real. That’s like, my daughter’s age, you sick fuck…you are supposed to be a grown ass man, and I am deeply disappointed to know that you went astray down the road bordering pedophilia, it’s sordid.

I Feel Like.

I feel like “fuck everyone and everything”,

It looks like I’m stuck on dumb and done trying,

It seems like I cut and run from such a futile sting,

It plays out like a fucked up and never-ending thing;

In my mind, there’s not a line between anything,

the construct of time holds no valuable meaning,

the stopped buck weighs as much as fuzz in the breeze,

the confines of hatred wrapped inside my insanity;

I feel like never getting back up into the fight again,

looks like surgeries and screw-in teeth ain’t shit in the end,

it seems right that train tracks mark me in my patchwork skin,

it plays like the blues, telling stories of the Hell that I live in.

 

Gone.

Would you be,
any fonder of me,
if I suddenly chose,
to start listening?

Would you decide,
to more deeply confide,
the darkness behind,
your odd eccentricities?

Shall I unbind,
this heart of mine,
lay it down on your table,
where the other parts lie?

I suppose you’d prefer,
if I acted just like her:
if I loved co-dependently,
full-time, live-in “fluffer”;

If I leaned on you, heavily,
with intentions only pure?
a dead weight weighing down,
the coat-tails in your future;

Would you choose to diffuse again?
if I checked my levels of estrogen,
had my words been better chosen,
would I have someday been forgiven?

What if, instead of,
this twisted notion of “love”,
I recognized one evening,
the ill fit of your glove;

and the day soon arrives,
with my wide open eyes,
seeing things the way that I,
should’ve seen them, by and by;

all you’ll find is my trust,
blindly choking on my dust,
as you see me get smaller,
in the distance between us.

Death Throes.

Down breaks all constraint,
dull and numbed out skulls,
talking losses and gains,
in a world over-full,
of colossus domains,
consumption of souls,
with a sickening array,
pulled from pocketful’s,
from martyrs to saints,
from diamonds to coal,
the world that we’ve made,
from the crust of its core,
elements we’ve bled,
‘til they bleed no more,
which circles back again,
to the masses of numb-skulls,
blind to it and talking shit,
being swallowed in the folds,
in an ever-sinking tar-pit,
failing all across the globe,
a state of perpetual bullshit,
encoded in the frontal lobe,
a self-renewing cesspool,
that every one of us calls “home”,
there’s no blowing through it,
it’s right beneath the nose,
submerged electrical conduit,
live wires and eyes exposed,
we have each been told this,
will come to violent close,
safe to say recent world events,
are simply Her final death throes.

Mechanisms.

pes·si·mism/ˈpesəˌmizəm/noun:
a tendency to see the worst aspect of things or believe that the worst will happen; a lack of hope or confidence in the future.

(philosophy)
a belief that this world is as bad as it could be or that evil will ultimately prevail over good.


 

“Maybe if you started being more optimistic…”

If I had been given a nickel for every time someone uttered such mindless words to me, I’d undoubtedly be a very wealthy woman by now; as pessimism is not an element of my persona that has come on recently in life – it is part of who I am and how I operate. As you may have noticed, the above definitions attached to the word ‘pessimism’ are different based on the context the word is used in. There are people (like Friedrich Nietzsche or Arthur Schopenhauer) who are one type of pessimist: like political and/or economic analysts who only apply the term to a social or cultural scenario, on a much more global scale that encompasses the world in its entirety. There are also people who only apply a pessimistic outlook to their own personal experiences in life, in an individualized scenario of day to day life. This type of pessimism is a psychological coping mechanism subconsciously adapted to manage the disappointments and failures in Life. Additionally, there are those people like me, who are dual pessimists that both definitions completely apply to.

I get so fucking sick and tired of people saying to me things like:

“Why don’t you just look at life with more joy and happiness?” or

“You get back whatever you sent out into the Universe, you know?” or

“You’re never gonna feel good if you’re so busy feeling bad.”

NEWS FLASH!!!

To the people who survive under such perceptions as those that entertain the idea of pessimism as a consciously made lifestyle choice:
YOU’RE AN IDIOT. WAKE THE FUCK UP OR SHUT THE FUCK UP.
The generalization of a fucked up society and the accepted norms within its strict confines are a huge problem with this truth; as the blindly happy people of the world are all too often comfortable in labeling people like me as being “negative” or “down”. And perhaps I am, in comparison to some women my age that I know; but the purposes behind my own pessimistic attributes can be directly traced to certain repetitive things (a pattern of negative affectations and/or experience). To go a little further down, the ongoing execution of such pessimism is now hard-wired into my very personality and outlook.
Put plainly: truly pessimistic people did NOT wake up the day after losing a beauty pageant and decide to become a pessimist because of a minor bruise to the ego.
In the psychological context of a pessimist’s profile, the perpetuation of negative expectations becomes a form of self-preservation; and it also provides ongoing management of deep emotional disappointments and failures in the mind’s eye. Freud got it; and tried to explain best he could. Similar to the Pavlov’s Dog experiment, a certain physical response is the natural reaction to specifically targeted anticipation.
During my teenage years, I was all over the map and intermingled with fuck-tons of people in all kinds of various circumstances, eventually forming the general opinion that I continue to harbor about social interaction. I went to one too many movies or concerts that were ruined by the total strangers in close quarters with my person, and never having had even known they had. I live in a densely populated area where “rush hour” never ends, and if you want to get to your destination – you better be ready to force your way in. To sum it up, I have been shown time and again over my lifespan so far, how the easy majority of the people in the world are just inconsiderate fucks who don’t have a clue about anything beneath the surface areas in Life. As an empath, I am naturally a thoughtful individual; without effort or work at being so. This causes my stupid brain to expect such considerations as well in return – a very dumb thing to do. I guess the point I’d really like to make here is that when people say things such as those I have emphasized above to me, I wonder if they are purposely trying paint themselves as shallow and dense for whatever reason; or if they have cause to intentionally offer me offense. I do not like being in constant expectation of the bad things; I wish I could wake up every morning with a smile and feel like the possibilities in Life were everywhere around me, trust me.
But my own reality is not such; and never could or will be. It is statements like this that unfailingly prompt the shiny happy ‘judges’ around me to start in with the “If I were you…” bullshit.
To which, I have this to say every time:

“If you were me, then I’d be you…and I would use your body to kick the shit out of you for saying such ignorant things.”

If you are shiny and/or happy, next time you feel like vocalizing your peanut-brain opinions on things that you don’t know a fucking thing about, why not try just shutting the fuck up, instead?