The imprecision of emotions
There are no words
that soothe the
biting sting of
not being wanted
There are no actions
to comfort the
bruised feelings when
not chosen
Only the quiet of
the night as
tears roll down
your cheek
And you ready yourself
for the coming
of the night and
evasive sleep
As you wonder what
signs were misread
as you choke back
the imprecision
of emotions...
Memories
Someday, someday...someday, maybe I’ll be loved
Someday, I’ll also be able to stand tall, brimming with confidence
Someday, I’ll laugh and cry proudly without a care
Someday...I’ll escape from this prison that’s chaining me down
If only one day, I can shrug off the murky hands that are making me stay
If only one day, I can blast away those judging states that pressure me
If only one day, I can live without someone making my road
If only one day, I can smile without others pouring rain on my fun
Why is everything so difficult?
While everyone is depending on god, and wishing for a better life
Is that better? Did it solve everything?
Why aren’t we doing something while everything is dissolving in front of us?
Who were we to beg others when we raised our heads high before?
The memories that stabbed me repeatedly,
Made it clear to me that I’m not welcomed here
So why can’t you let me go already?
I’m afraid to ask if you despise me because of your glare that bores into my skin
It’s scary and suffocating, and my resolve that I barely managed to have,
Wavers, and I end up being crushed again
When will this cycle end?
The warm memories that I barely have, leaves me hanging on a thin rope
The precious thread that ‘God’ lowered down to me was snapping without me knowing
Little by little, I found myself drowning
Ah, was this my fate?
That red string that’s pushed into the darkness?
And I can’t even cry, nor yell
But only to stay as a doll?
Why? Why? Why do I have to be like this?
Why was I born with such misfortune?
Ah! Ah! Ahhh!
The pieces are crumbling, and falling!
What should we do? What can we do?
Nothing. We just wait till we fall as well
What about me?
What about me?
Have I been forgotten?
What about me?
Can’t you turn around and face me?
Can’t you admit your mistakes so that my heart could just feel a bit lighter?
What about me, god?
Are you just going to leave me hanging like this?
I’m on the brink of death with my painful memories still intact!
What about me?
Love yourself
I know that you want to be just like them
I know that you think their lives are perfect but not yours
But really double think about that... Just love yourself.
Ode to a story
Ode to a story.
Whether it's yours or mine.
Whether it's a piece of your life.
Or something made up in your mind.
Ode to a story.
that you read up late in your bed.
where you go to far way places
in the depths of your head.
Ode to a story.
that you can't put down.
that you hurry to the ending.
In hopes it turns around.
Ode to a story
that is a fight against all odds.
that tells of a journey
that ends in tears and applause.
Ode to a story,
that helps you to grow.
that opens, uncovers
the pieces you needed to know.
Ode to a story.
that fills up your heart
with love and of hope
to find your own sweetheart.
Ode to a story.
of mystery and crime.
where the day is saved,
just in the knick of time.
Ode to a story.
of knights brave and true,
of kingdoms, and swords,
and dragons that flew.
Ode to a story.
read just before bed,
with tucked in little children,
and kisses on heads.
Ode to a story,
that sing a song,
that get stuck in your head,
all day long.
Ode to a story
and to poetry too.
because poems are stories
and I just proved it to you.
What We had
Our relationship was simple,
nothing complex to it.
Love received and returned,
You never missed a signal.
TRUST, evenly we’d split,
til' a true bond was earned.
Simple and sweet,
we were heartfelt and happy.
It is with you,
I felt most complete.
A GOODBYE was key
to bring a gloomy bye-blue.
Weird History: Special Edition II
Davy, Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier
Davy Crockett, according to history fought the Creek Indians, served in Congress, and eventually ended up at the Alamo, for what is thought to be for all intensive purposes, died at the infamous, Battle of the Alamo, along with other notables names such as William Barret Travis, Jim Bowie, and Almeron Dickenson.
Actors such as Allan Sears (was the first silent film version titled Martyrs of the Alamo, 1915), Layne Chandler (Heroes of the Alamo … a talkie from 1937), Arthur Hunnicutt (The Last Command – 1955) Fess Parker (King of the Wild Frontier – 1955), John Wayne (The Alamo – 1960), Brian Keith (The Alamo: 13 Days to Glory - 1987), Merrill Connally (The Price of Freedom – 1988) and Billy Bob Thornton (The Alamo – 2004). All these actors portrayed Davy Crockett.
