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Happy belated birthday Mom,
I'm sorry it's two days late,
but I've been a bad daughter
and an even worse person.
You always told me not to go to your grave or put flowers on your headstone;
"I won't be under that ground," you'd say,
"and don't waste your money on flowers, I'll have no use for them where I'm going."
I still visit sometimes, and I do still bring flowers, but not nearly enough.
I know if I had been the one buried, you'd wear the grass down with your feet and then have the courtesy to plant some seeds.

Almost eight years later I still think about you everyday
and not a minute goes by where I don't miss you terribly.
What a cruel thing it is, to live a life where you're always missing someone.
To have so many things to say and receive no reply.

You would've been fifty seven this year.
I wonder how you would look as you got older, and sometimes, rarely, I forget what you looked and sounded like when you were here.
That's probably the worst part of it.

The first time I visited your grave was about a month or so after you had been buried,
the graveyard drowning in so much snow I actually visited the wrong headstone.
I'm sure Mr.Brown enjoyed the talk, though.
It was only after digging my bare hands through ten inches of snow and ice that I realized I was four spots down.
I then recognized your grave from the moonlight reflecting off the glass vases of yellow roses we had placed there during your funeral,
wedged in place with the snow hugging them tightly;
the roses frozen in time,
it was both beautiful and aggravating.
Good things funerals cost so much,
they should be able to have someone clean up the plot after the service.
I threw the roses out and gently tried to remove the vases:
the one with "wife" shattered in my hands and my frostbitten fingers picked each shard out from the snow.
I still carry a scar from that vase.
The one with "mother" on it remained in tact, I was just as gentle with it but it did not shatter.
You told me near the end that nothing in this world, nothing was powerful enough to ever have you taken away from me.
That vase sits on my dining room table to this day, nursing a reluctantly dying plant just as you'd want.
I don't think I'll ever have the green thumb like you did.

But I have everything else from you,
you always told me Kate was raised by your sister and that she was too much when you were so young,
"But you, Emily, you're MY daughter."
You said I was a godsend of a baby, never crying, content just to sleep,
and that I carried an old soul.
You laughed at how I always excelled at being alone as a child,
and you were so intrigued by my sense of imagination and creativity.
You always said you were the same when you were a kid.

So tell me, now that I'm older and I feel so alone all the time,
am I still you?
Were you this isolated and alien at my age now?
Did you carry the empathy to cry at little things you saw on the street or in a commercial,
so much so that you believe this world to be lost?
That you saw life as one big slap in the face?

I still try my best everyday to make you proud,
It breaks my heart constantly to think I didn't when you were here.
But life is cruel like that, and I was young and stupid and arrogant.
I know if you see my daily life,
you know I'm not 100% better,
and I know I probably never will be.
But I work hard, and I always say my "please" and "thank you"'s,
and I live by your example of always trying to help anyone in need.
It might not make up for the demons that I struggle with,
but atleast I still fight them, right?
I lost some years there where I should've died, and sometimes I wish I had,
but I didn't. I'm still here. I'm still trying.
And to be honest, it's not for me, or for my family, for love or sunsets, or dogs or any of the things that bring me up to a solid "content."

It's for you, because you taught me that's what you do in life.
You fight. You fight until your last breath.

I've thought this a million times in my head, but I'll say it now,
you were always right about everything.
As teenage girls, we challenge our mothers at every turn and decision,
convinced we are mature and capable of making decisions,
and then we say hurtful things when we don't get our way.
So you deserve to hear it, you were always right.

I wish I could tell you face to face.
I would tell you how much I miss you, more than either of us could've ever predicted.
I would tell you how blessed I feel to have had such an amazing mother.
I would apologize for judging you for the drinking,
I would tell you it took me forever to realize, but eventually I accepted my mother was human just like everyone else,
and just like everyone else, myself included, you made mistakes.
Above all else, I would tell you that I love you more than you'll ever know.

I'll be turning twenty-nine next month,
which means I have one year left of smoking.
I didn't forget my promise to you, I'll quit on my thirtieth birthday.
I'll continue looking out for my sister to the best of my abilities,
even though she can be impulsive and brash on occasion.
I'll continue to show empathy and kindness to as many people as possible, just like you would've wanted.
And finally, one day I hope to keep the promise I made to you so many years ago:
I promise to try and be happy.
Extremely personal write, but needed to get it out. If you're lucky enough to still have a mother, tell her you love her today and thank her for existing.
R        e           s            o           n              a               t           e

R                                                             ­ e
            e           s                                     t
                                    o                  a
      ­                                         n
                    s  ­                                    a
        e                  ­                                              t       e

V i b r a t e. .e t a r b i V    
i                                     i
b                                   b
R                                   R
A                                   A
t                                     t
e t a r b i V   V i b r a t e

The music surges through me!
                ­                                                  Superfluous excitement!

I love it.
I love it.


The song.
                                                           ­        The song.


A pleasure to my tongue.
                                                                ­Riveting for the dopamine!

Move with me!
Move with me!

               ­  Move

With me!
                 With me!
With me!


