Donations With Love

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Donations

This link is to support in any form or amount, an up and coming, struggling writer who dreams of inspiring the world and to be heard, one post at a time. I have never been one to ask for anything. However, I thought it was important to add a link because there have been so many times in my life I wanted to help someone, and didn’t know how. Well, now, if you feel led to, here’s a great way. Have an incredible day. And keeping dreaming as big as your heart can stretch.

$1.00

Candlelight for One

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It’s amazing when a hard, unexpected rain falls down, that that’s right when you have no umbrella. Life is very much like that. Family is very much like that. And most of all, love is very much like that.

In theory, most want love and family, friends and a social life, and great success in life. However, there are some of us out there that find it profoundly moot to follow the same path over and over expecting different results.

It’s absolutely exhausting trying so hard to complete a pattern in your life with a fruitful end. True colors always show, and not many are truly capable of being selfless over selfish, although there are a select few, I will even admit. And in this real world, well, that’s a definitely deal breaker, being on the weighted selfish side of the stomping.

So, here I sit, alone per usual. Obviously a little bitter, and maybe even borderline pouting, and not afraid at all of expressing it. Currently extremely doubtful of a crowd-filled future, and seeing clearly the value and stone coldness of truth. But also humbled by the experience.

I’ve turned all of the lights off in my house. I’m quite sure it’s for multiple reasons. One being that I am all but nearing jump off of the cliff of losing everything, and lights turned off equals less power being used on planet USA. [Insert the echoes of my grandfather’s voice scolding me to turn the lights off at 10, here.]

However, I would say the reason that takes precedence over all others would be the fact that here, alone in this house, I wanted only the glow of the candles I have lit. Or the topper lit up at the top of my undecorated Christmas tree. I can bare no more light than that on this bitter night. It makes me feel less small, less abandoned, less sad.

And now, take part in this pity party with me.

I have never experienced such a deafness in my small world, as those around you hearing your cries of sadness and projected fear, and merely turning their head as if there’s something God-awful in my teeth. But, I regress. I, probably more than anyone, know that there are some paths in your life that are roughly designed for one. And I wholly and wildly accept that.

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I also acknowledge that I’ve spent a huge majority of my life purposely pushing people away, needing isolation and enjoying being alone. But when you are sick, it’s different feeling. There is a complete difference in enjoying being alone, and being so very lonely. I realize that now more than ever. It’s humbling. A truly faith-sucking experience and not personally recommended by me for self-revelation.

I love everyone. But in another way, I have given up on everyone. I don’t expect them to understand. Because I never allowed them to, and that’s my own fault. They mean the world to me, in ways they couldn’t possibly understand. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I feel entirely let down, and lost on how to fix that. I would find it easier to go back in time and do it differently, rather than try and fix it now.

I guess, all I can really do is keep continuing to press on as I have. Remaining strong for the one person I have here looking to me to make sure everything stays ok. Even though, deep down, I don’t even know what that means anymore. I’m not truly angry or as bitter as I let on. I love everyone fully with my entire heart. And honestly, I know the trials of life can take us in 50 different directions. We get caught up in our own stuff, and sometimes, we forget that maybe there’s someone out there, very close to us, suffering, scared, and just needing to be told, “Hey, I am here, and I love you.” And, “You’re doing good.”

Well, I am here. And I love you. And you’re doing amazing. Whoever you are out there reading this….

Whiskey Saturdays, And No Regrets..

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Cusps of a wrist slit, and all of a sudden you meet a person who changes your mindset. Maybe you meet someone like that daily, weekly, or sometimes, it’s a once in a lifetime meet.

A somber song about whiskey blares out of another car at the pump station, and you think of the last whiskey binge you had giggling to yourself at the tripping of your feet, the way your clothes still smelled of campfire the next morning, and how you can’t quite remember how you showered before bed, but you did.

In these moments, it’s as though the hourglass flips over again to give us another go at it. Laughable and angering at times, because some of those cusps of a wrist slit moments are the only moments in your life where you were 100% decisive about something.

But no matter, because here you sit at the pump station, stealing the music notes of another, as if illegally downloading it to memory. Now, briefly cringing at the thought of understanding exactly what they are saying, and smiling at the prospect of it.

You laugh to yourself as it really hits you. No one has time for your nonsense like you have had for theirs. You recall endless phone calls, endless support on your end, seemingly withered away due to the annoyance of your constant mockery of a life and your bottomless chaos. Yet, you still see beauty in this tarnish.

You now design your brain another future night of whiskey, and you know just who it will be with. That brings a great comfort and even an excitement of what new whiskey adventures await you to piece together once they have came to pass.

You put the car in drive, roll the windows down, and secretly cheers to the silence. For the confinements of your mind, if nothing else, have gifted you the comfort of yourself.

