Joyful Motherhood

I don’t know how to tell my mother I love her. For that, I guess I should be grateful. How can I say such things when I really do not understand the meaning, the feeling, of these simple words. If it were up to me I would shout them from the heavens. I would tell her all the ways I appreciate her and the things she has done. How proud of her with how far she has come. I guess that is love and yet I am confused. These words, so overly spoken, only have meaning because I give them such. So what if she hears my shouted words and hears something other then love? Does that make what I said false?

Should I give up?

See, the word love has always confused me. It is a subjective response to something. What I may confuse as love others may believe it to be anything but…but would that be my fault?

Maybe because I do not understand this I can not accurately predict the way which is best to express it. What if my mother needs gifts, simple actions, wishes of more? Of course, for a friend it would be different, for my daughter even more so.

How can I unpack the various ways to show love and accurately pinpoint which ones works best with which person without going through the motions of stress.

I guess this is a lot to think about because, honestly, none of it really matters in the grand scheme of things. See life is unpredictable, at least it is to me. Something so simple as love and expression, trust and affection, will not look the same for everyone I meet. But intention! Yes, see intention, is sometimes all that matters.

I do not know a lot about love but I wish for my mother to know how much I care. I want her to know that I appreciate the courage it has taken her to bring her children to this point. I have a daughter, my own precious little one, and my mother has given me all of her skills, the good and the bad in raising her. I may not know how to properly show this love but I feel my intent, with every attempt, is enough.

Liars Retreat

Thespian plays to end the day to

Dreaming but I can’t forgive

Them all dancing gracefully

As I fall down in shame

Screaming, screeching in my brain

Full of aching pain

That’s never ending

This dream full of dancing fools

Beating to the sounds of hearts

Falling , failing one beat at a time

Is evident here as I crawl in line

To sample the delight

Full of white lines and broken glass

Raised on high as crowds stand

With applause in hand to cover the sound

Of a thousand dying hearts

And fading parts


H _ Holdings

I told you that I was a curse

At worst a mistake

Upon a broken page

Pierced heavily with a holy blade

I am a demon made of sin

Because only the devoted would let me in

I am something to be forgotten

But those words spoken so prettily

Could never be the real me

I wish I was a demon

I wish I was cursed

I wish there was a reason

To leave this earth

Because I need purpose

I don’t want to feel worthless

Because I am not her

I will never be

I am not the key to your heart

You see

But there is nothing else for me

I am not a demon

I am not cursed

And no matter how much it hurts

I am worthless

A purposeless fraud

Just a sad little girl who is lost.

A/N I have not been doing well lately. Kind of depressed…ok fine, loads of depressed. All of the depressed please and thank you. I can tell you how it started buut I rather not. Since I still want to keep doing the challenges I will devote this week to the emotional drama that is my mind. Chemical imbalances for the win.

For those who do not like this kind of stuff all is well. I am only allowing myself a week to do these types of poems. After that I will save my innermost emo ness for outside of the challenge post. Because truly would I really be me if I didn’t debby downer the world.

G – Gripping

I am not a fan of writing cliches, acually, I am a huge fan but I am not always tolerant of them.

The basic bad boy who turns his life around thanks to naive little pretty girl who think she is ugly.

Of course they have the techy (or sassy) best friend who is constantly by their side.

They are cliches because they work. We see the princess ready to leave her dull and unappreciative world behind and we wiggle in our seats. We see the handsome warrior who could kill with a single touch bow down to a common women.

“Love is a fickle thing” , we sigh into our drink cups. Clutching our books closer to our face.

But

There is still a problem with them.

Cliches allow readers to a greater understanding of where the story might be going. Rarely do we get stories that pan out a different way. YAs usually end with the girl getting with the outcast. The only times she ends up with the guy who “socially acceptable” is when the other ends up being a villian or is a tool.

The young boy who is trying to avenge his family will manage to do so but it will always come at a cost. His mentor or a family member will die within the first few books, maybe even the first few chapters. He may end up with a love interest but rarely will they stay together.

So I always know what story I am getting when I start to read. I know how it will end even if I do not know all the details that will lead to that point.

As I said before, cliche are considered such because they are overused but because they also work. There are only so many ways a story can go and patterns are really hard to deviate from. Yet, many readers and publishing companies expect writers to always be original no matter what. If they are not then there is a good chance their book will not be accepted.

Should we celebrate that fact?

I do not think so.

I despise cliches but I also love them. I am comforted by the fact that I can see the ending a mile away. Because I live for the journey. I live for those moments where the author gives me something I was not expecting. Like a book in which the sick person truly does die at the end.

Or a story where the boy was not able to avenge his family.

A story where the couple breaks up at the end

Or maybe one where, dispite the odds stacked against them, the villian is the one who wins.

I love those moments of uncertainty and I love those moments of clarity.

I guess it is the weirdo in me.

c-c-combo

This is just secondary post to the previous one I did today.

I haven’t been feeling all that well these past few days but I am super stocked cause my best friend is coming to visit but I am also anxious as all get out. You know that feeling you get when you first meet someone? Well times that by 10 and that is my everyday when some is coming over or I have to go anywhere. Those terrible butterflies in your chest and sluggish blood. The overanalyzing all the ways in which it can go wrong with also anticipating what could go right.

I don’t mean to brag buuut

I am kind of a downer

An edgy downer at that.

See that glass half empty?

Watch me emo talk it into being broken into a million pieces surrounded by its glass family as they watch on in pity and blood lust in their eyes.

Safe to say I am freaking the freak out…

A/N it js not helping that I am outside in all black in damn near 70 degree weather with a winter coat on watching bees fight.