Crockett’s history is filled with fact, legend, and myth. One question has come up in recent years—Did Davy Crockett die at the Alamo. According to what we have read, seen in films, read in books, the answer should be a resounding yes. However, there have been some interesting new findings that seem to suggest that Crockett escaped death at the hands of General Antonio de Lopez Santa Anna.
It hadn’t been too long ago that historians found a somewhat important link to Crockett, that he may have been a Free-Mason, and interestingly enough, many of the Mexicans under Santa Anna were also Free-Masons. Did this alone save his life?
Other, somewhat speculative evidence has shown the possibility Crockett did survive and lived out his final days in Alabama. I cannot say the evidence is overwhelming, but it is mighty close to that in my way of thinking, but don’t take my word on this.
So I ask you to be the judge after watching this video. Run time: 43 minutes.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zi2ZjoufqC4&ab_channel=HISTORY
Rise Up
It is only in looking back upon my behavior as a teenager that I can acknowledge I was addicted to love. I was stuck in a pattern of intense infatuation, insecurity, and obsessive behavior. My immature mind believed that this other would fill my cup. So glad to be done with that!
As a young mother I became addicted to Vienna Fingers, no joke; the vanilla cookies with the vanilla cream inside. I would always use the excuse I was buying them for my kids but I'd eat them all before they got any. Don't worry. They weren't deprived. They liked and received Chewy Chips Ahoy.
In my fifties, I started a dangerous love affair with wine. Scared the crap out of me because my mother was an alcoholic. I had all these rules; only drink on the weekend; only two glasses max, that I was constantly bending and then I gave it up when I asked myself, "What the hell are you doing?" I do like beer, but I am able to stick to my rules. Only one, and not every day. My favorite beer at the present moment is Evolution, Rise Up Coffee Stout. It is addictive, but I keep it under control.
I would prefer to say writing and reading are passions and not addictions. I know I have an addictive personality and at one point I found myself turning these closely guarded passions into an addiction. I know the signs, perhaps you do too. When we allow what we do to become an obsession instead of a pleasure it's time to take a break. But I can unequivocally state today, writing (and reading) is the number one thing that makes me feel good when I feel bad, besides time with my grandchildren and my dog Booker.
Writing
It's my drug of choice. Well, one of the healthiest ones, I should say. I have others - you know, the usuals of sugar, Netflix, comic books, games, socialization, etc.
Yet trapped in my prison cell during the past year writing is the drug that saved me.
Maybe writing isn't a drug - maybe writing is actually a cure?
Lessons Learned?
Lesson 1) Airport Security Sucks
Obviously the terrorists that won the day in this scenario were only able to do so by exploiting our key weakness, which was airport security. Cue massive overhauls of airport security which do maybe a little good but mostly probably just piss us all off.
Lesson 2) Arabs are dangerous
This isn't a lesson, this is historically biased BULLSHIT from a culture of fucking Crusaders who can't stop fighting the same fucking war.
Lesson 3) America is hated
I'm going to leave this lesson here because it's one we haven't truly grappled with yet and honestly I feel it deserves the most reflection.
Sci Fine
I always thought huge boobs were super interesting.
Like - how do these work in real life? Honestly?
There is NO way to hold them up if you don’t ALSO have a giant ass to balance out the weight of the top - like, if you took your own Barbie doll - and put her on flat feet, not feet-built-for-heels - and tried to get her to stand up on her own, she’d actually probably slouch.
The ONE time I read a book where the author decided he wanted a big boob character BUT he actually exercised empathy in creating one was Jack L. Chalker’s Well of Souls series. In one of his books he described a woman being put into a different body which had larger breasts, and in order to compensate for the larger breasts they enhanced the spinal column to ensure the breasts could be supported adequately (she might have also been a centaur...can’t really remember, sorry, I read these things when I was like ten).
Most Westerners however just try to sell you a bra (read: boob sling) and then don’t focus on strength training for women to ensure they have correct posture / no lower back pain as they grow older.
FYI I now do strength training, but it took years of lower back pain and bad bras to get me there. Oh well - I made it there eventually, right?