Is what loss upon loss upon loss does to the human mind, body, and soul.

There are so many grieving people out there who need love or, at a minimum, a kind word.

Be nice to someone today.

MAGNUM OPUS: The Last Five

Melting Shame

The Downward Spiral of The Last Five Ends in Joy

When I get out of balance (physical pain + emotional blows with no relief),
I start getting scared.
My perspective gets distorted by my own pain,
And I can’t tell my friends from my enemies.
The problem is, 99% of the time,
I am my Worst Enemy.
So in addition to being in “pain all over,”
My thoughts have no place to land.
This creates a toxic imbalance in my body, resulting in
Me in an Extended Version of the Emotional and Physical Fetal Position,
As if warding off cosmic blows.
It’s not the LEAST BIT comforting, though.

I don’t even know how long these periods last some times.
It finally erupts into a Dark Place,
Both emotionally and physically.
I’ve never written about this before, but I have been diagnosed with a Neurovascular Disorder called Erythromelalgia.
It’s sometimes called “Man on Fire Disease” or “The Suicide Disease.”
And it’s earned its Title!
Sadly, it’s so exceptionally rare, you can’t find a neurologist whose even heard of it,
So there’s very little information out there. Which compounds my anxiety.
That’s the sad case with rare diseases.
With no Big Pharma backing, research dollars can’t be found.
It’s a disorder of the autonomous nervous system.
I “lost” the ability to release heat from my system about 5 years ago.
So, if I combine ambient heat with exertion (it’s extremely hot where I live),
I get heat stroke without realizing it.
Until I’ve got heat stroke.
Which keeps me indoors,
Avoiding life because of my fear of getting violently ill
Should I carry in too-many too-heavy bags of groceries from my car to my apartment.
It’s cooler in there, but it can be dark in there, and alone and scary in there.
Alone to feel shame at not being live like a “normal person,”
And not being able to regulate heat, can’t vent the shame
Without the shame surfacing as blushing fire through the skin
On too many parts of my body.
It’s very humiliating for me to write about,
But since there’s no cure or, in my case, effective treatment for Erythromelalgia,
And because I got off all anti-depressants, and pain meds and anti-anxiety only in emergency
And not for emotional coping,
You can see how my Poems and this blog have been my constant companions over the last year.
This was my last secret to write about,
Because it’s One Thing which has bested me
And nearly ruined me.
What with the limitations it imposes, I felt it made me “unworthy as a companion.”
So that took away my hopes for the happiness I hoped to one day find in the company of a partner.
Which used the be the “safe place where my thoughts would land” as a coping mechanism.
They have no idea how or why I acquired it (again, no research),
So they default to the overdose of highly neurotoxic chemo I had when I was 39 years old,
Fighting breast cancer.
But since I was given no “Why,”
I first switched to “Why Not” in an effort to “embrace the pain.”
That might work for some of you Mental Athletes, but this girl already HAD a frail state to begin!
Like: I was mentally and emotionally fried and too-feeling at the same time to handle “thought mastery!”
So, I decided to “burn the shame out of me,”
So I could at least feel safe inside my head.
I had to find a harbor for my mind or I would give up.
The only way I’ve been able to do this is through writing,
So I mean it when I say this blog has saved me life.
And I have discovered my own voice in the process!
It has been a 3000% net joyful experience for me,
Even if a painful and tearful one.
I’m re-writing a story without a pre-determined ending (see my poem, A Foregone Conclusion – or something like that! It was birthed in MUCHAS LAGRIMAS! Many tears!).
I actually believe in Miracles again.
I had totally forgotten about Miracles, having no recent or long term memory of them.
So anyway, final shame vented,
But I don’t care how anybody prices me!
That’s good enough for me!
So thank you, dear friends, for helping me discover my voice, discover my worth, and to re-grow my jaded belief in Miracles❣️

The Pathetic Pleas of Ash, Even if Designed for Flame


I’d let Water have
Its way with me,
Absorbing every atom
Into every part of me,
If it would just return
A little life to me.

But it causes no surprise
That the booty shakes
And pseudo-body quakes
Which clog your feeds
With more enticing sighs
Obscure my ashy pleas.

It’s the sad fate of fire
That, just to live,
She must start herself up
Somewhere else;

She’d become accustomed
To your lingering scent,
But she has to leave
If she hopes to begin again.



At a very young age (around aged 3), I developed an “insecure attachment style.”

Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

10,000, 000 hours of therapy and “self-help practices” later,

The pattern is repeating itself.

The only difference is I’m aware The pattern is repeating itself.

It’s a GREAT START, though! It makes me feel more “sane and secure” when I’m aware History is trying to repeat itself.

The patterns color my history, but my awareness of them shows ME how strong I’ve been the entire time.

I’m not shooting for “happily ever after,” but rather “hopefully-awareful-and-content.”



She’s just being Fire.
She makes a fiery dance through everyday items.
It’s her need to fully course through
To ash, especially to ash.

