For all my friends and family i know you are all feeling
frustrated, helpless, and ready
to give up. It’s not your fault. You are not the cause of our suffering.

You may find that difficult to believe, since we may lash out at you, switch from being loving and kind to non-trusting and cruel on a dime, and we may even straight up blame you. But it’s not your fault. You deserve to understand more about this condition and what we wish we could say but may not be ready.

It is possible that something that you said or did “triggered” us. A trigger is something that sets off in our minds a past traumatic event or causes us to have distressing thoughts. While you can attempt to be sensitive with the things you say and do, that’s not always possible, and it’s not always clear why something sets off a trigger.

The mind is very complex. A certain song, sound, smell, or words can quickly fire off neurological connections that bring us back to a place where we didn’t feel safe
, and we might respond in the now with a similar reaction (think of military persons who fight in combat — a simple backfiring of a car can send them into flashbacks. This is known as PTSD, and it happens to a lot of us, too.)

But please know that at the very same time that we are pushing you away with our words or behavior, we also desperately hope that you will not leave us or abandon us in our time of despair and desperation.

This extreme, black or white thinking and experience of totally opposite desires is known as a dialectic. Early on in our diagnosis and before really digging in deep with DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy), we don’t have the proper tools to tell you this or ask for your support in healthy ways.

We may do very dramatic things, such as harming ourselves in some way (or threatening to do so), going to the hospital, or something similar. While these cries for help should be taken seriously, we understand that you may experience “burn out” from worrying about us and the repeated behavior.

Please trust that, with professional help, and despite what you may have heard or come to believe, we CAN and DO get better.

These episodes can get farther and fewer between, and we can experience long periods of stability and regulation of our emotions. Sometimes the best thing to do, if you can muster up the strength in all of your frustration and hurt, is to grab us, hug us, and tell us that you love us, care, and are not leaving.

One of the symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder is an intense fear of being abandoned, and we therefore (often unconsciously) sometimes behave in extreme, frantic ways to avoid this from happening. Even our perception that abandonment is imminent can cause us to become frantic.

Another thing that you may find confusing is our apparent inability to maintain relationships. We may jump from one friend to another, going from loving and idolizing them to despising them – deleting them from our cell phones and unfriending them on Facebook. We may avoid you, not answer calls, and decline invitations to be around you — and other times, all we want to do is be around you.

This is called splitting, and it’s part of the disorder. Sometimes we take a preemptive strike by disowning people before they can reject or abandon us. We’re not saying it’s “right.” We can work through this destructive pattern and learn how to be healthier in the context of relationships. It just doesn’t come naturally to us. It will take time and a lot of effort.

It’s difficult, after all, to relate to others properly when you don’t have a solid understanding of yourself and who you are, apart from everyone else around you.

In Borderline Personality Disorder, many of us experience identity disturbance issues. We may take on the attributes of those around us, never really knowing who WE are.  You remember in high school those kids who went from liking rock music to pop to goth, all to fit in with a group – dressing like them, styling their hair like them, using the same mannerisms? It’s as if we haven’t outgrown that.

Sometimes we even take on the mannerisms of other people (we are one way at work, another at home, another at church), which is part of how we’ve gotten our nickname of “chameleons.” Sure, people act differently at home and at work, but you might not recognize us by the way we behave at work versus at home. It’s that extreme.

For some of us, we had childhoods during which, unfortunately, we had parents or caregivers who could quickly switch from loving and normal to abusive. We had to behave in ways that would please the caregiver at any given moment in order to stay safe and survive. We haven’t outgrown this.

Because of all of this pain, we often experience feelings of emptiness. We can’t imagine how helpless you must feel to witness this. Perhaps you have tried so many things to ease the pain, but nothing has worked. Again – this is NOT your fault.

The best thing we can do during these times is remind ourselves that “this too shall pass” and practice DBT skills – especially self-soothing – things that helps us to feel a little better despite the numbness. Boredom is often dangerous for us, as it can lead to the feelings of emptiness.  It’s smart for us to stay busy and distract ourselves when boredom starts to come on.

On the other side of the coin, we may have outburst of anger that can be scary. It’s important that we stay safe and not hurt you or ourselves. This is just another manifestation of BPD.

We are highly emotionally sensitive and have extreme difficulty regulating/modulating our emotions. Dr. Marsha Linehan, founder of DBT, likens us to 3rd degree emotional burn victims.

Through Dialectical Behavior Therapy, we can learn how to regulate our emotions so that we do not become out of control.  We can learn how to stop sabotaging our lives and circumstances…and we can learn to behave in ways that are less hurtful and frightening to you.

Another thing you may have noticed is that spaced out look on our faces. This is called dissociation. Our brains literally disconnect, and our thoughts go somewhere else, as our brains are trying to protect us from additional emotional trauma. We can learn grounding exercises and apply our skills to help during these episodes, and they may become less frequent as we get better.

But, what about you?

