"leverage" poems
No no no, this isn’t one of those commendable confessional rants of redounded reality.
We all know where that goes and what it leads to.
This rhetoric comprises solely of the faulty intuitive comprehension and the ******** behaviour people have while under the influence of the poor man’s ****
That could be mistaken for a typo.
Xeno-meph, would be what aliens are called if they did this too.
Extended warranty of your sinus cavity is a must.
And a mouth guard so you don’t churn away at the capricious calcium that are your teeth.
Smoke and dance till lungs and legs collapse.
Talk like you’re the spokesperson for an oil company that’s pillaging life and land.
Change your personality in a minute and become the ****** you always wanted to be.
That smart talking, **** wagging, ***** licking, *** ******* back stabbing, self serving, worthless piece of **** is now you, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.
Rational ******** your only reprieve.
Keep doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hoping the outcome will change.
But you’re cool.
You’ve done this before, it’s solvable.
A break. That’s all there’s to it.
The itch in your nose has stopped. Your jaw doesn’t hurt.
You don’t feel like **** but you know somehow that something is amiss.
Things are not what they seem. Sense doesn’t make itself.
The dark is your sanctum. Fast is your peace.
That’s not a typo.
The world cannot slow down for you.
You have to speed up. Another gram, another line, another lie.
Control is what you say it is.
Handles are what your stomach has.
Fast forward a few months and you don’t have a handle on anything.
You don’t feel down, you feel fine. Nothing’s wrong
But just another fall, and you’re straight out of line.
Justify! Justify! Justify!
Listen, keep listening… Talk! keep talking!
Everything makes sense. Everything is a sense.
The difference is that I’m faster, quicker, sharper.
I’m handicapped.
Leverage is my mind, broken and blind.
I wish that was a typo.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
I just want to sleep
close my eyes
relax
then wake up in the sweat
of my dreams
from the murderer
swinging the axe across
my arm and amputating
the only leverage I had
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
Like modern day knights
we muster around a
table.
We don’t wear shiny armour
we wear suits that are 50% polyester
50% rayon.
Our jousting poles are have been
replaced with
nervously bitten biros,
and on a fuzzy screen the MD appears
speaking from a country where the currency is
colourful
but ultimately worthless.
His voice is delayed giving
and talks of mergers, leverage &
buy outs.
But I fade out like a ghost image in a propaganda film,
doodling hieroglyphics on a pad.
From the window I see workmen digging a
hole and I wonder will they ever reach China?
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
Refuse to follow
give in to your constant torture
cause more harm than intended
seek leverage and comfort in loneliness,
seek joy + pleasure in the rich's failure
I'm not weird I'm just trying to cope with my problems.
Seek pleassure from seeing my enemies guts shredded
hear them beg and plea
Do I bother you?
Yes, then it's working.
Happiness is the reason I despise Humanity
denying to conform to your mainstream ways
shut-up, shut-up, SHUT-UP!
There isn't that better
silence was always a friend of mine.
Hand me the knife now
I need to educate this inhuman
by making a few incisions
How else does one learn about emotion.
You need to shed to gain......
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
My questions go unanswered.
My words ignored.
My presence overlooked.
Myself invisible to the eyes of others.
In a sty of stench.
In her own ***** she is drenched.
The reason I crossed two states borders.
Pack rat hoarder.
Without organization of order.
Out lived my heart hesitated.
My life dictated.
By a **** "mom" who dominates.
Controlling with my child as leverage.
She holds us hostage.
In her cobwebbed hellhole of dust.
Mold, ***** stench, mildew, & rust.
She is no one to ever trust.
I have alot to complain about & fuss.
Neglected, unprotected,& disrespected.
Taken for granted & unappreciated.
Unknown but senselessly hated.
For love or friendship I waited.
No one ever asked me to be dated.
My life I lived & created.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
In an alternate universe,
the light would be more friend than foe.
I need not entrench myself
in the sturdiest foxhole...
The deepest burrow.
In an alternate universe,
shadows would not goad me
into submitting to leverage.
Spotlight would be on,
and I would take centrestage.
In an alternate universe,
the world would perceive
with magnanimous eyes.
With no malicious intent,
with no obscure motives,
all twisted and bent.
In an alternate universe,
I would readily reveal myself...
As an entity and not a martyr.
In my heart, there'll be no worry.