Beautiful and raw, broken and wanting, sexy and explicitly ripped wide open, and smiling through it, even if only for these brief moments.

Love, even if it’s with your drunken body. Runs circles around the fire and all at once, jump over it. Savor a whiskey-fueled kiss with passion and smoke. Peel away your layers and dance naked and free. And cheers to you, on every whiskey Saturday.

Let Freedom Bang!

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There comes a time in your life where you reach a peak of knowing what you stand for. Once you get there, it’s so important to never falter, and to always remain strong. No matter what people think of you. It’s important because although it may take days, months, and even years, change comes about when you lead by example.

A lot of people you thought would ride with you forever fall by the sideline. And I know people say, “don’t lose friends and family over difference of opinion.” That’s shit advice in certain situations. If what that person stands for is something that hurts you, or even a certain people that you love and care for, and stand for, then that friendship and even family relation can’t and won’t work. I say that in the most compassionate way. It doesn’t mean that I believe that my opinion or belief is the only one in the world. It does mean that in certain sections of certain beliefs or battles, my opinion and what I stand for will take top priority. And those who carry beliefs that cause harm or oppression to others have to get off of the path, and give up their seat at the table. Our season in each other’s lives may be ending in that moment. You must be strong enough in your beliefs and standards, that when it’s necessary to finally cut that cord, you do so without hesitation.

Freedom is a word that many take for granted. It’s swallowed up and spit out like yesterday’s trash. Most seem to forget that to many still out there in this nation, and many others, freedom is life or death. It’s oppression and a constant knife to the wrist. It’s putting your hurting child to bed in tears, locking a window, and double checking the doors, knowing that tomorrow, you’ll have to explain to them why they look different and are treated different than other children simply because of the color of their skin. It’s giving a preparation talk with them before simply leaving the house for the store. Your job of raising these innocent children is a challenge that a lot wouldn’t understand, and sadly, a lot also don’t care to. This oppression, carried over to innocent children throughout generations, is one of the reasons that I stand strong in my stance and belief in equality and also eradicating systematic racism, bigotry, homophobia, and just pure ignorance in this world.

Freedom to many others is simply loving who they want to love out loud and unchained. I am a woman who loves women and men. I value them equally.

I only wish to explore the parts of this world that are untapped in every crevice. To be truly free to be myself unapologetically. I make a choice to do it rather you like it or not. But how beautiful would it be if you just chose to love me anyway? To really smile my way and be ok that I stand for what I stand for.

I am gay.

I am straight.

I am black.

I am white.

I am lost.

I am found.

I am sad.

I am happy.

I am chained.

And finally, I am free.

Black Nights, And Words We Write

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Do you ever just get exhausted from being dark and in gloom and doom all of the time? I’ve noticed a pattern lately, and it reflects in every expression that comes forth from my spirit. The way that I write, the facial expressions I make, and even the way I view others. Still, I can’t seem to break away from it. It’s as though it is a part of my body. A part of me. Here’s the thing though, just because I write this way, or view things in a gloom setting, doesn’t mean I’m always feeling that way, or living with the lights off. I’ve just never really been able to view things or people without seeing some darkness.

I guess it’s like a little girl who loves their favorite doll. They won’t go anywhere without it. I am the same with my darkness.

I think it’s beautiful. Exquisitely divided and different from how others see things, and that is really special when you can offer up another dimension of vision for others. I love when other’s views and expressions do that for me as well. Like reading the most adventurous of books, closing your eyes, and escaping there into its pages.

If you can open yourself up to seeing things from someone else’s viewpoint, oh the places you can go without ever needing to move.

So, I say that to say, sometimes we, as writers, go through long periods of time where a lot of our writing and thoughts seem to breed from the same place. Sometimes, it’s just who you are as a writer in a season, and sometimes, it’s just who you are.

Every reason for it is freedom, purpose, individuality, and it is ok.

The Mist

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The spirals of mystery in the midst of a fog.

Makes goosebumps crawl down my skin like a soft-handed man.

Clawing his way through my obstacles until sweat and fog are the same.

Unravel me in this timeless moment,

before the mist leaves us wanting.

I’ll meet you at the swamp, and there, we will find our mud.

Wading through every foot of the slump, creatures brushing our legs,

but we care not. Because the other side brings a sweet release.

The fog is yearning. It wraps me up til every inch of my skin not covered in swamp is wet

with envy.

I can bare the harsh vapor of this world no longer.

Press your lips to mine and give me sweet air.

From your lungs to mine.

Let me take it from you and I shall one day, return it in good faith.

We will share it like the last fruitful words from the trees.

And trees I know, because they told me so.

They speak to me in all of the their brown glory, shaking their leaves all around me.

