F – Freeze me

My mother wouldn’t look at me no matter how much I tried to catch her. I think a part of her knew. Of course she will pretend other wise, but what else is there to believe. The women who carried me would never be capable of this. At least, that is the story I wish I could believe. My own mother can not bare to look at me. She turns away every chance she gets. Lips tremble as she lies. Eyes glisten as she hides. She can stand to touch my hand. Or rather, what little that is left. I think it scares her. But I wish she could see that it scares me more. I am the one who will never be loved. The one who will always be alone. I can find my beauty in other things. But not if she can not do this simple task. I need my mother to see me. I need her not to grieve whats gone. She can’t bare it though. Despite that fact that it was I who was wronged.

I was told not to share my problems

I complain to much

Because what I have inside of me

Is enough to garner me empathy

But only for a time or two

I need to stay silent

And far away

Because up close and personal

It isn’t enough

To keep contempt and revenge

From sneaking in

I was told to keep my mouth shut

By a friend of a friend of a friend

If only to remain unseen

So they can be seen as clean

I truly hate December

I made this blog as a way to work through my own emotions. But there are times when I wish I could something a bit more meaningful. This is not one of those times. Today is a different day. A day in which I truly do wish to die.

I think about it often enough but overall I am scared. I think that is because I might possibly actually want to lie and it is the pain and depression that I suffer with that I want to go. But every Avenue leads to more depression and more suffering. I have people I talk to but it seems as though I have to constantly update them on the fact that I have not gotten better. Because as soon as I do something that seems a bit abnormal they fight back with “Oh what but I that things were better now”

No, but shall I wear a scarlet letter upon mine breast so that you may see that I am, in fact, quit ill.

But if I were to send them updates they will do something drastic. Like take away my child and deem me an unfit parent. Or go out of there way to make my life hell in other ways. Such as sending me to the mental ward of a nearby hospital.

Which, mind you, I have been to those hospitals. Enough times that I could probably teach a class within it. I know the material by heart and am currently going to school for psychology and social work. So really how exactly are any of these supposed to help me or make me trust others.

Instead I wish people would listen. I want them to actually sit down and talk to me and help me build a plan. Hold me accountable yes, but also make sure you hold up your end of the bargain.

I am almost positive that I want to die. I crave not feeling anything anymore. But I can’t do that to my little one. I can’t ruin her life for the sake of my own salvation. Instead I will suffer along hoping that someone takes the time to listen to me.

Go ahead and sue me

I think it sounds beautiful, the screaming. I want you to keep begging. Even the score between husband and whore. Come! Let me make a man out of you. One all the little boys and little girls can look up to. Scream a bit louder so the neighbors can hear. Fight a bit faster so they can know you feel fear. Because I want to make a man out of you. Society may judge me but they will never stand. You, a pathetic creature, have proven yourself a half man. So yes, let me hear you. Let me feast on your tears. No one will help you because no one else cares.

My halloween celebration

It is not a voice…more of a feeling. A tiny tinge in the back of my head. One that says I am better off dead. One that forces my attention to a blade. I bet it would be heavenly if I gave in. There is no voice. Nor any figure standing over me. It is more of a feeling that I need to bleed. It touches me with such gentle wishes. Catches my attention on some swaying bridges. Just a skip and a jump and it would be over with…done. This voice, no, this feeling, will have won… I think it would be better if it had won.

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.