The Salt From Tears

THE SALT IN TEARS

Tears are important, too.

When I travel down a deep dark tunnel into a fathomless black hole of despair, I rely on my tears to remind me
I’m still a soul,
sitting in a body,
feeling sad right now.

Tears anchor and tether me; both are equally salvationary.

The Tragic Life of a Leaf 🍃 🍁


The Tragic Life of a Leaf

You start out green and new, as a brand new shoot, nurtured by a Loving Mother Tree, and surrounded by lush, growing sibling leaves all
In relative, naive Harmony.
You mature and grow into The Most Beautiful Version of Yourself, peaking a little too early, given the length of your Life Cycle.

After you’ve served Your Purpose (you were never told what it was), your kindly mother turns on you;
Once she nurtured you, watered you, and warmed you by sunlight.
You were whole and thriving and complete.
Now, She cuts off these vital nutrients.
All of a sudden, you’re given no light, no food, no water.
And no answers about WHY.
Your sibling leaves are going through a similar situation,
So they are of very little use to you.
Frankly, they’re every bit as confused as you.
You slowly starve and dry up until you’re officially “desiccated.”
Then, the Mother Tree drops you.
The winds of change blow you onto a completely random path,
forcing you to intermingle with leaves you don’t even know,
Making one last splash as “fall foliage,”
Which you don’t even enjoy because you look so differently than you did in your prime , you barely recognize yourself anymore.

The next thing you know, you’re 5 miles down the road, in a Stranger’s yard (not even a nice one),
Being raked into giant piles and stuffed into suffocating black garbage bags,
Kicked to the curb to ferment a little while, and then
Carted off by some rather grubby-looking men to be burned and cremated.

By that point, you welcome it.

BATTLE SCARS: GBD, Cold Entree

No dessert today; too much time sweating in a hot kitchen.

BATTLE SCARS

I’ve fought in many wars
And I’m deeply scarred;
I’m always decked and hurt
And don’t possess Night Vision
Sharp enough to see nighttime stars.

Yet I Won’t Go Down
Without a Fght;
I’ll be carted off dead
Or walk away with my life.

But should I die and You decide
To take MY Life into YOUR Hands,
Just to later hand It back to Me
(Generous YOU, but Ownership ME),

Should I be Grateful?
Or should I be Hateful?
YOU tell ME what I should be.

I am Both,
Wholly and Equally.
My battle’s were hard,
And so are my scars,
But it’s Magic versus Tragic
When Scars turn to Stars.

“FEELING SORRY FOR YOURSELF”

“FEELING SORRY FOR YOURSELF”

Chances are, Most People who feel sorry for Themselves aren’t doing so out of pathological Self-absorption.

Rather, most are probably doing it because Nobody felt sorry for Them when They needed Someone to.

And/Or They didn’t extend the appropriate sorrow to Themselves when They needed Someone to.

HAVE A GIANT PITY PARTY if that’s what you Need to do.

Somebody probably needs to cry for a very reasonable, Age-Appropriate Reason.

CRY, BABY

CRY, BABY

Anyone who says
“You shouldn’t Cry for Yourself”
Is a big fat liar.

You should cry for all ages of Yourself if you need to.
I know it sounds hokey, but it’s actually very freeing once you get past the embarrassment of it.

The thing is: there’s nothing to be embarrassed about!

Welled-but-unshed tears are painful energy with no place to go.

If you don’t allow your body it’s natural response,

Your Body will cry for YOU!
Your soul will weep for you,
People will gnash their teeth at you,
And ultimately,
Your heart won’t beat for you.

I should know;
First-hand experience,
Multiple times,
All counts.

HER CONSUMING MISTAKE

My Softer Side has been spent,
Ejected and Torn from me;
Completely rent,
Ripped, empty, hollow, gone.

Once gladly I gushed on and on
And on and on.
Are my bursts and fits and starts
Of Joy missed by Some or Anyone?

Or am I The One who got it wrong
For far too Short
And Way too long?
The one who Sang the same old songs
Hesitantly; her voice not strong?

