My mother always called me the devil child
Because I was loud, destructive and wild
I found out years later I was born with ADHD
No one wanted ever to spend any time with me
Parents didn’t know of ADHD or why I was different
They didn’t understand and they were very intolerant
Parents told older sister I was bad and she didn’t have to be around or play with me
So much of the time alone was really no fun, however for some help I did make a plea
I heard my mother double dog dare my father to hit me
Mother would refer to me as a turd in front of the family
All my cousins were smart, while I was failing all my classes in school
Got in to many fights with bullies and teachers who were always cruel
My family would all make fun of me, call names bully and tease
I was the loser that anyone could do or say what they pleased
None of my cousins was I ever allowed with to play
Was always much of the time alone every and all day
I lived in a strange way my dad was very to the T religious
And my mother was always drunk and of course blameless
She’d drink when home from work, on the weekends or holidays
And could always hide it from all her friends and the relatives
No one believed me when I told them that she had been drinking
They acted like I was crazy by then I knew what they were thinking
My mother took me out on Friday nights to eat and buy whatever I wanted, after work
Her last stop was always the liquor store for drink and smoke, I was left in car like a jerk
Bought games that took two or more to play, but she nor did dad never have any intension
Of spending time with me, I was in there way. I was a bad child that needed intervention
Wasn’t the perfect child I admit; I ran off when I was 16 did things I regret parents put me
Away, they came for counseling I complained about moms drinking and she felt angry
She said her drinking wasn’t my problem, she’d be back to see me when I could face the truth
Never could mother admit her or dad doing wrong, everything was because I was a youth
Came home from school one day mom was passed out on the living room floor dead drunk
Called ambulance for her Dr blamed me and said no visit, and he called me a worthless punk
My dad would come home and find she was throwing up while passed out always in her bed
I’d watch him take bowls put them near her mouth to catch it, was something I would dread
He’d walk to the bathroom, empty the bowl and go back to get the next one to do the very same
And replace the unfilled one repeat the process. I was told by her doctor that I was the blame
Sometimes mom would run down the hall to the toilet bowl throw up then my heart would race
Because I always knew mom would do this and then she’d come to room to scare rant and pace
Since I was a bad spoiled child who had parents with money, nice house cars and good jobs
And I was not willing to help out or be responsible, was told I made the family look like slobs
My sister let her boyfriend talk her into letting him take me to dentist, instead he molested me
No one believed me because in the past I had lied about things, and the truth no one would see
I was different all the cousins, my aunts and uncle could blame me when things went missing
Or went wrong I was then and still am now the perfect scapegoat yes about it I’m still babbling
My father ran out the back door, when he heard me wake up and come out of my room
So he didn’t have to bother with me, I wanted to spend time with him he’d assume
Somehow I managed to graduate from high school and I then would move
To a different city I felt I might have better luck and my life would improve
Married two very bad guys both who beat, threatened me and verbally abused
Divorced them both and had one child and how I’d raise this child alone I was confused
Tried to work and go to school never was competent enough to follow through
Each time I would start either I did not have the ability of completing anything new
Am not proud of this but I had 30 jobs that I lost in 10 years and even tried going to college
Unable to remember how and when to do things, my head from years of abuse was in a fog
Filed for SSI and Social Security, got on section 8, food stamps WIC and other government aid
I needed a home for myself and my daughter so I had to depend on things like this to get paid
My daughter grew up, became ill with a repeating debilitating disease
I dedicated myself to getting her well, and nothing about it was a breeze
Had to take her in pain for Doctor visits many times she’d cry and wished she were dead
This broke my heart with no family help, just her and I to face things in the years ahead
Unable to attend school for years, the Doctor signed permission to stay home
School system assigned a teacher who was mean nothing about her was tome
School Social workers interfered
And my name they smeared
She finally one day went into remission
And now the nephrotic kidney condition
Seems for now to have forever gone for good away
For years it’s been don’t want others to downplay
For a while I homeschooled her and the first semester back in the public school
She was on the honor roll things seemed to be looking up and I felt like I was the rule
Then one day she lost interest in classes, homework and attending
And the principal of the high school was calling and threatening
Pulled her out and put her in to get her GED
Soon she was out within month of three
A year before she was supposed to graduate
I knew by then that I was doing things right
Enrolled me and her in community college we made the Dean’s list and no student loan debt
Last May she and I graduated have a new life now I don’t feel things in my life are a threat
But alone I’ve raised a good child, self-published a book and kept things together
I’ve published some poetry and stories in magazines that will be on web pages forever
Even though my parents have helped me out once in a while financially
I feel lack of respect since they helped family who treated me crummy
I’m still feeling and have most of the hopeless thoughts when I was young
But I still try to steer my daughter to be different from me and hold my tongue
Those cousins with the high degree
Don’t seem to have too much on me
Both lost their jobs within a year out of college from being snobs and dishonest
But the parents just think that it was because others were being so glibbest
Both stuck alone in life working in their old age
That just mostly pays a low minimum wage
Sister divorced husband for molesting her children still won't speak told her kids I was bad
She lives in my town and over 20 years she’s never visited so by her I've been for life had
Most of all I think it's because my parents never would face reality or admit
To any wrong doing of years of abuse and neglect, something I couldn't forget
Why am I talking about this after all these years still?
