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

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.

Juice From The Berry Tree

I never persumed to know love

Tickled beneath a berry tree

as giggles touched the leaves

I was never one to really believe

In love and all those silly things

But here I sit in stiled laughter

With a daunting dancing daughter

Her smile lightens my darkened heart

Beneath this berry tree

1 by 1, 2 by 2, she calls to me, lovingly

Beneath this berry tree

waiting

i have many regrets.

but there are many acts i can not expand upon. so long have i dreamed with an imagination so queer. that which beckons the regret i fear. pushing them closer. ever closer and gearing towards my heart. with broken parts and bobbled things. a regret is only a shallow thing.

i have many regrets.

yet no respect from the past can save me. behaving i will as i do what i feel is best. but i guess that this part of me that i put to rest. this part i buried so cleanly could have never have stayed away. i digress as i throw on a torn dress and prance around as if my heart is not on the ground about to explode. caught up in something i had forgotten. not turned black and rotten. so dehearted cause my heart has rottened. and yet.

i have many regrets.

left soaking in my views. but i live on just a little bit each day. dragging a blacken heart with bobbled parts through the once clean sound of graves. oh how i have behaved. i can see it now. within this queer dream that the tiger sings so sweetly about. i can see it

Perfected

School is almost over for me. Got one more semester to go before I get my AS and go off to a four year college for a BA. I still have dreams to get a degree in Philosophy but I just can’t seem to make up my mind about what else I want to go for. I am trying to decide between Psychology and Sociology. I know I want to help people in any way that I can but with my issues I am not sure how to go about doing that. Either way, here is to another semester!

As for other updates. My little one is on her way to Kindergarten. I should be excited…but I am not. I am scared because I do not know what to expect in the world. A part of me wants to just wrap her up into a bubble. But I can’t do that to her. I do not know how other parents do it. How they can be so trusting and hopeful. I hate how terrible I feel because I want a normal life for her. She deserves so much good in this world and I am just not it.

Parenting a child as a person with mental illness is hard. I like to think that it is worth it. That she will grow up to be a well adjusted adult. But the risk…I do not know if I am worth it.

A church of Echos

Why is no one listening to me

Screams the child in the church pew

Grandfathers hand down their top

And grandmothers over their mouth

Mom and dad standing at the opposite ends

Trying not to listen to the shouts

But that is not what gave the room pause

Over there sits a little boy with a gun in his lap

And rewards on his jacket

Drawing up a dagger and slicing into a peer

Color coded lettering screaming

Why is no one listening

But move the camera preacher man

Over there you’ll see

A girl squating over pill bottles chocking them down with ease

Shitting out insta likes

As the wolves paw at her feet

The shacking of the pills bottles gives a signal

As hands reach to spread her knees

Why is no one listening to me

Down the asle lies a bible

Covered in well wishes and kisses

Thumbs up with well intentions

It holds the congregations attention

As the preacher man walks by

with gleam in his eye

Giving twisted smile to the lost boys

And waving at the confused girls

Praising the mothers and fathers

Only to step past the blooded child

A letter

Dear Father,

I never really liked my name. As a kid I hated how it meant that I was your child. I felt that the title didn’t explain all that I was in life. Jessica, child of Jesse, a common nobody that not even her father could bring himself to love. As a child I convinced myself that the best thing to do is hate before others had the chance to hate me. I remember the few times of happiness I felt I would instantly try and force it down. I didn’t deserve happiness.

When I was 10 I decided I would give myself 10 more years of life before I killed myself. I decided this after you had yelled at me for one reason or another. I remember holding a mini funeral for myself…my little self.

I killed the part of me that made me Jessica.

Jessica was unloved and unwanted. I thought this would make life easier.

But then came the voices…and the shadows.

I hated being in small spaces. I was fine with animals lurking about but small places like bathroom and closets gave me nightmares. I could feel people staring at me. I could hear people whispering. They wanted to hurt me. They convinced me that you wanted to do the same. I couldn’t trust anyone.

Killing myself did not go as planned but it was to late to go back now.

After while the shadow became that of a little girl. Jessica had came seekimg her revenge. It got to the point where being alone was the only way to keep her at bay. I hating sleeping because she was always there. I had nightmares all the time. I would wake up crying and had to sneak into my sister bed just so I could sleep. She wasnt a huge fan of that so I would often sleep under her bed. People didn’t crawl on me or grab me when I was under her bed. During storms I would sleep under the window. It probably wasn’t the safest places but no one hurt me when it rained but they screamed, oh god did they scream so loud.

When my sister was gone I just didn’t sleep. I begin to fear the dark so stayed up crying or writing or reading. Hurting myself whenever sleep got to close.

I spent my days sleeping or reading because she couldn’t reach me during the day time. She wouldn’t dare… The consequences of my fears made it so people hated me anyways. I couldn’t prove to others that the voices where there. No one else saw the shadows.

After awhile the whispers stopped. They didn’t go away completely but they did stop.

Father, I grew up believing you hated me. This was probably because I hated myself. Even now I do not understand how you can even talk to someome as damaged as me.

I look at my daughter and I pray to whatever god is listening that she doesn’t turn out like me.

As I have aged I no longer fear the dark. Small places comfort me, especially if there is a furbaby to keep me company.

I haven’t told anyone about the voices. No one important anyways. Over the years I have actually denied them being there. But they are here. No longer yelling or whispering but I can feel them judging me. I know what it means to see or hear things.

Dear Father

I really don’t know what to do anymore. I guess I could tell you that I am fucked up but you already know it.

At least, that is what she is telling me.