Once Bright against Life’s Monochrome,
Now concealed, she Fades to Gray
And Color is the Distant World
Whose distance is so very long;

Far Enough to make its
Occasional Occupations
Available To Girls
On Lists
Pared to be spare,
Sparse, and dense,
Condensed, Abridged;
Basically “not long”.

First of all:
This is Wrong.
Secondly:
Who belongs
In Homes which house a Girl
Dropped by All and
On her Own?

Lastly, did she deserve her Drowning?
Her Public Downing?
Into Gutters, where
Parts of What She Used To Be
Cough and Sputter;
The Only Bursts of Life Her corpse,
Which rots itself of Flesh and Bone
To sound the News;
The Final Rattle Shaken
And Death the Victor in this Battle?

Her Precious Essence was Stolen, Taken
Forcefully, leaving Her Remains Undiscovered;
Essentially forsaken,
Left to Catch the Tears Alone
That signaled she was breaking.

No Saviors Saved,
All certain she was faking.
Her Flaws like fleas, All could see
Hopping, Jumping, Raking,
Dragging her against hot coals
For reasons of mistaking
SELF-Concern for Her-Concern:

THIS Mistake,
In the End,
Consumed HER for ITs making.

The Dividends of Vulnerability

THE YIELD OF VULNERABILITY

I prefer to pen thoughts painfully,
Shine a Beam Internally,
In my search to Find in Me
Ghosts lurking Hauntingly.

Plagued by the Poisoned
Parts, Our Hearts
Were Forced To Feed and Eat;
Wounds opened non-surgically
Flood facts Indiscriminately,

Hoisting Pain On YOU From ME,
Always or Temporarily.
It’s worth the Cost:
“Expensively Vulnerable”

Pays Returns Quite Handsomely;
The End Result Astoundingly
Clears my Slate and Sets me Free
Of Forced Expectation

Regrets, Forgets, and Lapse of Judgment
The Only Fly in THIS Fly’s Ointment
Oft-pronounced; to all announced
Flies of Flawsability
I owned them all so selfishly.

My heart now holds Ready Stores
Of love I’ve searched my whole life for:
Why’d I’d never look inside before?

The Time I spent on Introspection
Burning back through Much Reflection
Invite Hopes I hope not Jaded,
Too Sun-Bleached or Over-Faded;
Pay Any Price for Inner Peace
With dividends long promised
Me;
My Investment? Self-care-ish
Time I Spent on Therapy.

The Biggest Yield is
I’m free to Feel
And Self-Reveal
What Conceals
Within my poetry:
It Shines a Beam
As Friendly Monsters Kindly
Split the Tab ‘twixt YOU and ME.

CUT OUT FOR SCHOOL

NOT CUT OUT TO SCHOOL?

Mother’s Day is always hard for me, as are most holidays. Especially since the Joy of these occasions is multiplied by Loved Ones, and I have so Few left to Love.

Mother’s Day is a Double-Whammy because, even though we’ve all HAD Mothers, we’ve not all BEEN Mothers. And folks tend to forget that on Mother’s Day. Or at least they did when I went to church every Sunday. All those red roses handed out to Mothers? After YET another failed IVF or miscarriage? I recall Sundays as a Funhouse Mirror, distorting and exaggerating all I didn’t have.

Even Fathers Day is Still Bad, what with the ABUNDANCE of Horizontal and Vertical departures – at least on THIS runway. Yet somehow I’m always Left holding the bags.

I’m not saying “Bah Humbug” to Mother’s Day and ALL Holidays FOREVER. I suppose. What I am saying is that Holidays are just Regular Days now, remarkable only by the EXTRA Heaping of Grief they serve up.

Too frequently, I feel like I’m stuck on an underwater tree limb, the Rest of Humanity and Vitality having swum past Me DECADES ago. And taking no discernible note of my Dilemma.

Yet I persist in floundering my way into circles around that damned tree branch, idiotically thinking I can catch up.

I guess I wasn’t cut out To School.

_________________________________

(Photo by @chn.photography)

BALD, BARE, & BROKEN

2006

BALD, BARE, & BROKEN

For years I spoke about my breasts,
Such Talk I now hold close to chest.
I wrote for the whole WORLD to see
Of How They Served to Ruin Me;
Their invites to The Dark Disease
Opened all doors permanently
For Death to come and gloat at me.
I keep Such Talk more private now,
Perhaps it helps me Cope somehow?