Because I think that it may just possibly help me to heal
All Rights Reserved
Timothy Yan, that was his name
I miss him, still, 71 years later
I don't know if he's alive now
Nor, really did I know then in 1942
We were kids, he was 11 and now
would be 82 or 83
I don't know if he'd remember me
But, I remember him
and will forever
He was Canadian
He was my best friend
His family was Japanese
We'd come from Ontario, Burlington
Work brought dad west
So, we settled in a suburb of Vancouver
Tim's family had been here for a few years
There weren't a lot of Japanese in Canada
He was the first one I saw
We didn't have any in Burlington
So as I know
We lived on the same street
Went to the same school
He was Canadian
We played baseball, road hockey
football, we were brothers
blood brothers, we were a team
We moved west in 1938
I met him that fall in school
We were instant friends
The day I saw that St. Louis Cardinal hat
stuck in his pocket, all rolled up
He'd be Stan The Man, I'd be Red Russer
He was Syl Apps, I was Sam LoPresti
I was Turk Broda, he was anyone he wanted to be
We were both Joe Di Maggio
We were brothers
I remember the noise first
Great big Army trucks,
All up the street
Not just at the Yan place
The Yokishuris, Wans, and Timmy's Aunt too
Soldiers, loading the trucks
We weren't allowed out to see
Notices had been posted though the door
We could only watch and wonder
They were being moved
They scared the powers that be
Little Japanese families
Many born here
Scared the powers of King in Ottawa
And they had to be moved
Inland, to the Okanagan Valley
To Camps, in Canada, their country, Camps
Canada was at war
With it's own people
With 11 year old Timothy Yan
Ever since Pearl Harbour
Ottawa got scared
Japanese fishermen in the west
Japanese fighter planes from the east
There had to be spies in British Columbia
Tim Yan was apparently one of them
They were told their property was safe
All their goods in storage
They were lied to
A month after they left
The auctioneers came in
Everything was sold
I hope he kept that hat
Dad bought what he could
So did other neighbours
I still have the boxes
Waiting for the Yans,
I miss Joe DiMaggio
I didn't understand it then
And I don't now
My teachers couldn't explain it
My minister said it was the best
That didn' t help either
Who decided what was best?
Best for who?
It wasn't best for me, or Tim
Nobody asked us
He was just gone
I spent years looking for him
He never came back after the war
They were moved further east
They were sent to Japan
He was from Canada
Why would they send him to Japan
He was gonna be the first Japanese big leaguer
I hope he made it
I grew up and became a lawyer
A citizenship lawyer
This was not going to happen on my watch
To anyone again
Not while I was around
I miss him
He went to war
And never fired a shot
He went to war
And never knew why...
I'm a realist, mildly an idealist.
My ideas create a mindset that allows me to express feelings
But I build up a wall, high as a skyscraper..I stand, as a realist I know if I jump, I'm bound to meet my maker. I don't think idealist are weak.
I just think they escape the honesty they seek.
You don't walk a straight line in order for you to finally reach your peak.
Obstacles come and go, water is a need if you want to grow, you can't have a lightbulb without an idea and expect it to magically glow.
I know every action I do and especially when I am wrong but I just want rewrite all my wrongs, they inspire all of my greatest songs.
Optimistic that I'll make it, I just need more effort than 50 percent
because you get what you put in, as a realist I know if you put in half, half back is all you will ever get.
People remember you mistakes, the heroics they just simply forget.
I can't stand when people think it's okay to live a life without any regrets.
Sure things happen for a reason and karma "may" have you enemies morally bleeding, but you ideology sounds misguiding and thought process misleading. Karma is an excuse to allow a higher calling contribute to your spiteful abuse, you don't want the crime on your soul so you allow the angels to fatally shoot. It's fine, before we die, we all commit a crime.
Women kill, men steal, just being in love should require you to do time.
Born a realist sinner...far from an idealist winner
Success doesn't come over night
The sweet life doesn't come until after you've made your dinner..and cleaned the plate, but we're never satisfied...nah, we going to probably eat again late.
Work hard for the dream, don't just rely in faith. A realist knows she may not show up, even when you scheduled a date.
It's all love to the victims, stuck in a fiction. If you hate this piece...your ignorance got you unable to listen.