Because there'll be no fangs
amidst the jubilee.
Only smiles that would draw out
the best in each other.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 9:54 AM UTC
*at night you can spot him strolling the pavement,
the modern archimedes, with a bottle of bavaria beer,
using his cigarette lighter to detail the bottle cap
with one smooth use of leverage, as taught
by paul the ex-convict, the hopeful dub-step d.j.*
the 19th century had its pan-slavism,
but given there’s a union between the germanic people
and slavic people while mama siberia is
left behind freezing,
outside with the big bad wolves and bears -
having exported serious existential literature
of doom and grooming gloom to scandinavia,
the balkan slavs still uncertain, rejected in favour
of the bulgars and the romanians,
i can mention the northern slavic trans-slavism,
not quiet trans-gender, such a linguistic surgery of the soul
requires little details like:
my point was proved about the up-turned nose in england
concerning public intellectuals... they do great cornish pastry
and music anyway, let the french do the thinking
and find joy in it -
plus reading philosophy books
in english is like pulling your teeth out, standing in a bucket of
ice cold water with someone setting fire to your hair.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
curling up into all sweet confusions
that trickle down from
your touch,
we become the sky, as birds fall
from above. i lose
a tactician's leverage throughout
this fog; a descension
if you were the moon,
an aberrance,
if you were a single leaf,
dripping from this
tree coiling up to
the lights hung on
netted strings set under
the darkness of the sky,
where-ever you have been.
where-ever you are.
so,
do the stars still shine solely for you,
the nights you most need them?
perhaps i have
gone blind,
just when i need to see you,
more now than ever.
perhaps i've just
been sleeping
a little
too long, inside this cave.
does the sky still divide the sea?
but, undoing the buttons on your grip,
you build declensions on foundations
of realisation: with full authorship of
your motions, you know you could
go anywhere, love. you now know
away from i is any road, every treadmark
save this single one.
and mine is hardly treacherous,
but you'll still only find me in mountaintops,
so i could barely blame you if the path gets
too narrow, or too long-wound.
do the clouds still turn images
in full colour, late afternoon, to
remind you of shapes i imitate
in all fractured disappearances?
i've seen retreat from so
many sides now, the addition of
yours could
hardly make a dent. not that i
would not lament a loss like you,
more than anything.
yet, don't
worry, never
worry, i can still stay in motion.
still, if you see fit to
collect all broken pieces of me,
and build up this cottage, or nest, you can keep
your heart here long as
you like, darling.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
To Matthieu, my ex French boyfriend
I'm smoking my last
In an empty room
I will watch the past
Seal and shake my doom.
I'm breathing my last
As I crawl under
Under the thunder
Welcoming the blast,
I shall undergo
In an empty room.
And deeper I go
Deeper in the gloom
I'm looking around
Trudging on the ground
I have come to nuke
To repel and puke,
This mild monochrome
Displaying your smile
I will hate your isle
From Sparta to Rome
To grab your image
Your ****** leverage
Going far further
Than before earlier
The road down below
Is dangerous, I fell
Is painful and slow
The road out of hell
Will be bright and pure.
I did **** and mure
Your mild monochrome
And now to my home,
I shall soon return
Far from you lost love
Yes, is gone the dove
Your paper will burn
Ashes, melting fast
Burning monochrome
Blasted monochrome
I'm smoking my last
July 19, 2013
Chambéry, France
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC
High ground
I concede to you
in the disproportion of a time allotted to you
for the choice of robe to grace
a glorified cameo around your flesh
like a sheet designated for an overthrowing
in an honorary statue's unveiling
Liturgy is looming in the bathroom
already hot-boxed in the metal waterfall's
mist of moisture and the mountain range of bubbles
I have settled comfortably into in wait
High ground
awaits your hallowed prance
into the concealed languish of your man's
dangling imagination
I salute you with incentive
through a lowering of eyes made necessary
by your towering above my horizontal soak
I'm beseeching you to wield royal sway
over the humility of my reclined posture
with the hidden scepter of your body
fated to dictate the pace of my
anticipated knighting
The gentle thud of fabric on linoleum
incites a turning of my head to take in
the litany of parts available to my
frenetic feels and jumbled focus
Stationary in your naked smile of proximity
you extend to me excessive time to entertain options
as I coat myself in lukewarm opportunities
and rise to meet you for a bathing in my excess wetness
I accelerate my exit to negate the bubbled tribuataries
sliding to the floor to meet the remnants of your mystery
The wall is cold and you protrude
haplessly to meet the rapid chilling of my undried frame
Warmth is of the essence
Fingers split your hair in celebration
of our uniform heights and I feel you slouch
signalling our first hint of friction
and a twitch in my diviner of your cradle of essential warmth
Do you realize you now rescind creative license?