If you have decided to tap into your strength and stand by your loved one with BPD, you probably need support too.  Here are some ideas:

Remind yourself that the person’s behavior isn’t your fault

Tap into your compassion for the person’s suffering while understanding that their behavior is probably an intense reaction to that suffering

Do things to take care of YOU. On the resources page of this blog, there is a wealth of information on books, workbooks, CDs, movies, etc. for you to understand this disorder and take care of yourself. Be sure to check it out!

In addition to learning more about BPD and how to self-care around it, be sure to do things that you enjoy and that soothe you, such as getting out for a walk, seeing a funny movie, eating a good meal, taking a warm bath — whatever you like to do to care for yourself and feel comforted.

Ask questions. There is a lot of misconception out there about BPD.

Remember that your words, love, and support go a long way in helping your loved one to heal, even if the results are not immediately evident

Not all of the situations I described apply to all people with Borderline Personality Disorder. One must only have 5 symptoms out of 9 to qualify for a diagnosis, and the combinations of those 5-9 are seemingly endless.  This post is just to give you an idea of the typical suffering and thoughts those of us with BPD have.

This is my second year in DBT. A year ago, I could not have written this letter, but it represents much of what was in my heart but could not yet be realized or expressed.

My hope is that you will gain new insight into your loved one’s condition and grow in compassion and understand for both your loved one AND yourself, as this is not an easy road.

I can tell you, from personal experience, that working on this illness through DBT is worth the fight. Hope can be returned. A normal life can be had. You can see glimpses and more and more of who that person really is over time, if you don’t give up.  I wish you peace.

Pinto?

No, not the wild-spirited, color-splotched mare
with mane streaming like flames-thrown
behind in the wind
Taking desert inclines
with scuffing hooves on rock
catching her balance in mesquite
curbing?
The sage, dust
All
that nature throws in its pathway to knowledge
toward treachery of crosswalks?

“P-l-e-a-s-e  don't slow down!
Stop signs--?
”No!
Just keep going!
Don't slow down now!”

“They'll hear us coming
3 blocks away!”

Pinto?
Clogged carburetor--?
No one much-mentioned
rear-end inferno reputation??
A mere twinge in my signature
Woman-without-a-clue

“Hey, it runs, right?
Gets where we're goin'?”

Kids duck in back seat
so as not to be seen
In the cloud of smoke
We make our approach

Hiss Spitter, Belch, Pop
and--

BANG!

--Like a gunshot

Kids take cover
on street, in backseat
duck down
so not to be noticed...

“Oh Ma!  
MA!!!
Not right here!
Farther down!”

...so not to be seen
...by friends that matter...
in this ride
from hell!
Backfiring Beast--

“Friends”
skitter away
from what will emerge from the smoke and fumes
of high-risk-situation

Kids spill out through jammed door
to unexpected accolades
onto equality's curb
of laughter  
Public school's
wake of exhaust and relief

I drive mercifully away


Start of another school day

they say you'll never forget
where you were on 9/11
i was nine
i sat in the kitchen
and watched the television
play out the violence hour after hour
my child-like mind conflated the Two Towers
in Tolkien's literary fantasy
with these acts of misanthropy  
and i was taught at the dinner table
that very evening
that all of life could be reduced
to capital letters defining a
cosmic struggle of Good vs. Evil

and yet
regardless of their affiliation
on this defunct
political spectrum of
left left
left right left
politicians canonize a legacy of
injustice and oppression and
in order to suppress
democratic expression
they propagate the notion
that dissent is treason

because the wars we wage are blessed
by the sagely insight of rich old men
who sit safely in mansions protected by
picket fences as white as their skin
while they play off our emotions and
turn us into thoughtless sheep
content to stomach the whims of
politicians propagating vengeance

i will speak this out even
when my voice shakes
because i have seen the hypocrisy
of this war on terror
that relies on terror
to cultivate more terrorists
in order to perpetuate the notion
that Orwell posited

war is peace
freedom is slavery
ignorance is bliss
isn't it

in my naïveté
i rejected the reality of
torture and murdered children for
i nursed a secret hope that
despite the pictures and videos
that served as empirical evidence
we were still somehow
the good guys and
they were the bad guys

but Americans rained white
phosphorous on Fallujah
dropped the world's first
and hopefully last
atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki
we toppled democratically elected socialists
whose interests betrayed our self-serving agendas
cultivating a policy of extra-judicial assassination
regime change is the name of the game
just ask the CIA
they'd tell you
business is booming but
then they'd have to **** you

so i switched off my TV screen
and picked up books
i read Slaughterhouse-V
and treasured the way Vonnegut
looks at the lives of even
bees and butterflies as valuable
intoning "so it goes"
every time a living thing dies

i read O'Brien's
recollections
of Vietnam
a month later
he said that
like white lies
tall tales and
fishermen’s yarns
every war story
has a bit of truth

and i've seen the proof
in the photographs of
Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay
in the aftermath of drone strikes
that left pieces of kids scattered
across the desert sands of foreign lands

