Another Update cause I can

Welcome to the musing of an extremely petty poet.

I have had a lot of new followers and am actually starting to get a lot of repeats as well. Still not a lot of comments but I am ok with that. Just wanted to let everyone know, if you all haven’t noticed already, I am a terrible speller. And *spoiler alert* my grammar is even worse. So feel free to judge to your hearts content lol. I have had some people tell me that it is ok but it is something I struggle with and want to work on. I do not do it before I post my work but when I go back I like to edit a few things here and there. Change up a line or two to help it flow better. But if you see some mistake that doesn’t look intentional just comment and let me know. I will not get upset…ok I will get upset if said person only commenter just to tell me what I am doing wrong.

I am a single mom who struggles with BPD. I made this blog first to hone my writing skills but later on I wanted to show what it was like to live with a mental disorder. My poems and little story tell about my life and that of my daughter. Sometimes I can be angry, happy, sad, depression, excited and even, you guessed it, petty. I enjoy each and every person who takes the time to like and read my work. There is not a lot of information out there that paints people with BPD in a neutral light. Most information seeks to vilify us. Well I am here to tell ya that we are just as human as you are. We make mistakes and successes. My poems go a long way into proving that. Because some of my pieces are downright holy while others sound like the musing of a very edgy teen going through puberty. You get no in between with me really 🤣.

So I thank you and say welcome to all the new faces. I am sorry for the mess and look forward to learning from you all.

Another Nightmare 4

Did he who made the lamb make me
Or was it a mistake of unseen force
Crawling along the dirty ground
Hissing, protectively, over a dented crown
Did he smile his work to see
When he first laid eyes on me
Did he dare touch in wonder
The greatest visual of his blunder
When the heaven opened up with spears
And swallowed their pity with their tears
Did they water me with grace
Or did they turn from the greatest mistake

Credit to William Blake for being a genuis with a pen and paper (Inspored by (Tyger, Tyger) . Please do not look on me to harshly for ruining a great piece of art.

A Brown Girl with a White Man’s Name

“Negative” I wonder outloud to a foreign crowd of my forgotten brethren
They speak some vows and turn my way
Noticing the privilege I proclaim
The twist of my hips
The turn of my lips
The graceless way I speak out of turn
I know that I am not one of them
With my too brown skin and my too black hair
Kinked up readily to face the wind
“Negative” I proclaim with a sneer
For deep down inside
I know that I am not welcomed here
But I hide it with a haughty stance
One hand on my lip and the other on my chest
My blood was never going to be enough
My twisted tongue can’t speak those vows
Spoken outloud by a foreign crowd
But I am going to go on pretending
That my black will matter here

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

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