Or have you filled the snare of your intentions?
Now your balance shivers in the mercy
of my curled leg of leverage
and an coiled arm collecting your ambrosial attributes
like an ice cream scoop
Uniform heights allowing eye contact
makes optional the visual acknowledgment
of my elastic hunting in the smooth field of your breast
with a dancing thumb
I connect and latch onto what is now
our binding axis and shuffle eye contact
with the universal rhythm of a pelvic power ballad
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Lounging in a chaise
Soaking up warm rays
Peaches and cream
Hills of soft green
Come closer and whisper
"You are my living dream"
Sipping on devotion doesn't fill me up
Pour another drink into my cup
Sugar sweet beverage
The right amount of leverage
When the taste stays on your tongue
Lemon twisted love affair
Never did I have a care
Gonna leave you high and dry
This time I won't be the one to cry
Carnival lights and
Forbidden nights
Ruthless and reckless
Take me out for a drive
Dripping ice cream
"You are my daring delight"
Sipping on devotion doesn't fill me up
Pour another drink into my cup
Sugar sweet beverage
The right amount of leverage
When the taste stays on your tongue
Lemon twisted love affair
Never did I have a care
Gonna leave you high and dry
This time I won't be the one to cry
Stomach clenched into a fist
Pucker up for a sour kiss
No one to give you a warning
Pursued another the next morning
Bitter words inflict raw pain
"Your misery is my gain"
Lemon twisted love affair
Never did I have a care
Gonna leave you high and dry
Shriveled heart awaits to die
I won't be the one to cry
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
People say I'm obsessive, and I wholeheartedly agree. I'd die for a favorite artist, and I reread stories I like until I hate them. I force myself to love every song performed by "my band", to a point where I'm not entirely sure which of their tunes actually earned their place in my heart.
It brings to mind a modern-Hebrew term, "protektzia". It can be translated as social leverage, or "pull". Protektzia is when you are related to the administrator of an elite high school, or when you're friendly with the secretary of a sought-after doctor. It's as if songs walk up to me and say, "hey, I know I'm not that great, but I was written by so-and-so!"
All that changes when old Depression drops by. Suddenly, things I cared so much for are meaningless. It's like quarreling with a close friend. Although, I don't hate my former faves so much as scorn them, for being silly enough to exist.
Why does depression do this to me? Because depression is the drainage of passion. As a cow needs to be milked and a dripping air-conditioner needs a bucket, what are obsessions if not an outlet for the passion contained in the heart?
But neither are necessary when the cow is dead and the AC off.
Thankfully, depression to me is a mood rather than a condition, and so I host frequent reunions with my beloved idols.
You are all invited!
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
Listen closely and hear our collective vernacular in a state of constant mitosis.
Live and see our language begin to rival our own complexity.
A myriad of inter-connecting word highways with more twists,
turns and travelers than that of any physical road.
A body of thought massing in our collective conscious,
an infinite man-made addition to our finite physical reality.
Every addition is another color, another taste,
relative to the user in enunciation,
becoming ever less limited by geography.
Emotion attaches and tints the tone of individual words as we grow with age.
Without it enabling us to define ourselves, we are left ignorant and insular.
Memory accumulates casting a shadow and adds depth,
communication cultivating perception to leverage change in corporeality.
Pulsating slang spreading locally with fresh life to be globally colloquial.
A wordsmith may use this power to celebrate
or condemn their perception of reality,
more still- will wield words like plowshares
and escapism flourishes with such an expansive field
where all of humanity is brought out to play.