i see the toxic side-effects of
systemic violence in the eyes
of homeless veterans suffering
on the streets with PTSD
a flicker of fear livens a
deadened gaze at the sound of
every backfiring engine
as if they're a thousand miles away
on some distant shore

betrayed by their own
government once again
a Purple Heart is
a death sentence
when there are 22
military suicides a day
thanks for your service
now die in silence

like bad religion the phrase
war crime is rather redundant
and i testify not because i
aim to disrespect the
men and women in uniform
on the contrary

when i say
**** war
it is because i
cherish every brother
and every sister
who has perished in the
churning gears of conflict

they shoved tall tales of hope
for a collegiate education
and far-flung travel
down our throats
just sign here
right along the dotted line

we want you
to march into hellfire
we want you
to send missiles into
tiny huts and villages
tracking cell phone signals
we want you
to sit down
shut up and
just do as you're told

to every fallen human who
has been sent off to fight on
behalf of this
or any other
corrupt nation
i sincerely apologize
for not taking to the streets to protest
a vitriolic ideology

i regret filing my taxes
when 54% or more of our budget goes to
military expenditures so they could
stick an M-16 in your hands
and ship you off to die for abstract
and so often arbitrary phrases like
freedom and justice for all

you were robbed of your liberty
by a capitalist system that seeks profit
like a false prophet for
bank accounts soar in times of war  
and in my apathy i hammered
nails into your coffin

and i pride myself on  
being an anti-militaristic
non-violent anarchist because
i don't hate soldiers
if i did i would remain
silent and apathetic
and let the government
abuse its youth

i celebrate humanity
regardless of ethnicity and creed
which is precisely why i despise
this system that sacrifices
generation after generation for
conquest and imperial notions

pray tell
will we turn from the
error of our ways
wake up from
this terrorist daze
before it's too late
and say

the State can try to
whitewash history but
i refuse to let them
brainwash me

Does it look like I'm having fun?
Far from shore in midst of bottom shelf ocean,
Holding me by my edges, afraid I'm about to go off.

"Papa, you're a gun," you rattle off for your friends to hear,
"I feel so reckless with you by my side."

Clasping my edges tighter,
I dream of backfiring into a passing thought--
I dream of backfiring into good times--
lift up and into your purse I go,
with a zip the party softens to a buzz,
with a zip I cozy up to velvet darkness.

I gleam in the fluorescent light of a bathroom
and when you wrap your lips around my barrel,
it's you I want to blow off.
I look away when you find my trigger--
I look away, and pretend another's doing the pulling--
"Papa, you're a gun," you whisper especially for me,
"I feel invincible with you by my side."

You won't when you realize the chamber has gone empty.

every time i hear a poetess cite this subject i never think of Sappho, but i ought to, these are poetesses that really want the hetero realm to remain intact - it's heart-breaking to hear a woman say these words - you end up being the third party transformed into the second party and she the Echo to your momentarily engaged with Narcissus - the third party makes the frank gesture to compensate the open heart of the poetess... o.k., let's funk the **** like mimes touching invisible doors... an overly stimulated society in terms of *** when there are apparently too many people, or the evolutionary zenith fro category mammal to category insect is backfiring on us individually - and as science fiction predicted, we are telepathically ******* each other senseless, just like the aliens we've become on this planet, momentarily sober when an earthquake, a tsunami... a terrorist attack... otherwise there's been no attempt to for the military to become active dispersing a tsunami with bombs (Better Bombing Syria), or harnessing lightning (some sort of incubator magnet) - well, i have seen a girl get spat on in the face... you think i considered my mother being diagnosed as o.c.d. with help of specialists? i just get the feel for the place - not out of spite... the cats haven't had their nails clipped for a month... they're not petrified by the vacuum cleaner every day... they've become sort of abstract animate art... when the male castrato sings an opera before bedtime i become a nervous wreck... the beauty of the silence during the day, pretends to be a dog barking at night left out in the garden... even though he's inside on the windowsill in the toilet, and i'm on my windowsill in the bedroom smoking a cigarette.*

this poem just makes me think one thing:
so what's the problem
with female genital mutilation if
*** is nothing more than a conversation
between a mantis and her mate
rather than Zeus and Hera?
that's what it sounds like - ****'s sake -
i'm not that into Robert Frost
and Simon & Garfunkel to match-up
a counter argument for a need to talk in bed -
my grandparents slept like French kings -
each to his own separate beds -
one went to the other for the jelly-bean babies -
and when did the unrestrained
Oedipus complex become a debate on
mortgages with that famous: still living with
his mum - economics - not psychology -
the popularity of some theory always ends up
some macabre populist interpretation
by the better off, marginalisation of realism -
oh, here comes Sartre - you should ask him...
still living with my father -
and because of this i've made kangaroo jumps -
the atmosphere in the house is... serene...
the only female presence is a cat -
(she's away tending to her mother, another month
to glee in bliss) -
the house is cleaned only once a week, the food is made,
i just learned she could very well be diagnosed
with o.c.d. - does this look like Norman Bates
scenario to you? let me tell you, a woman with
o.c.d. can be worse than a woman with
h.i.v. - obviously i'm exaggerating -
i allow my father conversation about Irish fascists
on construction sites (foremen) - Irish fascists...
Irish fascists... leprechaun fascists... LEPRECHAUN FASCISTS!
she just tells him to keep it on the building site -
i'm more supportive of my end as homeless in a forest
than in a cosy home with a woman.

