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 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.

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

History Maker

A painter standing

Tips a brush dripped in koi blood

And dashes off the excess

Before applying a swipe of oppression

On a canvas filled with a traitors jest

He rest his hand in a still life rendition

To a crowd of a white washed plague

A painter standing in ovation

Tearing into another bottle of ink

He is not done tainting this history

A paint brush dipped in koi blood

A canvas of a nation that once was

He makes a mark that may just last

To a crowd of reflective glass

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

Believing in me

I think I am done, but I am not sure how to be. I wasted so much time trying that giving up almost seems like a relief. Still, something is holding me back. I think it has something to do with my memories. Nothing in my past, but current events that haunt me. Preventing me from taking that final step.

I think I am done, but I am not sure how to believe. There is a small part of me that feels something close to relief. As though a big weight has been removed from my shoulders. I can breathe so easily and yet…those final steps are still out of reach.