RACING THOUGHTS & New Disclaimers ♨️

I’ve just lived a Month of Hell I don’t understand and for the first time recently, haven’t had the words to describe. But I want to try.

The last 3-6 weeks (I can’t remember) have been a Giant, Extended, Protracted Clusterfuck of Epic Proportions. On a Daily Basic. Comprised of the following Ingredients:

1. The Daily Trifecta of Physical Mental, and Emotional Anguish.
2. That Damn Oral Surgery: the additional pain, the inconvenience, the EXPENSE, CVS and other Mosquitoes, the recovery period, the healing period, the waiting for the next phase, the fact there IS a Next Phase,
3. Going from February to July, at least where I live, brought my favorite Wardrobe Season, Mild Winter, to a screeching halt with As-Yet-Unworn-But-Recently-Purchased clothing Making Eyes from my closet; who knows if they’ll Wink at me next year? Also, the abrupt and drastic change in temperature has been hell on ONE of my pains: an exceptionally rare and therefore un-researched disorder, Erythromelalgia, or “Man-on-Fire Disease.” Let’s leave it that for now; I don’t want to burn you.
4. THE COMPANY: Profound Loneliness, Static Aloneness, A Despairing Sense of Pointlessness, Pissed-Off Self Loathing, Absence of Invitations, Unwillingness to Extend Invitations, Inability to Accept or Extend Invitations, Unfounded but CONVINCED Ugliness, Too Much Time But Nothing To Do, Wouldn’t Do It Anyway, Profound Sorrow, Regret!, Ghosts from the Past, Abject Misery, Fear of My Future, Inability to Cope with the Present, Paralysis,, Growing Emptiness, Social Anxiety, Agoraphobia (home both caste and prison of my own making), and therefore:

ZERO KARAOKE.

I NEED a weekly fix of Karaoke to handle the Slings and Arrows of my Outraged Fortune.

The good news is I FINALLY sought self-care by Undergoing Transformation of both Upper AND Lower Nails on Wednesday. All 20 are now Bulleted and Shellacked in Deluxe, Upgraded Red Glitter and Reflecting in Top Coat. How’s THAT for “Spring Color?“

I’m still not feeling great. But at least the Racing Thoughts in My Head are
Lovingly Whispering:

Karaoke Tonight?

(Gracias for the photo, @thenixcreative)

♨️ Is My New Disclaimer for Very Foul Language and/or Sexually Explicit Talk

There is Virtue in Suffering

There is Virtue in Suffering

Pain Resides in Us and we can’t escape ourselves despite our noble and ignoble institutions, substances, activities, behaviors, distractions, and sundry other coping behaviors to help us do so.

All immersion in suffering-displacing techniques TEMPORARILY displaces Pain, but by displacing Pain, we’re also displacing Self-Acceptance, which I believe is the seed which grows into the Giant Redwood of Joyful Wholeness. I’m not OFFICIALLY sure because I’m not there yet!

I do want to clarify: when I talk about Pain I’m talking about Feeling Pain vs. Painful Events Occurring in a person’s life. If we survive both of them, we come out Overcomers or Victims, respectively.

I think I decided to allow Pain to have its way with me when I got sick and tired of being victimized by what felt like was Everybody, Everyone, and Everything. I was living my entire life in the Adult Biped Version or the Human Fetal Position. I don’t know that I’m NOT now.

But at least I KNOW IT, HAVE PROCESSED IT, AM WORKING ON IT, AM WRITING ABOUT IT, and AM SHARING IT.

By doing all of these things, I am bursting my bubbles, dashing my hopes, tarnishing my image, shattering my ego, losing my dreams, disappointing others instead of myself, burning my bridges, clearing my slates, starting at zero (zero is delicious), beginning again, growing into, becoming, expanding my options, opening doors, breaking ceilings, running deep, running low, running high, running new, and STARTING OVER.

At MY age!! And with all of my wretched disgusting awful brokenness, I STILL can’t believe how wonderful the person I’m turning into is becoming! I know it sounds corny, but when you’re not running away from yourself, you realize you’re not so bad. Maybe you’re even pretty amazing.