How horrible the plot
the hem, the haw
of the incessantly violent
torture ****
   How sad the politic
the row, the scorn
the media howl, the noise
the storm
           We are drifting in a sea
         of bobble head puppets
         backstabbing, mass murdering
         mask-faced tyrants
         and we are loosing the battle
         before it's even begun
            So go ahead now
         and trade in your votes
         sell off your rights
         buy a backfiring gun
            Because nothing is worse
         than trying to reverse evolution
         and you can't crawl back
         into the womb of your Mother
         once you've destroyed
         the primordial ooze
         of creation's lubrication
         for a dollar and a cheapened dream's
         inflation

The magnificent burden, of a gentle touch
could it be I care too much?
could my actions lead to distractions,
and wind up backfiring on me?
I long for you as far as the eye can see,
but does my own vision deceive?
Am I blinded by lust and confused by love
or do my words mean nothing
because my actions mean everything?
The only thing we can hold true to us,
is sight, and sound and taste and touch.
But what happens when I’m just too much?
Am I what you bargained for,
or were you hoping for something more?

I have given bits and pieces of myself,
to everything I’ve ever loved
and taken back the same.
But what happens
when you end up forgetting
why exactly these pieces remain?
Parts of me, aren’t apart of me
and apart of me is missing.
Seems to me, what’s left
is just a puzzle with history.

So will you take me
in all of my glory, and sorrow, and despair
or will you throw away the security blanket
and tell me what I don’t want to hear?
Don’t tap-dance through my tragedy,
and try not to console my wounded soul.  
Tell me what you feel and fear
and maybe, potentially,
you could fill this hole.

Forgive
biases,
backfiring
from
blurred vision,
racing
against time's
antithesis.

Strange feelings swim inside me,
confusing and alert.
Prodding me to make a move;
assume, affirm, assert.

Yet these tones only arise
within the realm of me.
I'm building solid structures
from only misery.

Misery imagined
Misery, elusive
Why do I question everything
being inconclusive  

Like happiness backfiring
scrutinizing itself
to pick apart perfection
and pity all the wealth

To find a problem buried
where graves have not been laid
and ravish in the thinking
I should be getting paid

I'll sit and whisper to myself
I should be getting more
of everything completely
as if love is but a chore

He tells me things I know.
The things my heart is saying.
Why does the mind escape the heart
all certainty decaying?

But he is right
and I am wrong
I love all of this man.
Expectation kills livelihood
He does everything he can

Overthinking hurts
when none of it is true.
We cannot build reality,
fake disappointment--brewed.

So holding hands with him
and I love you's ARE enough.
The feeling IS the knowing.
Uncertain, true and tough.

I hope he's wearing protection
As he ***** you over.

Hypocrites,
Loud trucks backfiring,
And poor choices.
I thought by the time you hit this age,
You would have ended your rebellious teen stage.
But I guess it's a permanent personality trait.

I have been shallow, I realize that now
Considering my impact on others first
Leaving the concerns of materialistic importance for myself.
In this double life I have been leading I have fooled myself
Trying to find reason to believe in others
I ignored that it is myself that needs believing in.

My critical eyes have become my enemy
Rendering me blind to obvious faults
Without knowing, I have trapped myself  deeper in their clutches
Focusing on disconnecting from my mind
Backfiring because I'm back in their world
Unintentionally, it's all I think about.

It's time to rethink my strategy
Take a refresher course on my mission.
Attempts to suspend the command unwanted have been countless,
And unknowingly, I have deserted control of the living, breathing, me.
I blindfolded myself, but still peered through the gaps
So I'm closing my eyes, and pray sleep stays for a while.

Keeping finger and thumb apart
That is the one connection we shall still share
But no longer will i try to believe in my two selves
No, I will start believing in the person
The being that my movements and choices will give effect and reward to.
Me, out here. Living and breathing.

The ghost of me will never cease to exist
She will float, and I will let her continue for a while.
Don't fret, my beloved enemy, I'll be back soon
A Wendy to this Peter Pan story
Returning with needle and thread to sew my old shadow to my feet.
But now, I'm flying, no, walking back home.
Farewell.

Grandma’s house was a hollow cinder block.
In the front yard stood a lone pear tree that bore blushing pink teardrops year round.
Every night magnolias bloomed like clockwork, pirouetting inside on light feet
to chase away stale sickness,
soothing us when Ông Cố barked at the rattling chain fence,
his voice walking with heavy coughs.

