Don’t Take My Pain Away

Don’t Take My Pain Away!

Don’t take My Pain away from me!
My Life demands the Proof from Me.
So I’ve built my portfolio,
Diversified the Ills I own,
While surgeons’ knives have been well-honed
On this hulled-out husk of bone,
Once spewing stem cells left and right.
The flesh in Me that’s now denied
Pleasures once too prim to please
The pleasure-seeking parts of me
I wish I’d found before they Died.

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

Karaoke and Other Coping Cliches

Be careful who you dismiss as “shallow” or “not serious enough.”

Some people have been so subtracted from, they’re not just empty, they’re minus.

Fleeting happiness is welcomed as a distraction, but the change in direction can cause emotional whiplash; a disorder known for releasing peals of startled laughter, often transforming the source of the laughter into an obsession. Or an addiction.

These people are so acclimated to chronic anguish, they’re easily amused.

My point? Simply to “not judge a book by its cover.” Or even better: “Don’t dismiss someone as a ‘novella’ until you’ve read her unabridged story.”

BILE RISING

Thoughts of Sweetness make me feel Sick to My Stomach, Pained in My Heart, and Intolerably Dark today.

This combination is only Enhanced by the flood of Bile and Hatred currently Rising,

Resulting in these pesky digestion sounds I hear.

Though of course I haven’t eaten all day! I’m always forgetting to eat. My Empty Stomach makes it even Sicker.

Thank Goodness!

Rest Assured: I won’t be Happy until You’re Half as Miserable as I Am.

————————————————

Welcome to My Head once I perfected a “Thought-Stopping” Exercise I learned last year. I finally realized how/why I got Cancer twice by aged 45. And perhaps all that pain medicine was numbing more than physical pain?

No More Ms. Nice

I don’t know about You, but I’m SICK TO DEATH of my own sweet poems today!

I only want to spew venom, tear to shreds, and rain on parades until they’re cancelled,

Causing small children to literally Dissolve into Actual Tears.

Just like my OWN children.

Then maybe I’ll be happy,

Though I insincerely doubt it!!

NAGASAKI

Highly Emotional.
Highly Hormonal.
Lowly Hormonal?
Post-Menopausal.
Post-Apocalyptic.
Hiroshima!
Mad Max and the Thunderzone.
Dry and Dusty.
Giant Dustbowl.
Giant Dirtbag.
Nihilistic.
Nietche, for Heaven’s Sake!
Vast Wasteland.
Sheer Emptiness.
Inner Darkness.
Utter meaninglessness.
Couldn’t Care Less!
What are you gonna do about it?
I wouldn’t suggest it.
No other options.
Last Chance.
Good luck!
Charred Death.
Not Even Buried.
Limbs Scattered.
Cockroaches Only: All Others
KEEP OUT‼️

New Beginnings??

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.

WORDS OF DANGER

The voice I can’t escape
That hounds me night and day,
That screams how bad I am,
Hurls insults, trash, and spam;

It keeps me fast awake
Every night and day.
It puts me in my place;
Adds lines upon my face.

It won’t be satisfied
Until all Hope has died.
I pray I get away,
And live until The Day
I’ve spoken out My Last,
My 2-cents spent and passed.

When Words have run their course,
I’ll saddle Spirit Horse;
We’ll gallop like the wind,
And Starry Skies Ascend.

(Photo from oranstudio.il)

A FOREGONE CONCLUSION

Life has surely broken me.
I’ve flunked out at Everything.
Why consider equally
When Options just desert Me?
Forgive not pointed sharp for me;
Still grimed up, I cannot see
A single reason surfacing,
Hiding Places changing
Constantly
And arbitrarily
Disappoint inevitably:
Never, Ever, Frequently
Only end up baffle-ing
That the Ones who stuck by Me
Were No One and Nobody.
The Needed ones Abandoned me,
Never even wanted me.
Been let down by Everything
And 100% of Practically
All and Every
One and Single Thing,
Left for dead and wasting
To a husk of Me.

So What’s the point,
Sharpened pointedly,
When you will only
Start new things?
Old ones failing,
Interest lost and dropping,
Forcing hands repeatedly.
Home to pack a bag and leave,
All doors slammed resoundingly,
Locks all changed and shut to me.
Happy Endings Abruptly.

Don’t care what you do to me.
Lost my sensitivity,
Burning hurts so painfully,
Once Angry scars
Protect My Heart
From the Hope, Now lost to me;
It doesn’t hurt, just disappoints.
I have no mass, I’ve been disjoined,
Won’t shatter when you drop me.

All do eventually;
A mere eventuality,
Forgone Conclusively.



(Thanks for use of the photo, @sashafreemind )

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.

His Name is Ethan

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

A tiny piece of Humanity
My body still aches longingly
To nurse and cradle next to me.

I didn’t know the rules for such a Tragedy;
No one did, 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 his Memory,
Always My Responsibility,
But I’ve become too tired
To honor him effectively.

Would you consider helping me
By holding Ethan Momentarily
In Your heart so that I can breathe?

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

I Tried

I was here!
I lived.
I loved.
I thought Big Thoughts.
I thought petty thoughts.
I pondered.
I tried.
I gave up.
I dreamt.
I awoke.
I hid.
I resurfaced.
I laughed.
I sobbed.
I fevered.
I iced.
I sewed my soul into the fabric of my clothes
And wore them proudly.
I painted myself,
So carefully,
and I gave it My Best Shot.

I take comfort in knowing that I tried.
I really tried.

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).

Bullies & Heroes

The Intimidated Intimidate.
The Tormented Torment.
The Bullied Bully.
The Beaten Beat.
The Hurting Hurt.

The Constantly Criticized Criticize.

And though this isn’t popular: those who abuse have usually been abused.

Garbage In, Garbage Out, FIFO, LIFO, and the Pythagorean Theorem.

It’s called Learned Behavior.

Yet everyone knows a dog who’s been hideously hurt by human hands and chosen (somehow?) to trust again.

If these courageous canines can overcome our hate when their survival depends on it, surely we can treat each other (and them) a little better?