Jul 2014
Tangled up again...I couldn't keep myself from the haze and lift that it brings me. I channel thoughts. Giving my addiction excuse to focus on one thing or nothing at all. I could do both. The bowl in my hand is fading. Knuckles bleeding. Stomach wrenching. A life left me. Expecting it to leave maybe 8 months from now but things change. So do people. Let the smoke fill the space between my ears...take me to my little boy. Let me see his smile in my mind. I need it after tonight.
Losing sight of love and this was one I crippled myself for. I loved him for 7 years of my youth. My sparring partner and greatest obsession of the opposite ***. He taught me how to take and give a hit. In more ways than one. Denounced Mormonism and traded it in for something that I thought would last longer than faith. Futile love is always the craze in any generation. Who was I to deny that right of passage? See where I'm getting at?
First to fall for and first to chase. This boy and I took refuge in each other's warped sense of affection. He loved others, of course, while keeping a watchful eye on those I would converse with. They could look but not touch what he had claimed as his. And I was, for all intents and purposes. He was my first for it all. His eyes were the first to glance past the baby fat and crooked teeth. His voice was the first to laugh at the awkward things I'd mumble out. He'd tell me that he loved me before I was pretty.
I became pretty? In the mind of who I imagined to be flawless. Even in the spiraled trap of puberty, he was coveted by the raging hormones of all teenage girls. I wasn't spared. Yet, grateful that I eventually could contest with the face I was consistently in awe with. I let him in me when I found myself to be worthy of his complete touch. He waited 6 years so the boy had been through enough to be rewarded by my maiden's head breach.
God, it wasn't what I expected. I ached and squirmed but not out of pleasure. It hurt worse than getting kicked in the face. I struggled, asked for patience and found that he could choose not to hear me. And out of love, I bit my tongue and closed my eyes. Find a happy place. Find a happy place. Turns out the things I tried to forget from childhood resurface in the most familiar ways. Felt the same but different face. Smell of sweat and iron grip. I braced myself to keep the memory in and I managed.
After that it was no more than just a rip. Healing took faster with each ****** of desire he blessed me with. I know I sound like an idiot. Only because I was back then. I also cringe at who I was. Thinking of forever and the like. Blah blah blah. He filled me with more than just his light. Unknowingly accepting it. How could something as sturdy as latex tear? The mystery of the century.
Right around the time he lit up my first joint was about the time I came down with an illness...of sorts. His magic cure was herb. Helps with the nausea. I puffed and held like a champ. Never coughing and receiving the initiative background laugh. I was apart of his pack now. Who needs family anymore when you surround yourself with strangers with an itch and a twitch that can only subside with powders and pills? I could be one of them. Scars and bruises already proved me in.
They never saw a chick hit the way I did. I had the humor of a brother and the swing of a boxer. Perfect combination of a couple. He would show me like a bleeding trophy and I stood proud to be his. Until the sickness got worse. You could guess why. Took me by surprise when the *** stick sentenced me to impregnation. I remember being in shock but smiling none the less. Not even 18 yet and was going to have his namesake in my belly.
Still, I knew him well. Loved and accepted him all the same but...I knew how that game was played. I was pro choice, but loving the child too much to choose that alternative, I saved as much till as I could. I would make a break for it and tell no one. Nothing in my minor name so it'd be easy to leave without a trace. And telling him was already made clear as a bad decision. I would do what had to be done...run to have a chance with my son. I always knew he'd be a boy. Overjoyed and I named him prior to him fully growing. Dillon Quinn Lane. It was perfect for who I'd guide him to be in my imagination.
A month passed without showing and my bank account looked less empty. Downsizing slowly the belongings I had to make the extra cents rise a little without doing the same with my parents suspicion. Or his. Kept my distance as much as I could considering the life I had been recently welcomed to. Confided in one person...it should have been less than that. Word travels fast but I didn't give blunt details and I was safe in saying maybe and not definite. The one I loved wouldn't have any part of it and I would ask for nothing. Turned out his fear started to churn to reclaim his youth before I'd steal it away.
Confronted. Denying and screaming louder with each pulse of sound. He suspects my womb to have opened for vacancy and I show him my ******* in response. That's all the answer he needed without a solid statement from my end of things. A fist to the gut....
No...
Hunched over, cradling who was too small to cradle. Too blind with tears to see the stairwell. He nudge and gravity did the rest. Classic miscarriage. I guess we went as far as we could go in this relationship. I thought quietly at the bottom of those steps.
Afterwards, I gave myself permission to lose my mind. Joined the **** life for fun but now I lived it to die. Tried anything I could get my hands on and grieved numb. Small stretch marks left behind from my little one...he left a small part of himself on me to love. Dillon Quinn. His conception was wanted by only one and I would loved him enough for 100 or more.
Every year around this time I think of him still. Curly hair? Crooked teeth or straight. Would have just turned 6. I now realize the life I wouldn't have been able to give and still I'm wishing and willing him to at least live. Reincarnate to others. Both a mother and father who loved him like no other child could fathom love. He would deserve it after what his previous parents had done. And now I'm too scared to even try again even on purpose. Feeling like I betray him when I don't speak his name aloud.
Clearly, I have some issues to steady out and stabilize. I'm a cynic now and most things I've done and seen no longer phase me to drama. I know who I am and I don't plan on becoming anyone different. Still, if you see a little boy like mine, tell him mommy says hi.
