I called myself an assassin

I wanted you to fight for me…but I can see that I will never be enough. Between the blood and the lust there is a gun just out of reach. I thought that you would need me yet here you are. Lying at my feet with wounds I don’t think will ever heal. I am almost certain that this isn’t even real but I see it. I feel and still breath and can smell the fact that I am not…I am not enough. I was never meant to be. I figured you would fight for me. Figured you would try just a little more. But between the blood and the lust I think I can see. I think I can truly see just how much of it wasn’t meant to be.

A/N a little dirty ditty for the ladies. Honestly this makes no sense. I may edit it soon.

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.

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

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

A Sudden Disinterest

I contemplated praying the other day when I saw my mother crying. An irresistible urge to comfort her in the only way she knows how. But I digested the feeling and found it lacking…something.

A certain flavor to give rise to my struggles. Not things I share with those flawed like me but something I quickly lust about to those others who believe. Others who are so far from me but still people I love.

I saw my mother crying and wanted to give comfort in the only way she knew how. Copy the posture beaten into me and speak past a jaw wired shut. But there was something wrong with this image. This debatable fiction layed out before me.

I tried to bring up the images of those I despise with such a passionate love that it can only be fate. Oh how I tried to push them away but when I needed them most they stood by. Watching my mother with regretful tears in her eyes. Me on my knees easing my hands on high!

But I distress with this taste in my mouth most foul and tamed. Struggling past the restraint to say amen.

After Motherhood

I once cursed a friend for not caring. She laid her hand on my growing belly and told me I was lying about the pain. Stretch marked marred my flesh and yet she begged me to cry. Said it would help if I just downplayed my emotions.

Feelings hurt the baby you see.

Every laugh

Every cry

The baby feels it.

She felt that I was lying about the pain. Said it would go away as she stroked my aching breast. The one dripping milk upon her dust filled carpet. Tugging away only brought her closer. Her words like ember upon my burning flesh.

A child lay dying inside of me and yet she said it was worth it.

I should be happy with the gift given to me. The chance to explore feelings once more. My happiness at being with child destroyed its very soul.

There should be no pain, at least that is what she is telling me.

Running her hand along my slit as I force the heart from my body. Grey tones and broken bones but I should feel no pain. It isn’t worth it, she said, it’s all a lie.

I cursed a friend for not caring. For saying that my pain was fake. She told me I was lying as I laid my heart to rest. But I guess the curse was worth it.

Vibration

I haven’t a clue. When it comes to who I am I mean. I like to ask this question of me but soon realize that there is no true answer. So many titles reflect my being but none of them really define me. The real me. The me that others think they see but they don’t. Only pieces of a whole yet unknown by everyone.

I don’t even know. Who I am I mean. The very reaches of my soul elude me. I can convince myself that one day I will figure it all out but it is a lie. A cute one at that.

I will never know. Who I am I mean. Who I am meant to be. I may suffer in silence all the while trying to find it. No… Find me…yes suffer alone I as strive to find me.

Sleep aid

My daughter is crying in the other room

But I am to scared to go get her

I am afraid of what I will see

A giant figure standing over her

Caressing her whimpers

I am not strong enough to fight it

So I hide

My daughter is crying in her room

But I am to afraid to save her

I know what is standing there

A figure made of bad dreams

Touching her face as she shakes and whispers

A/N when my daughter was a newborn I was often afraid that something would happen to her. I remember watching all these videos about kids dying from SIDs or some other illness. I would constantly wake up and check on her. Doing the finger under the nose check just to make sure she was still breathing.

As she aged I started to have other fears. As I would open her bedroom door to check on her I would suddenly think that someone is standing there waiting.

They wouldn’t harm us but they would sit there. To this very day, and I do mean very, I am still afraid to go and check on her. I have to work myself up to it. I often hear her when she wakes up but I do not move until she comes to my door asking to come in. I stay silent… I know this cowardly but the person in my head is often one who loves her and hates me. To it I am a monster and she must be protected.

I am afraid but I know she will be forever safe.