Such sad

D – Destroying a Friendship with Love

Today I told my therapist that I did not know what real friends looked like. All I learned about relationships was through a book or TV screen. Real life friends are vastly different from the reality I would sneak away to as a child. The one filled with dragons, and princesses, and ghost, and those with way more freedom then I.

Normal people scare me, though I guess this is not all that hard to see. I tend to struggle to be myself often letting my written word take precedence over my spoken one. See, I am believe in always telling the truth if I can help it. Written words can tell no lies. So the real me can be found in the things I do not say but in the things I write.

But I guess this is not the most ideal way to communicate with others. Maybe that is why I do not really know what it means to have “adult” friends. I have never had it modeled to me. Still, I can not say that I do not have friends.

I have one very precious to me and, though she may drive me crazy sometimes, I hold her very near and dear to my heart. I can remember what she told me when I explained to her what made her different from the rest. See, her and I share things that I do not share with others. I do not tell my others friends how I feel through everything that I go to. I do not go into details if asked how I am doing. I honestly, do not think many of them would care. Still, I call them friend because they are kind to me. I value their time even if they do not understand the true me, the real unfiltered me. Not like this friend does anyways. With her I do not always feel shame. Maybe this is because we were both stuck in our fictional worlds for such a long time. She knows what I mean when I say that I feel nothing while smiling. She knows what I mean when I say that when everything as I am trying to force myself to sleep. She just gets it.

And yet, I question this friendship because it reminds me of the reality I had as a child. There are times when I think she is a figment of my imagination. I will just wake up to discover that her, her little girl, and my own are not real. I feel it coming and I am afraid. And she understands that even if she does not share the same pain.

I think this is love of which friendships are suppose to be based on. I say this because there are times when I do not understand it and she is often made to explain this emotions. Love is silent. It creeps up on people when they least expected and is not always that easy to see. There are times when we do not know that it is there. Anger, sadness, rage, depression can disguise it in ways you don’t even know. But that does not mean it has gone away.

With this friend, I am not always happy with her. There are times when she makes me feel so terrible. There have been times when I wanted to never speak to her again. But love is a fickle thing and also catches me off guard. Like those times when I am angry with her but she comes up and tells me that she appreciates me. There was a day when I decided I would tell her that I never wanted to speak to her again but she messaged me asking me if I was OK. She told me that I was an amazing person and that she was so happy to have me as her friend. At that moment I realized that my anger was unnecessary and we talked through things.

We talk.

Even when one of us is being an ass.

We talk.

I do not think this is something that a lot of people would comprehend as good thing.

See, I created a reality to escape the pain. It taught me to see monsters in everyone. I do not trust easily and can speak a lie like the best of them leaving only my written word to be truth. I did this because I was afraid to be alone but to afraid to reach out and make connections. While in her own reality my friend flourished under the same turmoil. So is it any surprise that we get along so well?

I was not lying when I told my therapist I knew nothing of friendship. I am too flawed, to jaded by life, to be able to really be a decent one to anybody. But with her by my side I am OK with this. Neither of us wanted to be perfect anyways.

~

This blog idea came to me thank to The Dream Girl Writes from her A to Z challenge post titled Annoying Friends. I wanted to show my friend how much she meant to me in the best way possible and seeing The Dream Girl Writes post made me think that creating this post would be a good way to show it.

To my best friend Jen, You are absolutely one of the most amazing person to ever play a part in my life. We may not always make the right choices in our friendship but it is one of the purest there is. You mean so much to me and I am so happy to know that our children share the same bond. May we break the cycle of those who came before and raise them to be amazing little humans as well. My bestie westie for all ways Jen.

And thank you Dream Girl for that wonderful first start to the A to Z challenge! I wish you all the luck.

~ I am proud to say that my best friend also has a blog (peer pressure at its finest lol) you can read some of her work here. I may be a bit biased but she is a really talented writer.

Edit: I just found out last night that my friend and I had the same idea for a post. So make sure to read her post for C – Catharsis

Back in my day…

As a child I read a lot of books that were probably really bad for me. Romance novels, mystery novels, novels where someone important died at end and I was to little to realize that crying over fictional characters would get me laughed at as I aged. I am totally over that though, no hard feelings towards people who made fun of my…well.. my feelings. I am going on a tangent here…

See, back in my day romance had a different flavor. I was to little to understand how authors battled each other for the spotlight. To me they wrote for the fun of it and weren’t oppressed by societies expectations. They did not feel the same pain us lowly untalented plebs went through. It was until I was older that I learned any differently but still I drowned myself in the worlds of others. Teaching myself to see through their eyes with a greater understanding then my peers. I wanted to witness love from places reality could not touch.

So is it any wonder that I feel in love with R.L Stine‘s Fear Street Series.

Yes, I know what you are thinking “R.L Stine isn’t a romance writer”. In this you would be correct but the thing is romance written for children and young adults do not look the same for romances for adults. We get things like Hunger Games, Twilight, Looking For Alaska, Remember me, and Green Angel. Books that may have some romantic elements but cover a wide range of other genres. These are our introductions into the world of romance. As adults we will get to read books that are actually centered about the idea of love but until then we are traumatized into thinking that the dude with the murder boner for innocent people is our fated mate.

So yea, I got my twisted ideas of romance on the lap of the dude who gave us Goosebumps.

Back in my day bad boys ruled the world. The badder the better. I feel in love with the maniac murderer because he was the only one to treat the protagonist with any sort of kindness. I mean sure, he shot some dude in the face but true love concurs all. OK yea, he was stalkish and creepy, but did you hear him describe the way she looked as he watched her while she was sleeping.

Swoon