i find myself going through the motions of the everyday,
my body moves blindly,
chaos into order by rote,
kaleidoscope tunnel vision thoughts,
backwards slide into ecstacy everlasting and all i want is you,
i’m set on replay,
burned into my brain
soft landing seclusion safely centered in a bed of thorns,
momentary release echoes infinite,
comfort in an endless series of storms,
shelter from arrows dipped in poison,
a gift from ancient times, when warriors were worshipped
and supple sacrifices lay willingly,
prone at worthy feet,
it’s all here,
flying through empty rooms,
dust particles in the warm afternoon sun,
blanket of invisible draped,
molded together tangled, tethered,
it stays there,
carved in flesh and bone,
a constant reminder to breathe
and sometimes I do,
translucent gossamer ties us together,
now it’s here,
now it’s there,
but the constant of this devotion remains just that,
and steady as she goes,
only the wanting,
wanting you, with no expiration date
for there is no time limit for perfection,
some things just are
Buffy: I got nothing left to lose.” Whistler:”Wrong kid, you got one more thing.”
It’s always the same.
The buildup now begins before Halloween, by the time Christmas arrives we are exhausted.
Then we have New Years Eve.
For the most part, we women are not only expected to make sure everything, and I mean everything is done the way we’re expected to have everything done. Usually without direction, lists, suggestions, and , oh yeah, help. (Yes, dear husband, you do help me and no, I’m not talking about you. Ahem.)
Now where were we?
We all have them.
We really shouldn’t.
Until we can truly walk a mile (or a day) in someone else’s shoes, no matter how much we do or do not communicate, we will never live up to someone else’s expectations. Never.
We can turn ourselves inside out and it still won’t happen.
Because we are who we are.
And until people stop expecting others to be exactly what they think we should be, we will fail them every single time.
This year, I will do my best to stop expecting anything, from anybody.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the friends and family I have, but it’s been made painfully clear, especially in the last year or so, when it comes down to it, I really am all I have.
And in the interest of full disclosure, I do pretend I’m not all I have, but let’s just keep that between us, okay?
Angelus: No weapons, no friends, no hope. Take all that away, and what’s left?Buffy: Me.
stars glimmer and shine
until they die out,
dust grain formation
from years of icy surroundings,
or a momentary veer off course,
there’s a domino effect
though nobody knows when or where it began
it hovers, waiting for maximum impact,
hoping to catch you off guard intentional so you fall,
but you can glitter as you fall,
scatter and redirect,
stardust bouncing the bumpy road
and then, collision,
discarded matter coming together,
merged into something beautiful,
magical and beyond belief,
light, once again shining in the sky,
the darkness just a soft backdrop
to the eventual wonder of it all
it slips by unintentional
every grain of sand another splatter of time
slipping slow bit by bit, drop by drop
into a puddle of blood-tears
but oh, it screams so loud
i cover my ears for self preservation,
hide in a corner, fetal-like
wishing myself invisible
laughing at my silly girl dreams
as i try to remember who pulls my strings,
i lost control of them long ago,
handed them over without a thought, caring not for any potential consequences,
they got tangled in my Rapunzel-locks when i tried to climb down the tower
only to fall face-first into my failures,
somehow my sense of direction has been tampered with
i’m now unsure which path is right,
i’ve spun in circles so many times now i don’t know if i’ll ever make it home again,
little bits of breadcrumbs left behind
all eaten by blackbirds following me, screeching my sins out loud
leading me to my destruction,
every superhero i believed in
left me here alone,
with nothing but a remembrance of hope,
another thing that is fading fast,
i’m not that devil on your shoulder
masquerading as an angel,
whispering in your ear
intent on pulling you away from your self,
no, that’s not me,
i’m not that siren attempting to lure you to a slow painful death
weaving a melody leading you to destruction and regret,
on a quest to steal your soul for all eternity,
no, that’s not me,
i’m not that poisonous voice planting those misleading thoughts
in an effort to push you down till you drown,
insane clatter spinning you in circles till you can’t tell which is heaven and which is hell,
slithering through your midnight hauntings
and echoing through your day,
no, that’s not me,
buzzing in your ear
insinuating you’re tarnished,
stinging you helter-skelter, trying to smother your glow
no, that’s not me,
i’m the one with the naïve trust, full of faith,
i’m the one waiting, quietly, in the corner,
believing in my forever
out of nowhere i’m back there
flying head-on into my past,
it hits me hard and
like the time you slapped me across the face
outside that store on st. marks place
mad because i was without you
or your permission,
a stranger walked by and told you to stop,
in retrospect i’m surprised you did
but i just filed it away,
forgot it like the rest of the night and like so many other times, i made my fake excuses,
i left with you because 17 knew no better,
a self proclaimed king possessed you
and you sat me on red velvet because i was your queen,
meant to be at your side,
everybody worshipped the you they imagined
and your puffed-up pride inflated
along with your legion of fans
but i always kept your secrets,
that other version of you showed up again,
when you backed me against the bathroom wall of cbgb’s
before you smacked my face for talking to someone who wasn’t you,
