Monday, January 2, 2017

Inspiration.

I tried blogging. I hated how it made me feel. I don't give a fuck about your parenting tips. I knew you didn't care about mine, either.

I thought I wanted someone to read what I wrote, but that's wasn't it. I wanted someone- anyone- to read what I wrote and feel something. Feel empty, feel whole. I just wanted a genuine reaction.

I went all year in 2016 trying to find what would make me happy. I can't write when everything around me made me a miserable cunt. Yeah I know, deep emotions and depression can fuel great writing. However, I genuinely felt nothing. It wasn't like I could formulate a sad poem that would move you to emotion, it was as of my life was in grey. It was monotone.

I changed jobs. Twice. I found where I'm supposed to be; Long term care for seniors. I spend quality time with those most people consider broken. Specifically, I'm in life enrichment. Ive worked memory care, ive worked assisted living, and now I'm in skilled nursing. I have always loved working with seniors, especially those with memory or cognitive challenges. I find them amazing, interesting, and strong.

I spent time with family. I was selective with my battles. I did things i never do, even though my anxiety wanted to kill me for it.

Now that I feel like a person again  (at least in some ways) I feel I'm ready to start the process of a novel.

This novel has a name: Pineapple.
It's going to be fiction, based on a true story. A brief descriptiom will be provided by the end of the month. I'm hoping all of my character outlines will be done this month as well. I'll set up a social media for it, so you can follow the progress. I think it's a worthy tale, and I'm excited to share.

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

wounded




a few words escape from the hole in your face
and my brain forgets the track that it was racing on

i had a list for you
a list of things i had told myself i didn't deserve
i had organized them and labeled them in my mind 
rated by importance

i had a strong argument and
i knew this time you would hear me
and you would understand 
the liquidation of my broken soul that was pouring
out of my mouth
i just knew you would

but you didn't
and i think i'm addicted to the dissapointment
i wonder if i'll ever know what it would feel like if---

no time for that kind of thought.
it'll only lead to more hoping
and more dissapointment

yet i hold onto you
like you're covered in gorilla glue
i hold onto the thought that
maybe one day you'll hear me

because the voice in my head has been screaming
for so many years
screaming to tell you that you're mean
that you're not welcome here because you know how to wound me

and that voice- it knows why you do it
the voice understands why you're so mean
so when those words spill out of the hole in your mouth
she sits back and says "he cant help it, he just cant hear you"
and she withdrawls
she surrenders
and i do too