Thanks to Everyone [SO much] for going on this journey with me❣️ I honestly think it’s very brave of you.

Though Grace 🌞 has always been here, and she’s still alive to tell about it!! ♥️

ALSO: I know I’ve mentioned it before, BUT IN CASE ANYBODY MISSED IT, Everyone DOES realize I’ve written the ENTIRETY of this blog with my Right Thumb on the WordPress App on my IPhone 12 Mini, Right? I’m blind, dead, and dumb because of it [yes, I said “desd”], so hopefully you’ll excuse any typos.

GASP OF AIR

Death claims all the Victory
In this life given to me.
It owns the very parts of Me
Which mingled with One’s chemistry
To build a brand new entity,
Just to have him ripped from me.

Who was the enemy?
My own womb, specifically
Betrayed us all, ejecting
This tiny piece of Humanity.
Scrap to you? Not to me.

I still ache longingly
To nurse and cradle this piece to me.
Twenty years and constant suffering,
More Death than Life if you ask me
Since his and fellow siblings’ lives
Were deemed by Someone “Not to Be.”
And Mother never made of me.

What rules for such a Tragedy?
No One knew, apparently.
All Baby Bumps avoided me,
As if my full-term “inability To carry”
An unspeakable disease
Which could be passed contagiously.

Alone, I bear their Memories;
Always My Responsibility.
Now I’ve become too fatigued
To honor them effectively;
They only Live in Memory.

I’m not too proud to beg your sympathy.
I’ll even make this plea upon my knees:
Would you be willing, Momentarily,
To hold my children in YOUR hearts
So I can breathe?

Scared of the Dark

I’m a big blusterer.
I pretend I’m willing to GO DARK.
But the truth is:
The Only Darkness in which I can See
Is a Darkness
Where I’m the only Victim.
To Imagine
A Darkness that
Devours the Weak
Shatters my heart,
Already quashed and tattered,
And thoroughly disgusts me.

MEAN & DARK


I feel like Death is chasing me
That’s why I feel an urgency
To document for all to read
My poems, my only legacy
I don’t write for Posterity
No child survived or got to breathe
All were crushed quite brutally
Deep within the dark and mean
Womb that used to live in me

Promise Me You’ll Promise Me

Promise Me you’ll promise me
That you will keep me safe and free,
Aborting opportunities
For those who choose punch-drunkenly,
High on shattered, scattered glee,
To deftly and painstakingly,
Once/ Twice/ then Repeatedly,
Spit angry globs of hate on me.

My silent eyes will never see
Their plans to re-write history;
They’ll make a villain out of me,
Plunder all my luxuries,
Then live quite contentedly
While feasting on my property.

Ladies, Gents: please do come meet
Your brand new aristocracy,
Who raped us of our dignity,
Shot us dead for all to see,
Squeals resounding mirthfully.

First they watched us leak and bleed,
Then carved us up for all to eat
With relish, thirst, and victory.

I warned you once, I will repeat:
Keep yourself both safe and free
By building Anonymity.
It’s all that hides one’s face, you see.

When stripped of all that made me Me,
And robbed of my Identity,
I also seized the chance to flee,
Fought and scraped most valiantly,
But captured Me soon bent her knee.

So promise me you’ll promise me:
Forsake this stupid, childish dream
To be Yourself, to be unique,
To make your mark indelibly.

Promise me you’ll promise me:
You will quench immediately
All embers known to fuel and feed
These freeing flights of fantasy.

Return at once to Gravity,
Joy’s not yours to crave or seek.
Return, I need you here with me
Where we will spend Eternity,
Avalanched in Misery.

(Thanks @hayespotter for the photo).

Pain in My Eyes

Seeking but can’t find
I’ve lost my very mind
Feeling crazy rise
From darkness deep inside
Can’t fake my favorite lie
That never do I cry
Pain always in my eyes
My salted tears belie
The truth I can’t deny:
I often want to die
Cut these cloying ties
Whisper my goodbyes
Leave you all behind
Finally free to fly
Weightless, I’ll soar high
A new star in the sky
Forever burning bright