Not my problem though. I'm speaking without any permission! I like that idea...oh Damn, wait...I think I jus become my own contradiction?
...forget it, I'm healing, my words and unpredictable wisdom, I am still dealing.
Insanity is a fear that is expressed towards you when others have confusion
A realist, an idealist..no one is right...our concepts to each other seem all an illusion.
To all the motherfuckers who don't
Know what is and isn't important
For their own damn good.
A dirty, rigid, spiked, smelly
One finger salute for each
And every one of you.
This motherfucker throws his kids
Out into the streets in November.
Big man of the house who trys so
Desperately to be intimidating,
With a shitty back and a
Horrible stench of alcohol on his breath.
This motherfucker who thinks she's special.
The stuck up bitch that too closely
Resembles a plump fuckin carrot.
Who thinks the perfect guy is a hairless
Fruity smelling mommy's boy pussy
With perfect flippy hair and a big dick.
This motherfucker, the few, the proud,
The fruity smelling mommy's boy pussy
Who wouldn't know a pair of pliers
If they were ripping off his sparkly earrings.
Never having an ounce of dirt on his hands,
But at least she... I mean he has nice teeth.
This motherfucker that can't tell one honest
Fact about his "hard and lonely" home life.
The one who nods and laughs but just wants to fuck.
Who beats off to his computer after taking a hit
That he bummed off his rich friends.
Who is confused as to why some people (me) hate him.
This motherfucker who screws with the emotions
Of one of the best guys ever to glide through her life.
Who throws him on a roller coaster with smiles
And flirtatious giggling while she lets him kiss her.
Then throws him to the side and takes the next in line.
I wish only the very best for you, you fuckin bitch.
Those motherfuckers who abuse, torment
Or play with someone who just wishes the best.
The ones who hurt the vulnerable
To feel better for themselves.
No one deserves the shit you give,
Except each and every one of you.
Honorable mention to those bitches
That complain about all men being the same
When in reality they're just searching for
The same type of meat headed retard
Every time they have such a painful terrible
Breakup. Just shut the fuck up. For real.
No one sees
No one hears
No one loves
Everyone is blind
One by one
I can see
I can hear
Life is a game
But no one wins
And no one looses
We are stuck
In the middle
I watch people
They are fooled
By life and joy
The hands that stretch, the feet that glide. The ability to see, the strength to withhold vision. I was stuck in shades of dark and filth. I was burning in the passion of the sun. I heard a truth that spoke life. I heard an angel say dive. I took a chance hoping I would fly. I jumped thinking I would bounce. The fall was humanity and life announced. I fell into an ocean of truce. I found creatures bad and good. It was a war, a fight for power. They were corrupt lifelings looking to be kings. They felt like gods eluded by the ring. The ring that controls all things. The orchestrators of lies that kill. Kill the freedom of the mind. The orchestrators of a world that enriches so-called kings. Blasphemy is the order of this world. Pain this world brings. A world of treacherous kings but all nothing without the power. What was the power? A spoken idea a woman a lump of gold? It was the fear! The fear instilled in souls so to inhibit freewill and limit conduct. The power that tarnishes the human soul. The power that bars the mind and hides the truth that one must face. The truth is his identity, the success of his identity is serving his purpose. The realisation of his purpose is dependant upon his surroundings. Surroundings are walls that limit his will and remind him that all he can be is nothing. The fallacy that man is the illusion and the kings are the truth. Scaling walls, browsing I saw that they were fighting. Protecting an order. Fighting for a world of lust, confusion and weakness. Where the kings are gods and the weak slaves. I spoke once and said that I am the vision and the truth I speak to the weak that need healing. I have body armour but no weapons. I have a reason to fight but no weapons. I have weapons but no army. I have an army but the soldiers have tainted minds, no feet and only one arm. An arm that remains stationary, erect and held together. It was the fist that represented the power to stand. The fist that represents immortality. I found hope, I found belief in the little weaponry that lay in my hands. The invisible truth I protect is the heart of my soul. Embracing I know I am what is real, Embracing I acknowledge the dangers of reel, Embracing the truth I know that I am the power and the power is me. I opened my eyes and saw the world as the waking of the day when the sun rises. I found relief in knowing that I am no longer hiding for this power is for fighting. Fighting for the will, fighting for man to be free. I leave the place that was confining, I leave the dust where souls burnt hide in, I scale these walls and glide, I use this power of liberation to display the truth that so many saints have protected. I allow the showers of the night to heal these wounds that leave me infected. I stand in refuge, I am a ghost, I am a soul, I am man, I am the power.
You say, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”
but I say surely something
must taste nicer than the burning acid
being forced back up your throat.
Why not hug people instead of
toilet bowls? At least they’ll hug back.