And sometimes-
for me,
it is just barely enough to grip a word with impunity.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 9:11 AM UTC
✨✨
***Life
Listen
Learn
Lean on
Lesson
Leverage
Love
Live
Loop***
✨✨
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
i. My mother's elbows. They
are too sharp and they twitch
in the direction of your ribs
when you invade
her personal space.
ii. Needing anything too much. Cutting
or writing or even
my own friends.
iii. Fast rides down mountains. I
remember each one, looking
out the window, wondering if
tonight was the night
finally we would go
plunging over the tiny
railing.
iv. Gangs of little kids. Don't
tell me they don't know
what they are doing. Children
are cruel.
v. Metaphors of fists raining down
all over your body. I'm
sorry, I cannot listen
to your metaphors, when
they make my skin tingle and
my hackles raise and
my heart play out the dance
of old fears.
vi. Anyone having leverage. Too
many times, showing caring
for a thing has seen it
confiscated. Also, anyone knowing
I care at all.
vii. Discovering that the scars gifted
to me are not healed and
long car rides and
her elbows and
cruel children and
impending addictions and
openly loving and
your metaphors make
me bleed along
old fault-lines.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
I gave you everything
All that I could give
I tried to make you happy
Tried to help you live
You constantly spoke of your misery
And it sounded so much like my own
It struck me to the core
Your pain made my soul groan
Because you know that I know
Exactly how you feel
What you also know is that
Your pain was leverage so I would kneel
You knew I would kneel before you
And lay everything I had down
My heart, my love, my innocence
Just to reverse your frown
You knew how to get inside my head
With your **** sociopathic ways
Using your words and your afflictions
So that I would be swayed
Swayed into love,
where I fell deep.
Swayed into your bed,
where I wish all we'd done was sleep
But know I sit and ponder,
I lay on my own and weep
Because of all the lies you spoke
You've plunged your knife quite deep.
I hope those other girls were worth it
And I hope they don't fall like me
Seeing someone else go through that
It'd be quite awful to see
My only hope is that some day
You will understand.
Understand what you did to me
See that it was by your own hand
That I was destroyed, crushed, deflowered
Now I will never love again
Because you are a wolf in sheep's clothing;
Funny, since you said you weren't like "them".
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
Maggie threw a weak left jab at the upper torso of Jacob to throw him off balance and swung hard with her right arm towards his exposed left cheek, connecting her small fists on his flesh with such impact that it immediately began to swell up. He retaliated with a well placed right hook to the side of Maggie's arm that sent her moving sideways before she regained her footing and answered back with a succession of jabs to his midsection.
Sweat poured down both of their faces mixing with the blood from cuts and bruises that both had received in one of the earlier bouts. They were now in the sixth round and neither showed any determination in losing.
Jacob brought his right leg up for a straight kick towards Maggie's stomach but she caught his leg and rotated it clockwise knocking him off balance and falling chest first to the mat. Maggie attempted to a heel lock but could not gain enough leverage to lock it in and Jacob slipped out of her grip and got back to his feet and shook it off. Maggie snarled thru her mouth guard and spun around with a roundhouse, catching her foot just short of hard enough on his left calf, sending numbness up and down his leg. She went in for a double leg takedown but was caught off guard when Jacob raised his right knee and connected it with the left temple on her head. Her vision began to go hazy and she swung wildly with a left and then a right before she was able to shake the cobwebs clear and see him throwing a straight, hard, and fast right squarely at her face.
She ducked less than an inch before his fist would've met the bridge of her nose and she came up with her fists balled tightly in an uppercut and landed on the bottom of his jaw sending him reeling backwards and losing his balance he fell on the ground. Maggie rushed over and got on top of him in guard position and began raining down lefts and rights to his face which he was blocking. She threw a few shots at his side causing him to arch into a kidney shape and bring his arms away from his face. Maggie grabbed his left arm and went for a Fuji armbar and locked it in tightly, feeling the joint of his elbow bending sharply on her pelvic bone. She arched her back harder, tightened her thighs around his arm and twisted the upper portion of his wrist to the left until she felt the familiar feeling of a tap out on her legs. She released the grip and stood up, ****** bruised, sweaty, but not beaten.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
....as the lights dim, from deep within, I ask our lord and savior "where have I been?"
Have I walked a path of good? Have I formed a way of resent? Have I learned to be selfish? Have I lent a hand to a old friend?
I don't smoke anymore but I feel so high
It's like the air is laced with hallucination, blurred visions through my eyes.
Crazy by surprise, I've already lost my ignorant mind
To place judgment on a man, simply because he was blind
As I picked a black rose, representing someone had died
Who died? It was me! Myself! And.. I..
reincarnated
I know it's all in a matter of time
I will see him again, you'll be my lost road with all the signs
That point in my direction, teaching me lessons, of confessions that helped free the soul inside that grab hold of a message...to be at your lowest point and change it all wih wishful leverage, while the drought of poetic thinkers simply thirst for a inspiring beverage. (WRITERS BLOCK!)