Losing sight of love and this was one I crippled myself for. I loved him for 7 years of my youth. My sparring partner and greatest obsession of the opposite ***. He taught me how to take and give a hit. In more ways than one. Denounced Mormonism and traded it in for something that I thought would last longer than faith. Futile love is always the craze in any generation. Who was I to deny that right of passage? See where I'm getting at?
First to fall for and first to chase. This boy and I took refuge in each other's warped sense of affection. He loved others, of course, while keeping a watchful eye on those I would converse with. They could look but not touch what he had claimed as his. And I was, for all intents and purposes. He was my first for it all. His eyes were the first to glance past the baby fat and crooked teeth. His voice was the first to laugh at the awkward things I'd mumble out. He'd tell me that he loved me before I was pretty.
I became pretty? In the mind of who I imagined to be flawless. Even in the spiraled trap of puberty, he was coveted by the raging hormones of all teenage girls. I wasn't spared. Yet, grateful that I eventually could contest with the face I was consistently in awe with. I let him in me when I found myself to be worthy of his complete touch. He waited 6 years so the boy had been through enough to be rewarded by my maiden's head breach.
God, it wasn't what I expected. I ached and squirmed but not out of pleasure. It hurt worse than getting kicked in the face. I struggled, asked for patience and found that he could choose not to hear me. And out of love, I bit my tongue and closed my eyes. Find a happy place. Find a happy place. Turns out the things I tried to forget from childhood resurface in the most familiar ways. Felt the same but different face. Smell of sweat and iron grip. I braced myself to keep the memory in and I managed.
After that it was no more than just a rip. Healing took faster with each ****** of desire he blessed me with. I know I sound like an idiot. Only because I was back then. I also cringe at who I was. Thinking of forever and the like. Blah blah blah. He filled me with more than just his light. Unknowingly accepting it. How could something as sturdy as latex tear? The mystery of the century.
Right around the time he lit up my first joint was about the time I came down with an illness...of sorts. His magic cure was herb. Helps with the nausea. I puffed and held like a champ. Never coughing and receiving the initiative background laugh. I was apart of his pack now. Who needs family anymore when you surround yourself with strangers with an itch and a twitch that can only subside with powders and pills? I could be one of them. Scars and bruises already proved me in.
They never saw a chick hit the way I did. I had the humor of a brother and the swing of a boxer. Perfect combination of a couple. He would show me like a bleeding trophy and I stood proud to be his. Until the sickness got worse. You could guess why. Took me by surprise when the *** stick sentenced me to impregnation. I remember being in shock but smiling none the less. Not even 18 yet and was going to have his namesake in my belly.
Still, I knew him well. Loved and accepted him all the same but...I knew how that game was played. I was pro choice, but loving the child too much to choose that alternative, I saved as much till as I could. I would make a break for it and tell no one. Nothing in my minor name so it'd be easy to leave without a trace. And telling him was already made clear as a bad decision. I would do what had to be done...run to have a chance with my son. I always knew he'd be a boy. Overjoyed and I named him prior to him fully growing. Dillon Quinn Lane. It was perfect for who I'd guide him to be in my imagination.
A month passed without showing and my bank account looked less empty. Downsizing slowly the belongings I had to make the extra cents rise a little without doing the same with my parents suspicion. Or his. Kept my distance as much as I could considering the life I had been recently welcomed to. Confided in one person...it should have been less than that. Word travels fast but I didn't give blunt details and I was safe in saying maybe and not definite. The one I loved wouldn't have any part of it and I would ask for nothing. Turned out his fear started to churn to reclaim his youth before I'd steal it away.
Confronted. Denying and screaming louder with each pulse of sound. He suspects my womb to have opened for vacancy and I show him my ******* in response. That's all the answer he needed without a solid statement from my end of things. A fist to the gut....
No...
Hunched over, cradling who was too small to cradle. Too blind with tears to see the stairwell. He nudge and gravity did the rest. Classic miscarriage. I guess we went as far as we could go in this relationship. I thought quietly at the bottom of those steps.
Afterwards, I gave myself permission to lose my mind. Joined the **** life for fun but now I lived it to die. Tried anything I could get my hands on and grieved numb. Small stretch marks left behind from my little one...he left a small part of himself on me to love. Dillon Quinn. His conception was wanted by only one and I would loved him enough for 100 or more.
Every year around this time I think of him still. Curly hair? Crooked teeth or straight. Would have just turned 6. I now realize the life I wouldn't have been able to give and still I'm wishing and willing him to at least live. Reincarnate to others. Both a mother and father who loved him like no other child could fathom love. He would deserve it after what his previous parents had done. And now I'm too scared to even try again even on purpose. Feeling like I betray him when I don't speak his name aloud.
Clearly, I have some issues to steady out and stabilize. I'm a cynic now and most things I've done and seen no longer phase me to drama. I know who I am and I don't plan on becoming anyone different. Still, if you see a little boy like mine, tell him mommy says hi.
I use this site as a diary of sorts. Clears my head and keeps me from other things I could be doing. 7 years past a memory. Reoccurring but long gone. Sleepy phantom thoughts rise and I write. It's not going to change anything but if it's out of me maybe I'll sleep.