Goodness, me...
If I just

Surge that
Surge that
Surge that
                  Push back
                  Push back
                  Push back
                                      Slam, tap
                                      Slam, tap
                                      Slam, tap

HEART ATTACK.                                                   C         K
E   E                                                                ­  A  
A                                                          ­       T
R              A                                        T
T    ­                         R T              A                                  C
T                                                        A      ­        
T                         T
A      T    
Written during a time of frantic, hyper, positive thoughts and ideas. Please give me your interpretations! Anything at all! <3
 Jun 2018 Čortoloman
Luka D
Nar Nar
 Jun 2018 Čortoloman
Luka D
Walking on eggshells
around you

You're a misery
You're my misery

Passive aggressive with a
mean mentality

You're a misery
A misery

Doubt befalls me
on your promises

You're a misery
A ******* misery

But I never had
my hopes up, 'cause

You're a misery
a misery
You're a misery
Your own enemy.
 Mar 2018 Čortoloman
 Mar 2018 Čortoloman
I know I haven’t been the best daughter
Running from the high water
Dancing when it’s hell
Letting you burn as well

We’re just issues with addictions
Putting aside our convictions
Sitting under bare trees in autumn
As we both hit rock bottom

At least is was something steady
Standing in the mirror getting ready
Laughing in car with spare change in the ashtray
Sitting a cafe sipping a single decaf latte

The problem was that every second was fake
A figment of my imagination created to stop the ache
I knew I could never please you
I guess I wasn’t that see through
You couldn’t tell I needed someone to turn to
But you couldn’t help anyways, not the way that words do.
 Mar 2018 Čortoloman
It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived
 Mar 2018 Čortoloman
Jason James
Our greatest art is born in pain and tragedy,
Or love and longing.
Even a sad song can be beautiful.
In longing we still feel
Though some wounds never heal.
Sometimes they make us stronger.
Hold on a little longer...

Words of emptiness not devoid of  heart,
Such strange beauty
In the darkness,

All is temporary.
Nothing gold can stay,
But as one thing fades away
So shines another.

This too shall pass,
The darkness never lasts.

There is a light at both ends of the tunnel,
When impossible to go back the way we came
It's important to keep moving forward
Devoid of feeling
Devoid of pain.

Life is often lonely,
And uneventful,
But once to be always shall be
Even if only in the memory
And while tomorrow often brings
More of the same old thing
Sometimes salvation waits at dawn,
So weary and broken we soldier on
Often in our vices.

But loss is what life is all about.
Children grow
People go
Youth gives way to age
With every turn of the page we lose the page before
But the unknown still remains.

The more things change
The more they stay the same,
Better to regret the things we've done than those we failed to do,
Never underestimate the value
Of someone to talk to
Even if they do not understand.

Try to laugh when you can.

Learn to lower your expectations
Or find a way to share the sadness,
Embrace the madness
Relish the pain.

After all
We're all insane here.
 Mar 2018 Čortoloman
 Mar 2018 Čortoloman
   “It’s too high” I wailed.
   “Jump” she said from the crystal pool.
   “I can’t I’m scared.”
   “I’m here” she cooed “I’ll catch you.”
I did and she did.  

   “I don’t want to” I kicked
   “Go” she said from the cars window.
   “No, it’s lame”
   “I’ll be here when you’re finished”
I went and she was

   “I can’t” I frustrated
   “ It’s easy” she said from over my shoulder
   “No, it’s stupid”
   “I’ll help, let me show you”
I tried and she taught

Twenty One
   “I want to” I planned
   “You can” she said from inside the phone
   “But, it’s so far”
   “I’m a call away, I’m proud of you”
I went and she was.

Twenty Five
   “I’m scared” she said
   “It will be fine” I reassured from the hospital chair
   “But it isn’t good”
   “Im here for you, the meds will work”
She believed and they didn’t

Twenty Seven
   “It’s over” she whispered
   “I know” I sobbed from the foot of the bed
   “It’s my time to leave”
   “It’s been a rough two years, you can rest now”
She did and I crumbled

Thirty Two
   “I’m hurting” I thought
   “I have to be strong”
So I try because she watches
Tomorrow is the day she left. It’s hitting me today though. I can only hope that means tomorrow will be easier. This is the first time I’ve written about her and it’s not an easy write. I miss you mom.
 Feb 2018 Čortoloman
Luka D
They drink up all my money
I want to run away but always keep coming back
Doubting whether it's me or them that's the cause of that

I might be weird but I'm not broken
(Well that's not true...)
At least I patch my holes, you leave them open

I'm a work in progress
Working to be my idol
I'm not perfect and I know
Some times an obstacle can feel like cover

For the longest time now
I only got up in the mornings
because of the promises I made:
"it will get better, just hold on" I said

The best feeling is self-control, being strong
followed in close second it's being right
And I was not wrong
I'm glad I held tight
When time gets tough and you have nothing to cling onto, just hold on to yourself because the only thing you can't do without, in life, is yourself.

Thanks, Billie
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