Thinking herself Fire,
Even if it’s futile, she needs to burn herself out.



You might not count the costs incurred,
But they won’t erase away.
They were much too great for me;
They show in line upon my face
And well within my eyes
When both are lost in pain.

I know that You can’t erase my costs,
But you COULD kiss my pain away.
At least for another day?
I’d be grateful either way.

The Bitterness of Burned

The bitterness of post-burnt
Feels a lot like toast spurned
After an eternity of tears spilled
Crying out in thirst,
Never being quenched
Parches until too pinched
Beyond all recognition,
Dried and too hurt.



She tired of being a step,
The toil and aloneness.
She dreamt of being a princess
Before midnight.
Sadly, only frogs arrived,
Their magic never tricking her,
Damning her to shine,
Under cloak of Darkness,
During Its wee hours,
Leaving her a pile of cinder
With the return of every sun.

She thought it was her only Ending,
Making It “The Only One.”
Now she’s been returned to Step,
Only below where she first begun.

It fills her mouth with ash,
Shreds her heart to trash:
This hope to be a part of Sum
Instead of “Only One.”



Since You were the only intended audience for my poems,
I guess that means You were My Muse.
The thought disturbs me.
Because, without a Muse,
How does one Make Music?
I couldn’t stand the quiet of
Loneliness any longer,
So I had to learn to Make Music without you.
In the process, I’ve learned to A-Muse myself.
I’m even making better music these days, oddly enough,
Enhanced after blowing through a Muse, and
Exchanging Muses.



Some people structure and order their lives to such a degree,
should you meet someone you want to “get to know,”

You feel like you’re “trespassing against” their lives to do so.

Who in their right mind is going to do that for long? I’ve only ever done it when my screws needed a good tightening.

Because feeling like a Trespasser is a terrible way to feel;
It ultimately leeches you of your motivation to care in the first place.

It ALWAYS takes too long, but the simple fact is:

When it ends (because how can you welcome trespassers while admonishing them to Keep Out!?),

Your feelings for “Special Person You Hoped To Know Better” WILL die.

But this particular moment in time, when you cross the line into “Not Caring Anymore,” isn’t for the faint of heart:

It might NEVER cease being a Mixed Blessing.

Then who’s The Trespasser?



A child who succumbs to miscarriage
May only exist in his host’s Imagination,
But he freely thrives in every tense:
Imagined Past,
Imagined Present,
Imagined Future, and
Imagined Perfect.

Maybe this sheds some sense
On why I’m so grateful to Tense?

The Best Lover

Sorry judges of character get sorry examples of character on their lists of lovers.

In retrospect, I’ve never been in love with anyone but me in my relationships.

When I rewind the movies in mind, I was the only one who loved the way I wanted to be loved.

The only one who was willing to be there during the tough times, the only one who didn’t ditch, the only one who tried to make holidays and birthdays special. The only one who KNEW the other’s birthday (without having to look it up). As in: “by heart” because “close to heart.”

I was the only one who cried alone, often, and at all.

Husband #1 did go to some medical appointments with me, but not many. I did all my own chemo , radiation, post-surgical, and most of the fertility appointments, including the driving. He was golfing (like he always was; husband number 2 was always biking) when I miscarried my first pregnancy. Said “pregnancy” hadn’t met the dictionary-definition of “child” yet, so I suffered alone and no one comforted me. It was a terribly lonely time.

Basically, I was the only one who could be bothered to keep a promise in most of my significant/insignificant relationships.

I have a million other examples, but I’m suddenly green at the gills. Or is it gray at the grills? Honestly, I can’t remember my “stupid shit” anymore!

You know, the kind of stuff you blab about over pillows when you’re in love?

Or how I would imagine it might feel.

I’ve said it before and I’ll probably keep saying it, but:

I am The Best Lover I’ve Ever Had. For My “Life’s Official Record,” I was THE BEST: The Personal Best and The Collective Best.

I did it ALL!! I kept the plates in the air. I dropped half of them, but at least I was at home, breaking them-while-TRYING-to-juggle-them.

So, no “mea culpas” and no “mes culpabits.” In now and in retro: I’m an 11❣️❤️‍🔥🔥

SCARS IN THE SKY: Beauty Incarnate

Photo location: Home

For record-keeps, my scars
Were formed in response to
Surgical knives with scathing scalpels
Hiding under surgical sleeves
Rather than a purgical need to
Purge Contained Pain
In order to pain-relieve.
(I’m not blaming or shaming;
I’ve known Pain and understand
You simply want Pain to leave).

But Scars all look the same to me,
Therefore, their source isn’t
Significantly significant to me.
So I can be fully free
To neglectfully and insignificantly,
Ignore scar-sources and
Scarce resources because
The WHY of our afflictions
Though it Greatly costed me,
Now matters snot to me.