Except Mia is your only friend now.
And her cousin, Ana, of course.
And I understand that you never
wanted to die, but this is a thousand ton truck
hurtling towards the edge of a cliff and
Ana took the wheel a long time ago.
There is no strength in this: in you, in a
fear of calories. Even your bones creak
as your muscles sigh with exhaustion -
for this, is not a war you're winning.
This is a battle with only one contender
and I will not be the one to disarm you.
That's your job and it always has been. I know
you only wanted to be beautiful
like all those stars in the magazines
you saved under a file titled ‘thinspo’
but the only stars you ever saw were in
your eyes from the dizziness
and to tell you the truth, you are not pretty.
For there is nothing “pretty”
about the layer of fuzz your body grew
to protect itself from the big bad wolf
when really, the only growl was coming
from inside your stomach.
Or how your little sister is afraid to touch,
let alone hug you, in fear of snapping you in two.
For there is no glamour in having to
remove clumps of hair out of the plughole
at least six times whilst having a shower,
just to let the water run down.
Or that one time you "accidentally”
took too many laxatives. Messy.
There is nothing admirable about the way
you sat shivering on your bed
at night instead of kissing boys,
or dancing, or eating ice cream.
There is nothing to be marvelled at
This, is not a life to be lived.
God, this isn't even a life.
This is being a slave to your own body,
a walking zombie, a ghost stuck
between two sides.
You are not alive.
But it was all still worth it, right?
Slowly killing yourself from the inside out.
A small price to pay for perfection,
a bargain for a broken mirror;
for a half-written book
with 97 blank pages,
that only captures in black and white,
with frozen hands.
And most importantly, for a peace of mind
you never received.
there was a long trailer filled
with film reels the size of automobile tires
sitting in racks
it was my job to drive the truck pulling the trailer
through a convenience store parking lot
that was vaguely recognized
I felt confident that I could handle the job
and spoke to some other ghosts
concerning the details
abruptly shifted to changing my cloths
in an acquaintance’s home
in a wide open shower area that had fixtures of wood
that hung like closet hangers
on the tiled wall of the shower
there were sayings and quotes
written by other people using sharpie pens
that were stuck to the walls
I was carrying on a conversation
with the ghosts in the adjoining bedroom
one older, recognizable, sitting on the bed
two others, children, accepting a cynical lecture
from the older ghost
I felt the strong desire to add a quote to the walls
that sense of wanting to be heard
very similar to my desires in a awakened state
I thought and thought hard on the wisdom words
I should leave and came up with
‘’All thinking is exaggeration’’ but the sharpie pen
I chose, would not work on the tiled wall and I gave up
to enter the bedroom and listen to the lecture
with the other ghosts
there was a swirling understanding and then I awoke
There are parts of our stories that we wish were different
Things we wish we could erase
We get stuck in moments
Over-analyzing our every movement
Trying our hardest to make the memories perfect
Memories turn in to ghosts
That haunt our happiness
And kill our freedom
We try to live in the past
But we can't repeat it
So it never works
And it hurts
Then somehow inside the same story
There is good
There are memories that make us laugh and make us smile
Loving relationships and life changing conversations
Places that we hope to go
And people that we want to meet
Even things as simple as favorite books and songs and films
They are a daily reminder of why we're alive
And we've come to believe that all of it matters
That all of it is significant and
The opposite of small
We've come to believe that you deserve to be around people who make you feel whole
People who laugh and mourn and celebrate with you
People who remind you
You're not alone in this whole big thing called life.
Drink a toast to the dreams that got lost.
Sat in a world of the single minded.
The location of shattered dreams lost.
No longer whispering.
Ghosts of long gone dreams.
They scream as banshees of doom.
Predicting solitary misery.
Quite happy really,
Hell maybe, I am,
I am not.
The music plays and I drown in it.
Swallowing it, hook line and sinker.
This funny woman,
A deep thinker.
An amusing muser.
She lives on the planet of miserable cow.
The couple next door.
Sharing a lunch,
One between two.
In oblivious dreams of true romance.
New romantics perhaps.
As lucky sods and demi-gods,
They sat and munched their lunch.
Listens to the music, listless.
In a place where no-one can dance.
Tapping my foot in time.
Yes, my friend.
I said in time
And the music strokes the air.
The music gets stuck in my auburn hair.
Soul to soul,
She is bare,
My coffee went cold.
Should I maybe be so bold.
To stay and listen to more.
And the music became more.
So much more.
My inspiration on this glorious day.
Passion in full view.
C'est la vie.
(And Alaric ,my friend).
May the devil enjoy my play on words,
Such injustice be kindly greeted.
Would prefer to tickle angels, with my words instead.
Sooner meet the Lord of Love,
When I end up dead!
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)