Drink away your fears, take shots for the pain
Support your own mistakes, stop looking for someone else to blame
Indecisive actions never lead to good, your hesitation only leads you to pain.
See me as a sky high, dry eyed, ironic angel with a dark side, who won't hide cause he wants you to see his story from his side, with no lie, as I sit down and get my...thoughts, all back together
Gambling on my self awareness, hoping my optimism will make things better.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
12/24/2013
Sitting at the bar.
A man approached me with the line, "you have beautiful eyes."
A simple *** object he made my eyes
a device to leverage me into bed.
How cute.
I said Look into my eyes.
Tell me do you see hues of green and the most beautiful brown bestowed upon my body?
I call them Hazel.
as if they had a name for human pieces of flesh filled with blood.
Filled with the anger, Filled with rage, and Filled with envy which accompany sorrow.
But search further through my furrowed brow and you'll find no regrets even in the deepest depths of my iris and its solitude.
These eyes have seen themselves in the mirror.
Faced with a ***** reflection but don't blame the fragile glass surface with smudges and stains until it shatters.
You can't clean Hazel's ***** soul.
judgmental stares.
***** eyes. **** eyes.
Eyes that have been buried in armpits and stared deep into an *******
Relentlessly unforgiving in his shallow stares,
Hazel was once so pure.
Eyes with a spark ready to ignite flames of fun now
Burnt to a **** crisp.
But you,
You with your drink in hand,
trying to pick up a trick for a quick.
You fueled the fire.
You burned down the bridge and led Hazel to walk off the cliff.
You killed my eyes.
My beautiful beautiful dead dead eyes.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 5:28 PM UTC
I was my fathers prized possession. The finest piece of pottery He had ever crafted.
He worked on me until His hands were pruned.. Until the smell of clay seemingly became His scent. He molded and molded until I was perfect. In His eyes.
He placed me on the top shelf and marveled at me every day and every night.
But His neighbor was overcome with jealousy... At how I glistened at the top of the mantle. At how I gleamed in the sun in all the right places.
You see, on the top of his shelf, lay nothing but dust.
So surely, I had to be destroyed.
In the thick of the night, he stole me off of the mantle and marveled at my greatness.
He brought me back to his place and stuck me in the darkest of rooms.
So that light would never be able to shine on me again.
He spun me on his fingers, no delicacy in his touch.
He tossed me up and down, mocking my beauty.
Day after day I was plagued with the imminent thought of destruction.
Overridden with depression.
I cried out to my potter, and when the thief heard, he ran into the dark room and bellowed "no one will help you", picked me up, and threw me against the ground.
Pieces of me shattered in every direction, strewn against the floor of the enemies house.
My insides, corrupted with sin from all the time collected in this place were brought forth.
All I could hear was the wicked laugh taunting me, exclaiming "who could love you now"?
Then suddenly a light shone in my face, something I hadn't seen in years.
Every broken piece of me looked up and saw my potters face, with tears rolling down his cheeks.
He began to pick me up in an attempt to put me back together...
Abba!! I cried! Your fingers! They will bleed!
My daughter, he replied, I have one hole in each of my hands!! My love for you has endured much more than a few scratches upon my fingertips!
He continued to piece me back together, not missing a beat, not missing a piece.
He shielded me from the looking eyes of judgement, bearing the stripes on His back for leverage.
Abba!! I cried out again, can't you see all of the sin that filled me?! I am no longer perfect! How can you love me?
I understand your sin, my daughter! in it, my grace is perfected! You are my creation, you are my reason! Upon making you whole again, I will not put back your transgressions!
He finalized the touches, not missing one piece.
He wiped my face, not missing one tear.
He renewed my heart, not missing one beat.
He carried me back home and presented me in His name to his Father.
Took His seat upon His throne and placed me on the mantle, right by His side, letting his glory shine on me.
He smiled and said "welcome home, my daughter, welcome home."
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:11 AM UTC
I long for what I’ve never known: a word
that captures the foreign feels of speech surging
from my throat, the ways they shake and crack with
fury and failure as I break away
from the safety of silence, in jagged
and fragmented sentences–I’m desperate
to seize meaning, trying words like puzzle
pieces, I’ll force them to fit together
to form the spaces of pieces missing.
