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I told myself every idea was *******,
just white noise sloshing in my head,
until I could bury that urge to put pen to paper
knowing
deep down behind the wall of sinew and flesh
pumping oxygen and platelets
deep beneath my skin
I just  hated feeling like this.
I gave up expressing myself,
convinced
of my deaf audience
convinced
that perhaps everything
I did was
worthless,
When I broke my reality
and rose from the ashes fresh glazed
from the fiery kiln of my personal hell
I did not realize I was to experience the most
monumental of my creative acts,
the recreation of myself
in complete solitude.
And perhaps
I'm still a little angry'
and very sad.
how could you cut ties?
with your sister?
eyes pointed in my direction
inspection disected and
your indignation hanging
alouf in air space between
hasty sideways glances
from those who pass us

Because the idea of who we were outlast us and
i want to have a chance to grasp at things before they pass us
last i checked
words so weighty and sharp had
cut the glass jar around my heart
and spilled the **** thing

because life is not black and white
and the fact that our blood runs red
doesn't mean as much
as you seem to think it did.
I chose what was right for my life,
i didn't think near strangers
got a say.
I have customers to help ,
this is my  work  place
so you have a good day.
sometimes when i'm angry at the pillow beneath my head, and the ceiling for shifting in
the slow shadows of my room at night,
at the headlights that flash into my bed room window,
at the neighbor who's screams echo
in the cacophony of the outside noise
and the inside static
in the pensive thrumming ****** manic
turning troubled erratic thoughts
more times than not
its overlapping tracks
of your voice saying key phrases,
"disappointed"
"pathetic"
"crazy"
"victimizing"
"lazy"
"­loner"
"with out friends"
"leave"
"angry"
animated by that awful look and
eye roll you always gave me.
desperation lead me to the asinine assumption
that if i was brave enough to bring
your attention on me
you would see that i needed something
i needed anything.
acceptance
an ear,
suport,
an explanation,
a conversation,
a friend,
a few words of encouragement,
to be freed from your damnation,
a bit of patience
mother,
i needed my mother
and you never came for me.
no one ever came for me.
you gave me cruelty all the way to the moment of my liberation
where I was finally granted distance
and silence
but sometimes when I hate my pillow,
it's because
when it's dark,
and it is loud ,
I hear you in every sound
in every echo
I hear you.
dear mother, protector, teacher, communicator, bridge to my self empowerment, to my confidence, my role model and friend. when did you start to hate me? and mother when, when did you start to love me again?
letting you go was ,
white knuckles, scar tissue
and the brutal messy dissection of my sense of self.
misdirection of my worth,
it hurt
harder than the rain on that old tin roof where
we shared secrets and quietly murmured prayers;
listening to the world burn;
clinging to one another while the world turned
so fast the centrifugal force put pressure on my heart,
while so delicately keeping me together
when i should have come apart,
Sometimes it was hard
Harder than the contact made
between dads face and the plait mom threw,
you ,
you and I , we knew,
and we grew up
turning over life's encounters like loose stones
pulling covers over our heads
as effective a defense mechanism as
dads mosaic of empty promises,
decorating that empting well of hope,
pretending like someone else could know me
like you know
the sound of my heart beat,
like it would beat when I was
so young
I still thought the sun would shine through rain most days
I stay up late watching
rain chase rain
on window sills
remembering your smile,
back when it was real.
Losing you was the hardest thing
and considering I can still see your face whenever I feel the urge
I guess it just made it harder to come to terms
with what I've learned these last few years,
No amount of toil nor tears will resurrect the girl
you were
before
you decided against yourself,
and shed your sense of consideration and selflessness
like layers of old skin,
spoiling your innocents with a resentment I can understand,
you turned to dust like ashes in my hand
And I will mourn you like all the pieces of myself that have died,
like the family and the home I have watched transcend me,
surpass me,
At last we can have peace.

I'm thankful now,
to have moved on.
I deserve this
After clawing the earth with my bare fingers,
until ******
after laying down my walls
every bit turned to crumbling ruble
layers beneath my feet I think
I deserve this
after turn and tear and twist,
I think I deserve this.
this space where for once
if I work hard they notice
and I don't have to tote your body around
I'm no longer responsible for your baggage
no longer damaged
and while
i'm sorry for your sadness
i'm still so weary of your madness
and not once has this felt as tragic
as playing your statements in circuits
chafing psyche tell callous ,
I deserve to be softer now
after so many days of rain
I think I deserve to shine
like the kissing sun on my skin
these last few days.
talk talk talk in circles
i'm
watching you look over bits of the past
and rewrite
as your trying to tell your story...
only  
i'm not quiet fallowing the st st stuttered symbolism's the jagged
concepts you split in five different directions
your diction  just as repetitious as the first word you read
In every new sentence.
you were never very good at reading aloud.
or even
reading to the end of a sentence,
you generally cut outside concepts in to different pieces
so as to insert your own forced bits of puzzle into
the frames of which
they were never intended.
every script written in my ugly hand or set to hard copy
mocked and sifted like
sand in your angry fist.
shifting like the earth beneath my feet,
when I lost my self or
perhaps looking back now
When I was lifted.

Perspective is a funny thing
It changes everything -
I hated about being weak and scared and faithless,
about not being what brave was
to the bravest
women that have graced my existence.
I was watching you in new frames
but through old lenses,
everything contingent on me
being the source of conflict-ion .
infliction
I existed for your
protection,
for your acceptance
directionless when every light I had ever known
went out in a karmic gust of wind.
I am braver now than I have ever seen you be.
I believe i'm braver now
then you have ever been.
for the only real weakness I have held in me
for the weakness in my chest I have no shame
you can blame me,if you wish, some times you must forget
I am Human.
I am Human.
that is my weakness
I am HUMANE
When I watch a cataclysm like our story end in so much pain..
Every rewrite rendering more blood.
I end it.
Hand trembling over foreign trigger as I lift it,
I will cry later
when i'm alone.
For everybody's sake.
Now..
I am done.
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