Even on New Year’s when we patted lipstick on our cheeks and mouths,
bright red like our silk dresses,
And danced in the cement front yard around spider web cracks.
He barked like an engine backfiring, frustrated and rusting from the inside out.
He was red too, all water and darkness.

We slept on woven mats atop concrete beds
inside a mesh shroud of Jupiter’s storm cloud.
Heat suspended over us, a bog of stagnation in the brick bathroom
breeding fish and algae, our bathwater aquarium in bloom with larvae,
mosquitoes never not pregnant and full of our blood.

Yet still we survived the nights and gathered to watch the morning sun
wide eyed, heads tucked in grandma’s soft lap,
chewing on our tear drops,
the yelling in the next room withering away.

Mrs Squires and Benedict
at the cheap hotel
in back street
off Charing Cross station

and she said
come on in
let's share this bath
and so he undressed

and there she was
in the water
waiting for him
and he climbed in

and sat opposite her
in the big bath
her shorter legs
between his

his longer legs
outside of hers
she lay back
her *******

sleeping puppies
her hands touching
his feet
come on

she said
don't be shy
and she tickled his toes
and tried to lift them

to her lips
he laughed
I see Percy's moving
she said

he looked at his pecker
rising in the water
needs a wash
she said

and that was that
and after in the room
by the noisy gas heater
in front

of the double bed
he dried
and watched
as she lay there smoking

her hair brushed back
her nightdress
covering her
and she said

wasn't the show good?
yes it was
he said
toweling his pecker dry

the dancers were good too
she inhaled
he studied her
wondered what

her husband would say
seeing her there
what he would have thought
of her bathing

with some young dude
in some cheap hotel
once he had dried
he put on

his dressing gown
and lay on the bed
beside her
and she offered him

a cigarette and lit it for him
and they watched
as their joint smoke
rose in swirling patterns

later
when the lights
were out
(except for the on and off

neon lights
from the street outside)
they made love
in the double bed

the springs going some
the gas fire hissing
like a box of snakes
and he thinking

of her husband
lying in some
other bed alone
with the lights out

and she thinking
of the best ***
she'd had in years
and more to come

and the on and off
neon lights
and somewhere
a gunshot

or car backfiring
and he wondering
what her husband
would say

or think
her having
a young stud
and a good lay.

The ringing of a telephone
A simple knock when I’m alone.
Someone just calling my name
And screaming seem the same.
A loud noise when I am sleeping,
Someone throwing open my door,
A car backfiring close by home,
The sounds of steps across the floor.

These are the normal sounds
The symphony of people living.
These sounds don’t normally
Carry terror along with the giving
Like someone living in a war zone
A place with mass invading troops.
They are isolated common things
Unless they arrive in huge groups.

Yet these things still bring me
A painful pounding in my heart
And it goes on for too long
From the moment it starts.
It is the gift of abandonment
Of childhood neglect and abuse
And is viewed by most adults
As ridiculous and abstruse.

But many survivors of childhood
Of threat and pain and fear
Will tell you the horror remains
After the passage of many years.
It has to do with the inner self
Being robbed of a basic trust
Of life itself by their care givers,
By God himself, if you must.

Because there feels a solid knowing
That truly, deep inside the child
There is nobody to save them
From creatures near and wild.
Nobody will come to rescue us
When the bad things come to bite
And everybody knows they come
In the deepest part of the night.

mama warned me about the missiles
whose streaks resemble
pasty fingers of thoughts with
ill intentions.

jawlines layered with grassy residue,
a time bomb—
tick tock ticking throughout
a timely test.

silly me,
sentimental turnstiles turned back in time and
an eruption of vivid green
internally bleeding.

melancholy magnolias blooming
behold.
shadows capture my
gentrified façade
in our yellowed mellowed atmosphere.

morning bells
delight the Sapphic sleeper,
but not
the creature of the night.

enchanted amongst
the vulnerable,

beautiful,
beyond,
belief.

citadels built from bedframes,
trailing magazines
of livid dreamers
and adolescent ideas—
not an isolated incident.

mama warned me about clasping wrists
and bruised collarbones
replaced with titanium plates.

dandelion fuzz fraught with
five o’ clock shadow,
a delightful daze—
distraction.

fluid familial instinct,
virtually incapable of
****** affection.

riotous, rugged, risky.
backbone crooked
rickety.

knuckles lined up in reverse
chronological,
no,
alphabetical,
no,
circumstantial
order­.

petrifying wisps of morning’s light,
sacrificial intents of starry nights.

bruised knees and white thighs
bruised words and white lies
bruised hellos and white goodbyes.

superficial daydreams
mistaken for junkyard radiators
and the little engine
that could not.

singing birds shot out of the twilight sky,
and the red rush of accomplishment
tip-toeing towards the truth.

skipping stones disturb
the salmon’s
cove while

my butterfly’s monarchy
is out of order.

mama warned me of backfiring cannons
with delayed reactions,
laughing at the purple pigeons
who can sing the swan’s song.

