My mind hurts (revision)

This is a drug. Sculpted by a set of hand cuffs made of plaster.  Not my finest creation, but this is not my finest hour. It sits and bakes in the wake of the addict. Hidden among the weeds and the trees and the flowers. Only those who suffer could understand it’s power. How it grows and holds. Expanding from the molds which housed it. A plant in the mind of those who know where to look. Where to find such meaningless things in wish filled dreams. Only they can understand. This drug. Sculpted by a set of plastered handcuffs. This isn’t my finest creation, but it only took an hour. I can choose to give it power, or I can choose to throw it away. I am the addict who hides. Among the tree and weeds and thorns. Watching as it expands from the molds I sculpted. I leave meaning in its creations. Define it by dreams that I am making.

A new feature

I do not have a best friend anymore.

That feels so strange to say.

I do NOT have a best friend anymore.

The one who held that place finally decided that they were done. Over. Enough. I wasn’t worth knowing anymore. Not by action that can be named but by those that still caused so much pain. This friend. This entity decided that I was their newest enemy.

I should have seen it coming. Actually, no, I did. Made a whole post about BPD and friends. But see it was not my personality at fault, in fact, one would say that I was downright innocent but that can be debated. See this was clearly fated when I spoke to my therapist about signs of abuse and if some could be found in the stories I shared of us since our youth.

“Well, she yelled at me, but it was totally my fault!”

“Haha yeah she made some off-handed remark about how I wasn’t enough, but where was the lie in that?”

“Ok no, she can be controlling but it’s endearing. How love is shown by manipulation. I mean, ok not always but she is happy so there was no need for my hesitation.”

My therapy sessions sounded like recorded excuses. One’s where I recalled all the times when she implied I was useless. But I stuck around cause I had no one else. Because I needed a best friend, above all else.

I no longer have a best friend.

She is gone.

Decided that I was someone who she no longer wanted to pull along.

It’s strange to say, after so many years.

Maybe one day I will get used to it and properly heal.

Depression and Parenting

I blame her

Because children are more resourceful

It’s more respectable if she is the reason

I can’t leave my home

I can’t leave my bed

People understand

In ways they can’t if it was just me

“Oh no worries, I know how it is”

“Lmao, that is just how it is with kids”

I blame her

Because it is easier to believe

Why I scream into my pillow

Why I can’t speaks days on end

They understand her

In ways I just don’t get

So I blame her

Just to fit in

I am dust, if I trust
With a dash of fire light
And a mix of broken prose
I suppose,  I am made
With bitter beat
And repetition
Standing at memories kitchen
Clutching a chest that will move
Hoving closer and closer to you
I am dust, if I trust
With a dash blue hued rust
And a mix of mistaken prose
I suppose, I am done
Because memories
Have been over come

Continue reading

Warrior duet

Blood, sweat and tears, and pride, though it lies. I still got it, a certificate too. Proof that I know a thousand and one ways to kill you. But I have pain, pills just can’t fix. A bullet wounded knee cap and previously broken ribs. But I have honor, and respect, and the ability to shop at places where they do not accept my check.

Blood, sweat and tears, and pride, though it hides. I still got it, proven by the medal clipped to my chest. Proof that I know how to hold a person down as they scream. But I have pills, that can keep the nightmares at bay. A fucked up mind a broken home, I didn’t know what to expect. But I’ve got honor, and respect, and the ability to stand at ease in the check out line with people glaring at my back.

The Queens Quest

These broken toys with a childs soul

Hidden in the painted garden

Red and white, central war.

Disguised as a game of chess.

I guess, that the future can be changed

With a hatter that is madder and slick

That a simple trick could bring about

A guillotine event worth talking about

A tiny goodbye

I never got the chance to know the stars. Those flickering scars that rob the sky. Bright blights that hindered my growth. I missed them. Though I promise I never would. Because she is not here to see them. For me, that is reason enough to get rid of them.

The ocean, I despise it. With every moment of the tide I die a little more inside. I rather it fade away. Or give me room to drown. Because I can not bare the sight, while she is no longer around.

These memories, they haunt me. I would rather forget. Because is not here to share in them. I see no reason to give in. To my brain hidden inclination, to remember a forgiving friend.

God is baking

Spices covers shimmering as the chef lingers over a half baked sweet.

His body pose shows a master.

Something well versed in kitchens disaster.

He sprinkles confetti on top a cake and mixed batter in with well done fate.

He is a master, this man who creates.

A chef in this kitchen.

In an unknown place