The fog, it comes for them too. So now, we share in their sorrow as we sink into this swampy

abyss.

For the trees, rooted in their resting place, know that when this mist comes upon, their last

stand is literally just that.

But no matter.

You are here with me, and I with you, my soft-handed glory.

Sink into this love we are making and trust each stroke of my hair.

Roll around wet with your body pressed against mine, and when it is done,

this swamp will clear,

and we shall stand on top of clear waters…

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The War Torn Mind

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I wanna dwell in war torn streets, where my environment fits my chaos. That’s the way I see the world. Scavenging for basic necessities. Giving up on the mainstream fruits of life so the pressures of that life leave me. A dented can I feel like, kicked around as someone’s fun game, and even in that, I feel as though everything will seem like home.

I saw two dogs today, stray I suppose, playing their hearts out in the middle of nowhere. I remember saying to my daughter, “Look, even in someone’s saddest of times, and lowest of seasons, they can find a reason to be happy, even if only briefly.” I’m not sure if I believed it as I was even saying it, but I wanted to. And more than that, I wanted her to.

She told me that she didn’t know what it was, but at the beginning of fall, and the cold season, and the beginning of spring, she always felt nostalgia. As she drove us home, she asked me if I felt the same. I nodded my head as I stared at the sunset and a single tear secretly dripped down the side of my face that she could not see. I thought to myself, and then told her, “you know, I haven’t gotten to enjoy many sunsets in a long time, because it’s always me driving these roads, but it’s your turn now.” I leaned forward as much as I could, to bask in everything it had to offer. And I thought, I don’t have to pay anything for this. It’s free, and right now, it’s mine.

The pressures of making right for her seem too much at times, and yet, here I am; still dragging these heavy feet along. But I always think about it, a life without this trailer. Maybe some coffee over a fire, with the grounds still floating in it. Just the dusty streets and the forest. No sounds of cars and traffic, or people talking. Just a search for a little bit of food and water to forage, and a place to lie my head down in hopes that the next day will be just as quiet and bring blessings of portioned substance. A life that truly matches the chaos that fills my being.

Still, she pulls the car into our driveway, and we have to get out. I carry the little bit I afforded at the store, and try to smile and at least appreciate that she got the 2 yogurts she wanted, and I am sitting here now, writing, and also dreaming.

I don’t let myself dream beyond much more than these things. And it’s not that I don’t feel I deserve more. I don’t feel beyond that at all, not for myself at least. I’d be lying if I said I don’t for her though. I do. For me, I don’t allow myself to miss or envy things I’ve never experienced. What a sham that would be. I sit here now, paint severely chipped on my nails, stringy hair, and shoes on my feet that have walked many years with me. Yet, I’m content with these things for me, for now. I don’t want for more, but I never get far past the present day I sit in, and what challenges await me there. Day. By. Day. Never beyond that. If I could plan tomorrow, the seed would be empty of it, and unsafe for my focus.

My daughter teared up talking to me today. She told me her boyfriend was off shopping, spending $500 gifted to him by family. She was heartbroken that she herself, could not be afforded days like that, and never really has. Trust me, she has been gifted many things on Christmas and birthdays, for years to count. However, I knew what she meant. I couldn’t even buy her a thrift store shirt right now if I wanted to. My contentment for myself, is not the same as my contentment for her. I, in the face of her 15 years, have failed her greatly. I haven’t given up, but I say it out loud because I accept it. My hope is that someday, she could find a way to be proud of me for something. I hope I accomplish that in my lifetime. It’s on the top of a very short list of things I want.

I feel that one should dream the dreams of the kind of spirit your mind connects with. It may not be fancy things, or a lavish lifestyle. Maybe it’s just simply dreaming that one day, you’ll just simply be…okay. And that will be a freedom that will be more than this world could ever offer in things.

Awaken

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Lay yourself open to the winds of change.

Step outside and give your hair a slow flip.

You are a beautiful cicada shedding your shell,

leaving an empty past in your wake.

Even a sideways smile could change your day.

Drag those anchors around your ankles one step at a time,

and fight.

Fight through this world.

Fight through each trial.

Flick your cigarette, and don’t pick up the butt.

Be unapologetic about every truth you stand in.

They can’t tarnish, what they can’t touch.

Run your hands through your hair,

embrace the sexy of your skin.

Memorize your favorite kiss,

and ignore that annoying bird squawking at midnight.

Continue to hate the sun,

and relish in the sensual feeling you feel when the moon bathes your skin

like a warm milk bath.

You don’t have to be normal,

and you don’t have to give a shit about what anyone thinks about that.

Drink every drop that you want,

and stay up all night.

Dry those tears,

just for today.

And write every word you’re thinking.

Get it out of you.

Smile for the dumping of this torture.

And shake the hand of closure.