My greatest fear is to be incomplete.
And I’m constantly reminded of this
over coffee-talk and shared politics
as I recoil shyly in forced defense
of each vowel, and every consonant
and the myriad of their constructions:
they are stuck behind my eyes. I am left
apologizing for my vagueness and
for the grey shades of embarrassment and
finite language–when a dictionary
is never a long enough read for the
lone, longer walk around the circumference
of my head–or any red eye flight I have
ever caught that takes me from thought to thought:
the moving belts of baggage claim don’t
have to tell me of the luggage I lost.
As possessions were plucked from circuitry
I clung to the emptiness as if it
was mine and took it home as leverage.
I write in circles ’til I’m motion sick.
I write myself into thought-asylums
where silence is another language:
a slow germination of roots lacing
down the bell-curve of my spine.
A foreign tongue, An othered alphabet.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 4:58 AM UTC
*** should not be Bait
nor means for leverage;
*** should be expressive
of deeper spiritual tides.
Maybe it's just me
and my romantic philosophy
but I'm sick of this complacent disedification;
all this living for selfish instant gratification.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
A poem is like a naked person,
That needs redemption and mercy,
And every expression to impress,
And comitted like a press.
Every expressions are specious,
And rhythms ostentatious,
Poets with their dulcet lips,
Giving vulnerability to your hips
Poets use one's Achilles' heels as
Leverage,
With many diction and language,
Their words can't be insipid,
So they play the cupid.
Poets seems complaisant,
Tantalizing those counts,
She said poet are killers,
But they claim to be healers.
Poets take their hyperborical expression
To the peak,
Making all your bones weak,
She said Poets are liars,
Oh! Poets are murderers.
Poets will make your soul tremulous,
With those words, sounding mellifluous,
Poets take you to the imaginary world,
Perhaps with just a word.
But Poets change their environment,
Releasing the truth from its confinement,
Chastising the revolts and destroyers
With mere pen and paper.
But she wouldn't agree,
Not to any degree,
She said Poets are liars,
Oh! Poets are murderers!
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
I remember
When a the word relapse
had A meaning .
When I’d Explain what it
Meant so you can be aware.
Told you what tempts me
What are some triggers.
I Expected You to
View it as a 911 call.
To help me when I’d fall.
You never payed mind
To the importance of it.
Just like you Didn’t think
Telling you I had an addiction Was something that bad.
I remember when
You Made your own definitions
To all the words I’d tell you.
I’m the one struggling
But you always made yourself the victim when it was me who needed attention, apologize, comfort & to support me.
Temptation & triggers
Have no meaning.
You never cared to look after me.
It wasn’t something you’d have to be 24/7 about.
You never questioned your negative actions & how that’ll provoke me.
You never cared until
A Relapse
Meant I Used because
I wanted to get high.
Finally You show importance.
Not in the way where your concerned if I’m ok & hoping that hit didn’t cause harm.
Concerned to where you stood by my side & talked on why it happened & what can we do to prevent it again.
instead , a relapse means
Talking **** to me , making me feel bad , blaming me, making yourself feel like I betrayed you
Feeling so angry saying I don’t love you & love that more.
You abandon me & go m.i.a
When you were the cause of why i couldn’t handle feeling hurt etc
I remember when
Relapsing made me feel guilty & so bad because I failed you & disappointed you.
I remember When
I’d tell you I’ll never be honest on my sobriety , confess or hand over paraphinillia .
For me to do the opposite of what I swore I’ll never do.
All because it killed me to lie & hurt me to see you stress your mind on doubts if I’m clean or not.
All For what ?
For you To talk **** to me when I confess about relapsing, for you to call me drug addict & insult me calling me Druggie tweaker etc
When I’d Hand you things
Etc
Me Being honest to you & open with my recovery only
Damaged me more.
What I gained wasn’t support.
It was money being thrown at my face telling me to go get high.
Calling me drug addict in many insult full ways.
You made a joke out of
my struggles.
You’ve never been there for me.
How far the meaning & value of relapse once meant.
A relapse now means nothing to me when it comes to you.
Being true to you
Only back fired.
You use it as leverage
To insult me more & have negative things to reply.
“I wouldn’t know, you kept
it from me before” etc
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC