She crept out of her house

late

fell asleep in the shrubbery

surrounding the garden shed

body shivering

under thin flannel

her heart raced

at the thought of leaving

the clock struck midnight

and there she stayed

I have a garden

growing zuchini, lettuce, peas

i squat barefoot

to weed the plots

planting marigolds

that keep the skeeters away

dirt gets under my fingernails

cakes to my feet

and i believe

this is the way

i was meant to be

magic

atop soil

under sky

. . .

Let’s vow

to put one foot 

in front of the other

think more of ourselves,

and of Others

. . .

Let’s vow

to see all Things

as just little things

whether lost objects,

or hurt feelings

. . .

Let’s vow

each well meant Vow

not to wrongly set us up

for unnatural death,

in the here and now

. . .

#vvow #challenge

it deosn’t mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

#WRODS.

Somewhere

between

Wish & Hope

is a trail

a paper

set alight

on a campfire

night with

s'mores 

where a

storyteller

says:

Wish is like

a bone

a fantasy 

to break

and nothing

more;

but Hope 

has a door

a real strong

foundation

on which

to rest

the soul—

a concrete

location 

like for a 

constellation

sited and pinned

to a page

with a name

not yet

pronounced

and a frame

light year's

apart —

not a shooting

star—

though we see

what we see

as we see it

when we see it

and anyhow 

the storyteller 

adds

as fuel 

to the fire:

Wish & Hope 

are same

in desire

euphemisms

both—

for some 

other four 

letter words 

—choice of 

which one

depends

entirely

on the 

occasion

anticipated

between

the kindling

gathered in

expectation

#ProseInspired #FreeVerse

Lay and wonder

alone as you always do

Thinking for the future so bright and blue

In the greens of the forest laying your head

wishing for a moment of delirium instead

forever only you and me

as if nothingness was all we could see

can't seem to be brave to open my heart

and letting my happy ending forever to part...

Flickering voices inside my head

Sun rising thoughts while still on bed.

Cracked mirror imagines oneself

Late at night writing self-hate

Shadows I follow under sad street lights

Trying to catch the perfect self-likes

Looking like me but not quite the same

The image keeps on running away.

What am I made of ?

the question that hunts

Can’t find a meaning of my emotional breakouts.

That’s all what to expect from me I say

But fuck you anyway .

#voices

#self hate

#feelings

#love

You join the circle

to throw the frisbee around

my heart speeds up

you pass to me

that stupid blue disc

slides through my fingers

you don't react

to the easy throw i couldn't catch

the game goes on

i watch you from out the corner of my eye

i notice how you throw

gentler just to me

wish it were just me

and you

wish i could tell you

your the reason

i can't catch

the only thing I have left is the fact that I’m still breathing. I’m mean it is an exaggeration, I have a home, and food, and more than a good portion of the population. in reality, my social, and emotional states are broken. the only hope i have left is the fact that things could get better. things have to get better. I am positive, in regards to the past couple years, fuck yes I’ve been postive. the fact that I’m still here and I’m still trying is positive, I think. again out of a psych hospital, and still having some faith in myself is remarkable, right? it’s almost like I’m stick on this circular race track, and it’s in auto drive and I have to find a way to gain control and veer off, into something new, a new life and not this continuous circle of hell where I’m driving alone. I’ve lost everything to this substance. the worst part of it is, I’m scared to leave it. I’m scared I cant. I lost my support. I lost my motivation.

it’s strange where whiskey will bring you. it get worse because you lost everyone to your erratic ways, so you search for people who don’t know you, who you can convince you’re normal. they make you feel less lonely for a night, or more like for a few hours until you’re stumbling and in and out of conciousness, you have blips on the night, you wake up foggy. you remember them having their arm wrapped under your arms leading you out of the bar. you know that they are pleased at the state you’re in because your inhibitions are lowered and you’ll give yourself up. and fuck, you’re okay with it because you’re fucking lonely, you’re fucking worthless in your own mind. so you wake up, shirt still on, panties off, and you look to your left, and you see on the night stand that there is still half the pint of whiskey you bought the night before. and I swear to fuck, that that is Christmas morning to me. I contimplate and then I look to my right at a guy that I barely know. all I know is that I can’t be mad, I can’t be angry that they fucked my half lifeless body last night. because I wake up and I’m not alone. but I know that the second they wake up they will find an excuse to get me out the door, so the contimplation phase is over. and you pound that half pint of whiskey, and then I close my eyes for about a minute and when I re open them, the familiar blur is there, the calmness. I’m okay to be alone with it.

and that had been my life for the past year. you have to think, fuck this girls head is so screwed up. and I have to wonder if I’ll ever get it together. if I’ll ever find something or someone to keep me going again. I’ve allowed myself to be abused in every sense of the word, emotionally, physically, sexually. and how do I come back from it. sometimes I think I cant, sometimes I think trying is a waste of fucking time. but then I end up in a situation where I meet other people, I get the chance to meet people that are so fragile, who are so hurt. I get to see their souls, and their beautiful hearts that have been shredded. and I’m not alone, and we are not horrible people, we are not outcasts. we weren’t born hurt, broken, scarred. and I guess, when I think about it, we all have reasons to give up, and these people I meet in institutions and meetings and groups, they didn’t deserve to want give up, and if we all did none of us would have the support and understanding.

alot of you don’t understand, and you stigmatize. I couldn’t tell you to imagine walking in our shoes because you’re imagination couldn’t conjure up these feelings. I’m a life and I deserve a chance, and understanding.