Take one breath in, and one breath out.

And don’t you dare look back.

You are a fierce bitch of a woman,

and all life is waiting for…

is for you to see it too…..

Here One Day, Gone the Next

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When all the noise around me quiets,

and everyone has gone away,

I kissed you once, I remember,

so I think back on that day.

You brushed the hair away from my brow,

I had used to hide my eyes.

I bowed my head and turned my neck,

hoping you would not see the tears I had cried.

When you pulled away, I hit the floor,

knowing it would never be the same.

And I couldn’t even fathom,

the feeling of loneliness, that would soon be mine to gain.

Oh look, how these stars now taunt me,

the cracks in the moon crease up my skin.

I’m melting from the inside out,

thinking I’ll never see you again.

The sun boils my blood,

and festers my mood,

so I keep myself so busy,

that I won’t have time to notice how much has changed,

and or how our love seems to always make me dizzy.

Will we be the lovers standing in the kitchen,

holding on for dear life?

Or strangers in the dead of night,

loving coldly, cutting through life like walking around like dull knives?

Hold me, where are you?

I’m reaching out, running through this maze.

Don’t leave me here,

you hear me screaming,

love me still,

even in our daze…..

A Mother’s Fight

It’s really incredible how quick life can pass by. You can sometimes think back on your kids being little, stomping through the house, and asking a million questions. Back then, you used to be annoyed by it at times. Even ignoring them sometimes. I remember spending every waking minute with my daughter trying to make things perfect, which doesn’t exist by the way.

Although we never had much money, I always wanted her to have the shoes she wanted, the clothes she wanted, and there’s not a picture I look back at where her outfit wasn’t cute and in every single one, her socks matched her bows.

I spent all this time doing this partly because I never got the chance to be girly. I have always been tomboyish. I wore boy clothes a huge chunk of my early teenage years, and never got too heavy into makeup unless there was an occasion specifically for it, and even then, it was black lipstick, or something dark.

Everyone made fun of me the whole time my daughter was little because I never let her get dirty. And if she did get dirty, I would follow her around with baby wipes cleaning her up. I carried 8-9 outfits with me at all times in a diaper bag and if she got so much as a single stain on her, I would change her entire outfit. I carried the whole can of formula, and the whole box of cereal in the bag, and pretty much a whole pack of diapers. It was as if I was always prepared to leave and never come back, if necessary.

I was more than over-protective. I was constantly fearful, that what happened to me in my life, would happen to her. I didn’t want anything to ever even come close to making her feel, how I had felt most of my life.

In the end, turns out, I further damaged her by protecting her so much. By the time I braved up to start letting her doing anything, she didn’t really know how to make friends. And really didn’t trust people (Also my fault). Each attempt at social pairing has for years, been mostly a flunk. And each time, I blame myself.

I wonder to myself constantly if one day, she will also blame me. Or, does she already blame me now?

The struggles we face today aren’t just simple bullying trials, or even just fighting off loneliness with no friends. It’s a pure and constant sadness. Darkness. Each day, a new demon to fight off, and each night, another night I lay my head on my pillow feeling like a failure, like I failed her and myself.

For 15 years, 7 months, and 28 days, each second of my life has been dedicated to wanting every best light in the world I could think of for her. Everything to chase the darkness away.

I spent my life before that, chasing my own darkness away. Did I morph my demons into this beautiful little girl just by merely being her mom? Did my overprotectiveness do everything except….. protect her?

I wanna see happiness fill her til she overflows. How do I get there? The one lesson I learned the hard way that I avoid reminding myself of constantly is that you can’t make other people happy. But I want to. I would be sad and dark forever if it meant her life could be filled with happiness, never-ending love, and a future filled with hope and the greatest of adventures.

I know my page is normally much deeper with poetry, and poetic views of real life situations.. But sometimes, you need to let people who support you see the truth. Real, raw, and unequivocal truth.

My life is not this mysterious bed of roses. It’s just the thorns. It’s the instant pain when they prick your finger, and the shock when you stub your toe.

My baby is depressed. And that is a summary. She is deep in a basement with no light, depressed. But to me, that’s not all she is.

She is my coffee in the morning. And the only light I see. She is orange blossom, in a field full of pink roses. She is a powerful rock and doesn’t even know it. And she is my reason for breathing. She’s creative. And when in motion, completely unstoppable.

But she is depressed. It is taking her down, and I’m fighting that demon like a soldier on the frontlines. I’m not sleeping, barely eating, and none of my smiles will be real, until hers are.

I am her mother. And in the light that she doesn’t see, I am her warrior, her biggest supporter, and even when she shuts me out completely, I am still here, fighting with everything in me, and loving her to top of every mountain we need to climb. And one day, we’ll get to the top and rejoice at the echo of our victory.