SO INCULPATORY (and Histrionic)

[Or so she says]
[Hey, a Warm “ShroomFest” sounds fun!]
[Right]
[I’m still getting all these #snarky thoughts!]

SO INCULPATORY!

I said those things as Allegories.
Perhaps they were Inflammatory and Derogatory,
And even perCHANCE Defamatory?

But I serve as Official Depository
For YOUR words so Condemnatory.
It’s true I HEARD them as “Accusatory”.

HOWEVER,
From my Highly Hallucinogenically
SELF-Aware Perspective:

I find MYSELF Inculpatory
For Hiding Lies Exculpatory;
Fake-Acting, Yes, but Not Recriminatory.

So I am Seeking Damages
In Every Shape-Type-Variety.
My favorite Type’s Compensatory.

But that’s a WHOLE ‘Nother Story!
I Chose the Title for MYSELF:
SELF-Congratulatory”

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?

How To Liquify Oneself

ADD THE FOLLOWING INGREDIENTS TO A BLENDER:

Gleam of Wickedness
Spark of Madness
A Cup Run Dry
A Scintilla of Doubt
Dash of Hopes
Hint of Despair
A Bit of Chomping
Poached Pairs
The Whiff of Corruption
Self-Rising Flower
LIQUIFY.

SERVE IN:
A Tarnished Reputation,
Burned in the Freezer,
On Beds of Knives,
That Go down easy;
No leftovers,
But an unSeasonal Favorite.

SO DIRTY

The way I look at it, Life double-fucked me.

It first fucked me in Childhood by preventing me from developing healthy coping skills (parents didn’t fret over their kids’ feelings too much back then).

I was DOUBLE-fucked because I needed those coping skills to weather the unspeakable horrors and tragedies Adulthood had in store for me.

Some time after aged 30, during 15 years of 15 major surgeries and Plenty Of Other Crap, I began coping the only way that worked for me: chemically.

I found I needed pain and anxiety medication to get through the day. Both ANY DAY and EVERY DAY.

Truth.

This always serves as the Official Reason People Who Gave Up On Me give for Giving Up On Me. I honestly don’t think I was that bad, but I wasn’t around for most of it. I was too numb.

Yet, with no Outer Pressure and DESPITE having minimal coping skills and a practically-nonexistent support system, I threw a giant cosmic wrench at myself. For no reason whatsoever, I chose to resort to my Chemical Coping Skills ONLY when they were desperately needed. Which is practically never, much to my own shock!

This choice has delivered me to Emergency Rooms on numerous occasions, certain I was in the middle of a stroke or heart attack, so great is my pain, anxiety, and nausea from both.

Remarkably almost-sober (don’t take my cannabis away from me; it helps with the nausea!), my thoughts often scare the ever-living shit out of me.

I personally find this ridiculous journey upon which I have embarked an extremely courageous one all the same.

I now Actively Disappoint rather than just Passively. Maybe you have to have been on a Similar Journey to understand what this means, but I think it means “I’m proud of myself❣️”

So Folks Who Want To Vilify Me: Stand in Line.

The person suspiciously ABSENT from that line will be ME.

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!!

SECRETS GOOD FOR THE NEXT 30 MINUTES‼️

I want to share a secret I’ve only recently discovered to myself:

The reason I often need large Islands of time Inhabited Alone?

During those times:

I’m horrified by the possibility I’ll have to engage in two-way conversation and, God forbid, ACTIVELY LISTEN to ANY details about Another Person.

ANY OTHER PERSON.

And the reason I take my dates to Karaoke clubs? If the place is too noisy, I won’t have to hear A SINGLE WORD they’re saying!

Wait, I’m not done yet…

Guess My perennially-favorite Role?

Such an easy one. The VICTIM, of course!

Yep, I’m SELFISHLY and UTTERLY DESPICABLE in EVERY WAY and it is SUCH a relief.

I absolutely ADORE loathing myself❣️ It hurts so good.

#radicalvulnerability

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.

PLUMB YOUR DEPTHS

When I plumb depths, they terrify.
I’ve glimpsed into the Hells I Hide.
Secrets lurk so Dark Inside,
Monsters, Pain, and Anguish, too;
The Empty Void Awaiting You

Won’t be avoided; Screams,
“Reflection!”,
Can’t escape a Soul’s Infection
Eating from Your Sharpest Place.
This Yawing, Grasping, Clutching Space
Demands Bestowal with a Name.
You call it “Evil”; That’s in Vain

Because you’re not that Bad!
Mistakes Aplenty Lives should have;
They reinforce a Search Within,
A Search, well-sought, yields Many Gifts.

Confrontation is the only Glue,
Beams the Shine and Lights the View
And makes the Search less scary, too.

(Thanks to DDP for the photo)

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?

WHAT?

What are you gonna DO to me that hasn’t already been DONE to me?

What are you gonna take AWAY from me that hasn’t already been taken away from me?

Don’t ever underestimate people with nothing left to lose.

They’ve been known to surprise on the Final Act.

Which we can change to “The Last Half” if it sounds too ominous the other way.

I wasn’t aiming for dark overtones – I was thinking more “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar.”

It says a lot about my mental exhaustion at the moment that I’d rather explain this than just clarify my writing,

INDUSTRY

I don’t care; don’t give a shit
I’ve begged and prayed for years to get
A decent offer of a job.
12 years I’ve spent jerking off
Receivers of my Resume,
My words designed to woo and sway.
It never did an ounce of good
As I must now get stamps for food.
But even if I don’t,
It doesn’t change a single thing:
I’m well aware that Industry
Gives not the slightest whit ‘bout Me.
“We Seek Individuality,
And Pride on our Diversity,”
Claim they with much Dishonesty,
While lying through their front eye teeth.