cyclical and cynical
cried the weary modem.
awe inspired anticipation
set against relations.

table tennis played
with a chocolate chip,

curled eyelash confusion,

and I can’t touch my toes.

mama warned me about big guns
that don’t fire,
about broken rigs
that insist you go higher.

a projectile clock haunts my memories.

forbidden animosity plagues
the higher order,
consistently screaming
take me! biblically.

a rocket launcher versus
your catapult,
a millennium of thought
discredited.

stained tablecloths of mutiny
and sin.

an uproar of the masses threaded
between frosty fingers, and
his lullaby?
her nightmare.
a song of Peaceful Persuasion.

mama warned me about loose ends
and splitting ties,
or was it split ends
and loose ties?

belligerent invitations disguised as
fruitful farewells.
a thought for the reckoning—
mistaken mothers made merciless,
warning bells, or
morning bells?

flawed and broken tattooed
on ivory skin.
ebony lost and confused,
cracks against its own nature

wind the winding wind,
explicitly innocent—
masochism foretold.

evergreen amongst the sunrise,
pitiful playthings
strewn across the floor.

****** screams
piercing my skin,
a call for help seldom answered—
tectonic plates.

**mama didn’t warn me with her words.

I knew what the outcome would be
But I still continued with my curiosity
Fate lying there like an invisible open book,
How I wish I could just take a little look.
I knew the path I took was hurtful,
Now I am the one who's resentful.
All my intentions backfiring on me,
I've tried so hard - can nobody see?
How can I move on with a chapter missing?
How can I let go when I only know how to hold on?...

©Maniba Kiani

Cataclysm at its finest is it?
Catastrophe galore
Crisis & calamity
Beginning of  
humanitys' war
Great nuclear holocaust,
Mother natures devastation
Festering with inhabitants of the era of degradation.
Where we are the parasitic infestation
numbly oblivious to backfiring ruination.
Our world is a gas chamber
with poison - being suffused & saturated.
A toxic wasteland for our toxic souls
heartless ghouls ought to be annihilated -
obliteration sounds tempting...
'mass suicide of this vicious nation'.
Black death couldn't quell us malicious beings
No virus contagion in existence ever would -
eradicate a species, this selfish & grim
Should we blow the world up if we could?
All the Atomic & Nuclear could be put to good use
Escape the mess we made & ignite the fuse
As the grotesque & gory go up in flames
vanquish every origin of mans evil games
Watch Earths inferno,
much better than Hiroshima or Chernobyl
Lamenting on the barren face of Mars,
Of the spectacle 'it' could've been but never will.

I unfold in the Summer.
I collapse, piece by piece
into myself

I stare at the ceiling for days,
else pace the floorboards
getting splinters in the soles
of my feet

I mix a drink over the plate filled sink, I don't take care of the basics.
Washing, cleaning...

I neglect it all. I stick to drinking gin from ***** mugs. I was drunk then and I don't think I've sobered up

a decade of paint striper and counting coppers, of wine soaked breath and flinching

sometimes I eat. Swelling my stomach with half baked bread. Too hungry to let it rise

I stand, stock still, under the moon. A whisper between man and man. A backfiring car. A memory...

it still hurts sometimes, when I move. So I wear cotton. Do fabrics have innocence? Do colours?

lemon and orange. No more siren red

(I spread)

He must have loved you, they say to me now. People only **** the ones they love

or the pretty ones

(and I am not a pretty one)

There's something alluring about
losing yourself in thought

I did that once, and found myself
falling in love
as dangerous and as reckless as it is
today my heart felt like pouring itself
filling an ocean of emotions

As I sat on the shore, seeing the space
in front of me fill itself with my feelings
I felt my color returning, my skin reacting
my heart has fallen
for life, for her, for him, for it
my heart decided to drug my mind
and let go for once  

Aching to ride with the rebels
to drink with the misfits
to dine with the careless
and to fall with the romantics
I decided to get up
give routine the finger
and walk out
with that satisfying mischievous smile
that I and only I
feel such elation
exposing it

I decided to swing like the olives
in a martini, in a haze of transparency
exploding with colors
as I smash from one edge of the cup
to the other

I feel all my blase emotions
relapsing, transforming, reacting
backfiring and stripping me
of things that killed me
aiming and shooting at them
with bullets of revival
bullets of excitement
that inject my muscles
with steroids
pumping them with whatever it is
that makes them human

what the f*%k is happening
this chemical reaction
after weeks of depression
is exactly what the doctor ordered
Scream, yes, do it

Let it start from your toes
let your body quiver as it makes its way
to your mouth
let your corpse feel the injection of life

Wake the hell up, no one is going to do it for you
rub your eyes, make your coffee
and change your commute,
You're not going to work today

You're going
to
scratch all that out
with a permanent marker
look forward
get your pens ready
this is going
to be
one ****
motherF#%king
CHANGE

here the sunshine patriot, bright and bleached –
they plucked the stars
to hang them from your chest. the rest are
gone, hidden by light pollution
and concrete skies.
your eyes reflect the blank face
of stopped clocks; steps from the car,
summer soldier.