my words were meant for you alone,
that’s what you told me so that’s how it was,
and i walked out the door with you, hand in hand
because you loved me,
you drove my car into a telephone pole that night
even though i was driving, you grabbed the wheel,
but still, it was my fault you said,
right before your knife slid into my thigh
and blood dripped down my leg,
it wasn’t your intention but
you woke me up that night, brought out my violent
when my fist hit your face without thought,
truth is i was more upset about my ’68 chevelle than bleeding on my favorite jeans,
but you finally brought out my irish and i kept on walking,
deaf to your promises of white picket fences and a dog on a leash,
i walked away,
it was the other ones,
‘friends’ crawling out of the mud
because they all knew you when,
they made you a legend after you died
living your rock star dream,
but even after all that time,
inbetween the always phone calls
and all the ‘we shoulda’s’ from you up to the bitter end
we both know without a doubt,
the last thought you would have would be of me
you reminded me the other night, we were right,
when you made your latest dreamtime visit,
to tell me you still love me
it’s all me,
somewhere inside this mess
choking on my swallowed words
intimidated into silence reluctant
while i simmer inside
that’s not a word, you tell me,
you don’t just try, you just do,
easy for you to say is what my brain whispers,
my mouth agrees out-loud,
hoping you can’t see for miles
because my eyes always give me away,
my voice does too, sometimes,
so i hide behind silence and laughter,
a strange couple perhaps
yet they keep me from screaming out loud,
now the roads are closing, at least for awhile,
and i’m unsure how to breathe
i don’t know where the safe-zone is
in this disconnected space,
no matter how much you say it’s ok,
see, i don’t believe in much but i believe in the inevitable,
inevitably i end up in the dark,
alone and waiting
and now, more than ever, i’m always waiting
freeze me now
before i melt away
for the fire burns
deep inside me
and i fear i will combust,
turn the key
double the locks
keep the light away and
dim the glow
cover the essence then question it’s absence,
as the show must go on
in case anyone is looking,
this icy shell, cobweb-covered as time steamrolls by
just another day and it all piles up,
layer upon layer thickens my skin
so heap it on me,
throw me down and hold me under,
the cold will control the sizzle
and keep me hidden till i can burn again
I have a confession to make.
My name is Joanne and I have CommentPhobia. It is too an actual thing, I looked it up!
Ok, I didn’t really look it up, I made it up but I think it’s a real thing, don’t you? Please?
See it’s like this: I went to Catholic School. Also, I’m a middle child. And a girl born under the overly sensitive sign of Cancer plus, I’m Irish.
Mathematics have never been my strong suit but I kinda think that all adds up to one guilty apologetic people-pleasing self-ignoring, well, hell of a woman now that I think about it!
Psst, I’m trying this thing where I make believe I’m confidant and stuff, did it work yet? Hmph. Things take time ok?
This is what happens, I zig-zag.
It isn’t intentional, in fact I wake up every morning ready to take on the world, also known as my To Do list but I have too many balls to juggle so I fumble. And something has to hit the floor when you’ve got too many balls in the air and what winds up suffering in my little world is replying to your comments in anything resembling a timely manner.
Truth: I have nightmares about it. For real.
Because it means so much to me, at a time I need it most, the fact that you take the time out of your own busy day to talk to me is such a gift I treasure, and I truly feel love and gratitude for each and every one of you. Honored is too small a word.
I keep telling myself “tomorrow I’m gonna wake up and reply as I wake up slow with my three cups of tea” but… all the buts show up at the same time, more balls flying my way, so many I lost count.
Then I think “tonight, when I’m cozied under comforting fleece, I’ll do nothing other than reply” and emergencies bust through the walls crashing all over my intentions.
Betcha’d never guess I love talking to you as much as I love writing and reading by my recent behavior, rather, my lack thereof.
I hate excuses.
Especially when they’re coming out of my mouth.
That’s why I’m not gonna give you a list of reasons I haven’t been keeping up. As you may or may not know, I’m coming up on my one year mark writing here on Word Press, at the same time I’m coming up on the one year mark without my Mom.
That’s not an excuse, a reason, it’s just truth.
So why am I babbling about something I haven’t been able to do instead of, oh I don’t know, doing it?
Because my name is Joanne and I am a CommentPhobaholic.
Because I feel dumb replying to comments left previously when it takes me this extra-long amount of time to reply, and I will reply to each and every unanswered comment no matter how long it takes. Nor how dumb I feel.
You know, guilty middle-child Catholic School Irish Cancer. With a temper. Which I’m aiming at myself if I don’t keep my word.
If I say it I mean it.
Except when I don’t but I tag that ‘fiction’.
I guess I just want to say I’m sorry and I am very grateful to you, over there, with the eyes reading this right this very second. Yeah, I’m talking to you, every single one of you. If your eyes are seeing these words, know that I am blessed, because of you.
You have helped me through the most traumatic year of my life, I can’t imagine what the past year would have looked like without you.
I won’t allow myself to imagine that.
I will though, imagine getting up to date with my comments.
If you can imagine it, you can make it so.