june 2016

Thursday 6/2.

8:06 AM

“Oh, Fuck.” She muttered as she peeled herself off of the asphalt. Somehow her Jaegermeister flip flops had betrayed her and she fell, face first, in the Target parking lot when exiting her car. Her jaw ached.

She tried to regain her balance (and her dignity) as she walked into the department store, head spinning, eyes throbbing. She hoped no one noticed how many times she attempted to park before deciding that, despite how hard she tried, she couldn’t stay in just one designated parking space.

After a breath, she stumbled toward the door just behind a young, well put together mom. Super Mom somehow managed to match her fitted, blue and white striped sweater with a pair of pink pumps, while her drooling mini-human was strapped to her chest. In her purse: organic gluten-free snacks and a green pressed juice; breakfast for mommy and baby. Super mom looked over at our heroine, as she wiped a dried, red stain from the corner of her mouth. Blood? Taco sauce? Last night’s lipstick? It was hard to say…

Super Mom picked up her pace. The polarization of the two young women was simultaneously hilarious and depressing.

Our heroine, (still drunk?), entered the department store, made a beeline to the bathroom, and vomited violently in the sink.

…It tasted like tequila and heartbreak.


Wednesday 6/1.

11:18 PM

TO BE CONTINUED…


 

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Despair

June 23, 2017 – It’s a Friday, my favorite day of the week…. an ending, and a beginning. 


I sit stuck in my own excrement, frozen in fear. It is dark, cold, damp here.

A Cave, built over thousands of years with weakly fallen tears… expanding and dissolving into this infinite dark.

I’ve tried to escape. My moral compass is defiant, refusing to settle… She rotates ceaselessly and I am reeling. “EVOLUTION”, I titled my clumsy dance. “Maturity”, I laughed. “A revolution!”, I cried when I turned to the jagged cave wall painted a phoenix:

with the venom I’d spat, I painted her golden frame, with tears I’d spilled, I softened soil for a strong foundation that held impermeable walls surrounding her, I painted her eyes with blood spilled in my sparring with those I’d confided in, I detailed every feather with vomit triggered by my fear of failure, or perhaps my power.

Oh, my phoenix. My self portrait. My false idol of strength, self realization and wisdom. She spread her wings at the entrance of my escape attempt…

… but I had been making circles. She mocked me as I landed in her ash once again…. weeks, months, year-long journeys in search of Light led me back to her feet

Every.

Fucking.

Time.

Just as the jolt of adrenaline hit my bloodstream with a taste of fresh air-

-here I return. Defeated.

It smells here. Like Death.

No, not decomposition. Not rot. But the thick, suffocating scent of stagnant air. Like a dirty palm covering my mouth and nose, my lungs labor to earn life.

Here. This is where my motivation, creativity and inspiration go to die; a graveyard for dreams.

It’s good to be home,

tucked safely in the arms of Ego, lulled to sleep by the enchanting melodies of self-doubt.

 

Late Night Ramblings

-1/27/17 –

My heart has been shattered into a thousand pieces and scattered.

Apart.

Sticking to the bottom of the worn-out converse, that led me out past my curfew.

Dancing with the melody of an old lullaby.

Swept away in the breeze from the limited lustful lovers that only lingered for a moment…

Stuck to the floor where I lie for days, when I forgot how to breathe anything other than his name.

Dripping down my bedroom walls nights when lying next to him was the biggest lie of intimacy. Fallacy. I never felt more isolated than in the arms of a lover.

Smothered.

A few pieces hung  by the tattered thread of a beloved shirt that once belonged to my mother… the colors have faded together just like the memories of her.

I’m forgetting.

The wounds will heal into tiny scars and their stories with them. Injuries long forgotten with the journey to level out into some sad excuse for

“Normal”

“Functioning”

“Okay”.

…I found a few more pieces in a box of crayons. 8 solid colors never felt more limitless when you are young enough to feel safe in your dreams.

When it is still separate from reality.

Where nothing can hurt you.

 

A few more pieces escape out of the window in a cloud of heavy, dank burnt herb.

Mamy, many more pieces lie in the countless beds, avoiding dripping sweat, mimicking moaning and counting ceiling tiles on my back.

Some were thrown out in bottles of bourbon.

…Some came back up after said bourbon… Off the Queensboro bridge as the cab driver cringed.

Some got lost in the Facebook newsfeed. Fighting the constant updates and climbing the social media ladder towards relevancy.

Some hid in the shadows of a selfie.

Others found themselves bouncing on the nooks and crannies of cellulite. On my thighs, my ass, my stomach. The years of demotivation had atrophied my muscles and added self loathing to my once tight frame. My disappointments jiggled with every step.

Still, one large piece clung on, as we lie back to back, silent. Angry. Hurt. She whispered scornful reminders of all the mistakes I had made. The ways I self sabotage, the patterns I am doomed to repeat.

She tore at my chest and clanged against my sternum, begging for validation. I tried to mend the many wrongs and fix the pieces, but just like now; my words betrayed me, and the single piece, all that was left, gripping to my ribcage like a desperate hiker clinging to a cliff…

…began to crumble against the bolder of my regret. Resentment. Anger.

My containment of truth.