Clouded by the stars in my eyes,
I STILL consider Scars
Beauty’s heaviest of hitters,
And why I personally believe
Scars rock, roll and rule, too.
In fact and in fiction, I’m SO moved
Each and and every Time I Take
And use to contemplate the issue,
I have to break out a box of Scar Tissue.


When I’m feeling emotionally fragile, I have to stay away from ghost stories.

All of my ghosts are officially and literally dead (not to be crude, but literally IS overused these days).

My ghosts either died from the same disease which did NOT kill me (on two separate long, protracted, physically and emotionally excruciating occasions) or they never emerged from my Hostile Womb to live in the first place.

As far as ghosts go, I’d describe MY ghosts in the Letter R:
Ruthless, Relentless, and “Regular as Right-from-left Remembering.”

If not for their innocence, they would ALL be considered throughly villainous.

Just a Stupid Girl


I’m just a stupid girl,
Naive, clueless and lost,
Old and covered in frost.
One minute I was in my own whirl,
The next I bled into your world.
I don’t know how and I don’t know why: I only know YOUR world’s not MINE.

Your insistence on random rules
Marked me as an indelible fool.
I bent the shape of my mind to trust
What You Said at the time.
Stupid me is Stupid blind;
For some stupid reason,
I can’t hear your stupid lies!
I know I’m a big fat dunce,
But would you please, just this once,
Find IT in YOU to explain to ME
WHAT defines “TRUE”?
At least to YOU?

The Truth would be the perfect key
To un-puzzle and set me free,
But I don’t think you’d waste a
Single Key on a secret door like Me.

I’ve looked, high, low, and all around
There, but the clear sound of truth is
NOWHERE to be found There.
Maybe you think I don’t deserve it,
That I haven’t earned it?

I wish I’d never over-indulged
Nor over-divulged.

It’s true I played the Biggest Fool,
But at least I still Recognize Truth!
You withhold and guard,
Won’t Others-relieve with
What You won’t release.
It’s not a “strenuous try,” so I opine
About the reasons behind
Your refusal to clarify
The cognitive dissonance
Which boggles my mind and
Equates to Zero Sense.
You may have abilities to
Compartmentalize fragilities,
But I don’t and can’t,
So I won’t, and I shan’t.

It’s all moot, I’ve already died;
I’m only speaking shite when I mime:
Go On and Good-Bye”, and
How I wish You hadn’t lied!
For it requires a bigger fool than I
To delude, feign, and deny
That I’M the One YOU’VE deceived
And YOU’RE the One I trust-believed!

I realize “WE” and “IT” were
Micro-short and Dirty-quick,
But it still makes me queasy-sick
And gut-punches me to think
YOU bought ME so tacky-cheap,
Ignoring my pleas and ignoring Me
Into Withering, Weeping, Willowy Heaps.

So if At The End or All Along,
To think for ME, YOU never longed,
Nor ever longed to sit beside
Slays me, strays me, and betrays me,
Not to mention excruciates me,
The Very Most of all.



You burned me with Hot.
I returned you with Soft;
Yet you torched me down
To ash the ground.
You crushed me there,
Scared me there, but
Never bothered to call me by name
Or stare into my eyes,
Which Cried and Died Me there.
Why? Because you accosted me there
And DEARLY costed me there.

Next, you buried me there,
Which was NO surprise
Since Stupid “I”
FINALLY clued to realize
That Stupid YOU never cared.
You Left me there, and
Forever Hid me there,
So if ANYONE ever loved me HERE,
They’d NEVER find me THERE.

You scooped me and consumed me,
Took my fumes but then refused
My Most-Inner Precious.
Damn! You were so reckless
With my very human’s heart.
It terrifies me to ponder
If you planned it All from the start.

You turned my insides out, and
Like a louse and a lout,
You debased me and
Tried to erase me.
You must have thought me
The most foolish of clowns
To take my full-to-busting
Unrequited-but-trusting self
And cooly shoot Me down
To live in Oblivion,
With all the Other Idiots.

I hope you’re Lost,
Thrown, Turned, Tossed,
Never Touched and Never Held.
It’s MY turn to spitely spurn,
So let ME be The First
To welcome YOU to the
Cold and Callous Illusional Palace
Known as Hell which YOU
So sacrificially and altruistically
Designed and condemned ME to!

It so much more than Disappoints;
It shreds my “Kind And Caring,”
And stamps me “Not Worth
Procuring, Insuring or Sparing.”

In short and with spite,
You diluted my price,
Neglecting and Rejecting
Me as common and cheap.
You confused me, used me,
And if that wasn’t enough,
You left me shattered,
Torn, shorn, and tattered
In an Indifferent and invisibly
Bloody, neglected heap.

So don’t YOU DARE find
YOU mind it’s finally MY time
To judge and send YOU
To your OWN hell;
I hope it whisks you down below
In a fancy stretch limo;
But if not, I wont sweat
Because at least I’M nice enough
To drive you there Myself!