I wonder about the glue
That binds your little soul to me
Will it hold steady as you age
Or will it slowly fade away
Monthly Archives: September 2019
Third day of Nightmares
I think I am infected
Distracted from a reality that I can’t see
Little visions dancing in my head
Forming solid thoughts about her dead
I can see her body
In this reality so terrifying
I can see her crying
Screaming for me to come save her
But I am to far away
Out of reach my soul is mistaken
Its breaking from this infectious disease
That is eating away at me
Everytime I close my eyes I can see her
Dead as the night that surrounds
These little visions are beyond lethal
And I need her, when I am sleeping
I hold her to my chest
I listen to her every breath
Her heartbeat a drug I can’t give up yet
I am infected
By a reality that can not be
A dream so terrifying
That I can not sleep
Second day of nightmares
I am scared
And alone
And cold
I want to reach out
But who will be there?
Who will reach back to me?
Who will help me see
That all is will be well
Even when I don’t believe
History Maker
A painter standing
Tips a brush dripped in koi blood
And dashes off the excess
Before applying a swipe of oppression
On a canvas filled with a traitors jest
He rest his hand in a still life rendition
To a crowd of a white washed plague
A painter standing in ovation
Tearing into another bottle of ink
He is not done tainting this history
A paint brush dipped in koi blood
A canvas of a nation that once was
He makes a mark that may just last
To a crowd of reflective glass
Anxiety fills my head
Hate
Can have the strongest meaning
A listless reason with deadened eyes
A hopeless feeling we are sworn to hide
Hate
Can come in shapes undone
A middle finger raised high to the sun
Or an orphaned heart with a well loved gun
Hate
Despite all its misgivings is a powerful tool
Used to spin wishes
Or to make someone a fool
Today’s nightmare
The demons in my head won’t let me say goodbye yet.
As I lay here trying to sleep I can see her vividly. Her poor little broken body. I can see the message and hear the calls of people who never cared to check on her when she was alive. How the weep for her, begging for one last chance to do nothing I guess. I hate them more than I hate the idea of her being gone. My little girl is gone, at least that is what my brain is telling me. I can see her dying so clearly. See her little casket covered in pink roses with pretty purple ribbon. Her body lays so perfectly and yet it is their lies that haunt me.
Maybe it is because I am used to seeing her die. I often dream of the day when my little girl will leave me. How cruel this world can be and how easily it can try to take her away. I see it almost every day. Maybe something is wrong with me but I think I am to used to being insane that it is downright comforting.
My daughter is ok. She is sleeping her bed. Her pretty bow lips forming smiles when I kiss her cheek. Family and friends may not call but she is happy and ok. All will be ok.
I see poetry when I think of you
I see poetry when I think of you.
The urge to dip my pen and write is fighting me. Drowing out my other senses. I have no fear in this yet I stand still. Listless in the making that is my only vital flaw. I must write to ease it all. The cramping in my hand just lets me know I am alive. Because in reality you are all that I need. My sweet muse. My reason to breathe. I can’t help but hear poetry when I see your smile. And though it takes a hold of me so violently I can not bring myself to fear it. I may stand still and listless, I can’t help but revere it. Writing is my most vital flaw of which you are my reason.
Five glorious years
Today my daughter got into trouble. Nothing major but I can tell that it left a stain on the day. She wouldn’t listen so I yelled. After that moment she refused to talk to me. Even after I apologized and asked for her forgiveness she did not speak. Only later did she tell me that I hurt her feeling.
My daughter is five.
I should have more respect for this tiny human and yet. I think I put to much on her shoulders. I think I expect to much and get angry. She isn’t the best listener. She gets overly excited about pretty much everything. But that does not deserve my anger no matter how frustrating it can be at times.
My daughter is five.
I feel like such a monster. I told her so. I told her how I did not wish to hurt her. I apologized and asked for forgivenesd but…I also told her that it was ok. She did not have to accept my sorry. She did not even have to forgive me. What I said, what I did, left a stain on our day. I would do anything to go back and change what I did.
My daughter is only five.
And yet she lives her life with a mother who struggles with mental illness. She knows emotions like other children know candy and shopping sprees. She can tell you safety plans for every occasion and exactly what it means when mommy can’t seem to sleep.
Yet she tells me I am the best mommy ever. That she loves me no matter what. That she is proud of me. She looks forward to my hugs. She smiles so brightly when I tell her how I feel…even on the bad days. I am so proud of her and I tell her. I tell her all the time. I may be a monster but in her eyes I am worth it. In my eyes she is a reason.
Driven
I think I feel something.
A gentle humming.
There it is ticking.
A riot in my brain.
I am not fond of repressing
But I fear it must be done
For the demons are climbing out
And I feel they may have just won.
I did it
Looking back now I am not sure how I reached this point. I think apart of me is scared that this will all end up being a dream. She won’t be here sleeping next to me. Instead I will be in am empty room. In a house filled to the room with depression and regret. I would possibly…I may even be dead.
But I did it. And looking at her. I can’t help but be afraid. I do not think I am enough. But in the end. Even that fear is worth it.
I love you my sunshine.
NIGHTMARE FANTASY 