but winter hides in
the cold metal of the trigger

a bang –
it echoes in fireworks, spatters the street with
blue white red red red.

the stutter of a gun,
or just a backfiring car?
sunshine man melts in a puddle of gaudy red,
the colour of sticky ice lollies
and patriotism.

here the newscaster, weeping tirelessly
for the camera.
“he was our country,” he says, and wasn’t he just?
back alleys and sunshine and
wanting to go back, wanting
to hide in the past.

and here the politicians, mourning loudly
into crisp white handkerchiefs. oh, how i wish we could
freeze time, draw grimaces in markers
on their painted faces
and watch them point fingers.
they use pretty words
heroic, or tragic
and pat their sweaty backs.

meanwhile,
sunshine man bleeds into the gutter
red white blue
the colour of freedom.

There are lies in the words
that scatter these pages
I want to be viewed as a poet
but creativity only flows with certain phrases

There lies a victim
in-between these lines
she misconstrues my conflict
and unravels my rhymes

Hidden agendas
to manipulate and deceive
wanting the reader
to identify with me

My attempts to impress
with beauty and grace
receive passerby glances
and a pie in my face

Backfiring motives
a shot through the heart
critique, the smoking gun
my ego blown apart

Although I have failed
I haven’t given up hope
there’s a victor pending
and it’s gonna be dope

_ listen to this ! so you want me to lay some answers, please state that you demand it
any specific font? Before I say I'm cancerous, wait I'm gonna hand it
to be specific I don't try to play badass, but mate you said you saw stampers that says I'm a bandit
I may be a pessimist, but I won't say I'm broken, not like break dancers, a bit late for first aid, this needs more than a bandage
many things on my wishing list, got to get a sword, I'm out attacking campers in a raid, take the hunting bate to make a sandwich
I'm over slipping the wrist, but I can't hold a knife, the hand tampers the body, some scars are hand made, I look at my face and I can't stand it
I'm stepped over by an elephant, rot and I feel like an old shape of wildlife, as my bravery scampers away like a puppy, it's a turtle race but I'm a handicapped rabbit
see I'm a mentalist, I'll unveil the untold stories of anyone's life,who am I ? I don't think it matters, but once I stayed on the red planet
I know my words seem irrelevant, I'm just cold inside, imagine that non of the bankers gave you a loan, so you stayed alone, crippled by hate, dying slow under your blanket
attention to my words, I'm the lumberjack to the rotten wood of my family tree, there's no heart cold as mine
detention never works on the thunderclap with his forgotten childhood, clapping happily in every political party, no cake for the minor pushed to start a career in the coal mine
tension when I mention that Karl Marx isn't the worst, people may wonder that I'm from the hood, but I'm actually worse than that the body and soul ain't fine
this invention is backfiring on his lords, like a finger snapped, no I'm not good, the legacy get ****** but no one follows me, and I can't find my role I'm ...


_so it seems that every time I pick the pencil
Everything I write has to suspenseful
You say it's hard, that's not right it's simple
I don't know it's just like popping a pimple
It's not that important, would it give me the life of Paris Hilton_


so what do you know about being broke, so broke that your body parts floats away in pieces
just to let you know I no longer feel like a human being, wishing for a heart stroke, and the peace is
_ death , it's easier than the things I'm seeing, but it seems far I'm gonna use my own rope, so help me Jesus
or I can meet Beth, she helps in my healing, I hope I can do it in some recess
mess and emptiness is the only things I'm feeling, note that I have a heart inside not just feces
_ **** and Molly percocets, are helping me agreeing, I thought it'll ignite the fire of will, but now I stand here as it freezes
_ ladies I don't like to shed light on me, probably you won't like what you'll see, most likely you won't like me cause the most is ain't like me, anyone likes tea ? In the ninja Turtles mentality I'm a mix between Donatello and Mikey, we're the same hight, man it's getting exciting, who wants something to do with the kid from pikes peak, he's slightly weird , but still he manged to grow a beard. Still do you wanna fight me, I just said I'm a ninja and my blades are spiky. Staying still but I might be dead, you'd probably wanna check my vital signs and the pulse in my neck, but don't bother I was diagnosed as a corpse clinically, I won't come back please don't beg there's nothing I can do technically
never give a knife to a criminal, tonight don't put the light on in your living room, act normal despite the bodies in the swimming pool, it's OK act like a fool when see me pushing stool off the wooden stool with a spoon under the light of the luminous moon, when I talked like  this  sounded cool, I never had fight in the  elementary school, I spent all the nights abiding rules, but others on the sight of opportunity would dribble and drool, alright this is enough to deliver the message, you didn't feel it it's subliminal


*you're just praising my talent
But I wish I never had it
Couldn't have anything else instead
But If I  didn't have it I wouldn't have something to spaz with
I got loose like a black panther now ain't that right Chadwick *

Do re me
_ so I'm just a wanna be
wanna be human ob-vious-ly
I don't know about hu-man-ity
but there's a less of a human left in me
I'd like it actually
_ if my blood would stop in my pulmonary artery
it's no urinary pathology
I just like to *** publicly
I'm just impolite right daddy?
the worst day in my life is when you had me
if wanna disgust me
you'd better pay me some money
_ it's hard to throw up with an empty
stomach but it's OK I can't feel my belly
and hey I'm not here to cause controversy
but ******* nursing
and please don't wait for an apology
play the violin my name has dropped, heading to the asylum because my songs on the stage has flopped, I'm a murderer hear the sirens it's not what for I hoped , I wish I could just caged it inside and then with it I could have coped
but it's amazing how the cops came to tase me, trying to place me on the ground of the hall, but I was trying to act the way they rased me please let me go,but why won't you place me, what would you name me literally a lunatic or generally crazy, go ahead amaze me

bigger things to broad
the pain is large
the happiness is small
how to find love in a world full of restless people
what do you do when you cant see the beauty anymore, but you know its there
metaphor is too much for my mind
being direct keeps backfiring
i hate it all

My V8 Haiku
         is backfiring
therefore missing
         one cylinder

Man
who am I to blame for living in the 21st century amidst wildfires and strikes and racism and homophobia and misogyny all thriving restlessly in broad daylight.
This is not a world I'd choose to live in
but I do and so what???

I'm 1 in 125
I'm a birch in an oak forest
Long story short - life ****** me over, but I'm alive

I come from nowhere
I'm native nowhere
which means wherever I go, I can't really say I'm home there
but I've wandered in my thoughts since I was little
And little did I know I was brought up to stir fiery coal in hell, that was a country of hypocrisy and those who lead it
I pray would burn in hell
but I come from nowhere
and I won't be joining them.

I purge myself out of poison every day
I know people talk **** about me behind my back - guess it's time I started backfiring **** at them.

One - **** my fake "friends"!
******* for smiling at me for show in group photos and secretly wishing I wasn't there.
I hope you know I washed my hands with tons of soap after every unwanted handshake
I reckon you knew I bled trying to satisfy you
paid all your debts, cleaned all your mess, made the world a better place just to get a silent thank you, hidden *******, we exploited you now scram!
Oh, how many "friendships" met their end because of that.
Because I unmasked posers who only cared about themselves.
But I stayed unbent
always true to myself
Counted down the days till I could sever the chain of gullible, future drug-taking hillbillies with rocks instead of brains.
I went to high school fervently hoping I'd find my place
I left high school in a blizzard of bitterness and deliverance.
I could count all the ingenuous smiles I wore, conversations I attempted to weave tired of standing there all alone.
But I won't squander my time on anything like that
That, I don't forgive and I don't forget.

Two - **** the government!
Won't drop names, not cause it's confidential, but cause I don't wanna flaw this page.
When the rightful president candidate lost by a few percent (by trashing his votes cause how in the hell?) a fragile beam of hope within me withered in its tragic end.
My dream of just future dried out anticipating rain, but all that dropped that fateful day were tears of regret.
I have no nationality
When someone asks me where I'm from I change the subject, cause it's better than the medieval ******* of a country I'm from, where even gaslight is subpar and I feel second hand embarrassment for those who dictate on.
I try and diminish that part about me.
That's pretty much how I've been dealing with inhuman laws and censorships arising. The hate of politics, it helped me carry on. Every time I almost jumped into conclusions about me
That maybe I misfit in this wicked world
I envisioned when they fall I'll be the first to clap for their monstrous loss.

**** the Church! I do believe in God and blissful afterlife for me
but I also believe that if they say a homosexual is an abominable disgrace to society
then I can reiterate aloud what others say about priests.
Get outta my hair, just like I got outta your lot and remember that you can kiss whoever you want.
**** the school system for making me learn things that flew straight in and out my head, like history of this country and if I could, I’d rather be born somewhere else.
**** the music industry since all it takes to win a Grammy is a preschooler-level written boring song about *** and a **** swinging between your legs.
**** fake equality and setting up people against each other. I'm a feminist and crave equality for us all yet when women call all men ****, where's equality after all???
**** courtesies like rushing to open doors, paying for someone cause it'd be rude not to or carrying their bags home from school. I treat everyone equally, no goddess or god, the way I'd like to be treated if I were another soul.
**** "family friends" who only babble about my ****** life, whorehouses and ******* every ******* time, like I'd rather sleep at the table than listen to your crap.
I envy my future self after having seen the faces of yours after I tell you what I think about you.
I tried to sweep you all aside and withhold my hatred inside
I've been trying frankly
In the world I crave there's my face carved into Mount Rushmore
Like Benjamin Franklin
I only want a good life for me and those I love
For now thought I scream:
FUUUUUUUUUCK!
I feel light as a feather hovering in a tranquil dream.
My resentment keeps me going
This poem is how I deal.