She loved the feeling of walking away. Everyone exited the train, masses herd to the left, following the siren sound of success. She turned right. To her street. To her home. She still works. But it doesn’t look like it used to. No pantyhose and heels. No bumping elbows or bruised egos that punch harder than a heavyweight boxer. She was so happy about this new world, answering to herself on her own timeline, she never noticed the shadow figure in her periphery. He masked the malice of his intent. Method over mania, he repeated to himself. Method over mania.

You can sit next me, but I must forewarn you. I’m not like anyone you’ve ever met. If you find yourself intrigued, the further from me you should get. If you say I love you first, I will never love you like that. If you seem like you might hurt me, I will follow you to the moon and back. I’m forty-seven degrees of insanity, in seventy-four shades of play. If you marry your favorite dream and worst nightmare, I am their love child. Either way, I’ll leave you screaming in the dark. Could be my name, could be exquisite pain, could be the freeze frame of ecstasy before terror, or terror before ecstasy. What is it you want to explore? My mind, my body, my misplaced sense of humanity? Or yours? We can open all the doors, but - disclaimer, there is one which will shut you all the way out.

I hate myself today

The way my heart

Sits in my chest

jagged and misshapen

battered and bruised

and grasping at love like

it’s not just another muscle

i could harden

with exercise

How do I work it out

and make all this pain

disappear

Can’t anyone show me?

But I need to get it out.

2023-05-15 A Letter I Will Never Send My Children

Dear Abacus and Samurai:

Ab, you will be 20 this year. Sami, you are 18. I am so sad and disappointed in how Mother’s Day culminated. I hear you saying that it’s all my fault, and I’ve lost your trust and desire to engage in meaningful discourse. And that for the sake of what values your father has taught you, you only continue to engage me out of obligation but no desire for a relationship past the surface. You don’t value my counsel or presence beyond this farce of filial duty. You will show up as required and allow my presence only if I refrain from trying to peel that delicate top layer and stop trying to heal what has been damaged.

Abacus your rage is a scary combination of your father’s and mine. I hope you age out of it like we did. Verbal discourse was never my forte. I’m sure that’s the biggest reason I am still alone after all these years. Well, maybe not, I have plenty of flaws from which to choose.

It’s an impossible feat though, to move forward when everyone is so unwilling to hear me. If you had any idea what it’s been like to be a single mom these past 15 years, with little to no support except my friends. The things I have gone through and done to protect you, I hope you never know.

I try to explain things, to offer you my perspective, and you tell me I am being defensive. You see a tear or hear the shake of my voice because of the depth of the love I have for you, and the sadness I feel about the way things have turned out, and it’s another brick in the fortress you feel you need to build to shield yourself from my emotions. I cry and I’m being manipulative.

I get angry because you tell your father about what happened and he calls me and tells me not to speak, just to listen to him, that I have nothing of value to say and just have to hear him play “knight in shining armor” to you - to rescue you from my emotions - my hurt, pain, and sadness. And I am playing “the victim card”.

After struggling for 13 years as a single mom, you bring another child into my home. Well, a young adult. Unquestioningly, I take her in. So now, I have four children, except one isn’t actually mine, so I honestly don’t know what to do when there is a conflict there. I’m not her mother. She doesn’t pay rent so I’m not her roommate. And these are exactly the kinds of situations I find so difficult.

Yet I am judged and blamed for not treating her as one of my own. Although based on what you’re telling me, she’s lucky, huh?

I suffer from chronic overextension of my finances, aka poverty, except I never tell you how often I didn’t eat so you could. I never tell you how dire things get trying to keep all the bills paid, because there is enough stress in your lives, and you are my children and I want to protect you. I suffer from seasonal depression, but I don’t want to weigh you down with another worry, so never mention how hard it is for me to get to the other side of each winter alive.

But I’m afraid the thing I protected you from was understanding. From learning empathy. If you had any idea how many times I have almost died, but kept going one more second at a time by thinking of you. And how much it hurts to then be rejected and berated and pummeled over the head with my very human missteps and mistakes. But if I try to say, “My life was hard” I’m guilt-tripping you.

I have given you EVERYTHING I could. I have sacrificed pieces of my soul for you. But I never want you to truly understand. I just want you to love me 1/10th of how much I love you. That’s it.

Love always,

Mom

2023-05-15 The Letters I Will Send My Children

Dear Abacus and Samurai:

I am sorry. I did not realize Abacus was so upset about that exchange.

I hope we can still do our little camping trip with the family this summer, including Kim.

I will not speak of anything which may upset anyone.

Love always,

Mom

Dear Kim:

I am sorry you felt unwelcome in our home. I am a pretty awkward human, and I clearly have not entirely figured out how to adult.

I hope you can forgive my missteps and we can move forward in love.

I never meant to make you feel excluded. Please understand it’s a relic of relationships of my era. It’s clearly a dated practice, but there was an understanding that addressing one half of the couple included both halves automatically. That is the only reason I didn’t think to include you specifically on invites and such.

You are always welcome in my home.

Love,

Mee

in the space

of an I

there was an X

and a T

all preceded

by E

but

focused

on the I

i could never see

the sign

to EXIT

I don’t want you to be my drunk dial

So please don’t answer the phone

I am slightly bourbonated

So please don’t answer the phone

Also

Don’t look at your texts

In fact

Don’t think of me at all

I promise

I won’t call

All the words

Congeal

As saline pools

In the corners

Of my eyes

I hold

The floodgates

With willpower

But my thoughts

Outweigh

My will

The weight

Is caused

By my deep

And everlasting

Love

For you

My eleven year old

Little man

Since you began

As an idea

I had to wrap

My head around

I found every moment

Sweeter

Than the last

And the love flows

So beautifully

In both directions

You are the ground

I require

Beneath my feet

The breath

That draws the fear

From my heart

The laughter

That releases my pain

The smile

That clears away rain

Happy Birthday

It is with deep gratitude I write to acknowledge all you have done for me this winter. I know I am not amongst the most prolific, well-spoken or intelligent in the group. I know I don’t read or write as much as others (especially lately). I know I have been largely slacking on my likes, follows and reposts, which makes me feel bad on Discord as I see I am missing some really great content. I know it has been such a long time since I have participated in a challenge and I missed so many great ones, both reading and writing them.

Yet this platform has been like an invisible hand holding mine through my seasonal depression. Each time I venture to share my heartspeak I receive nothing but positivity, love, encouragement and understanding.

This winter was the worst in a long time. I abandoned nearly all of my positive habits which have been my stabilizers over the years. This resulted in me shedding all the tears my dehydrated self (so much bourbon) could muster. Each morning I spent 2-3 hours lying in bed convincing myself to stay alive first. Get out of bed second. And so on and so forth until I found myself washed (most of the time), dressed (all of the time thankfully), and at my desk at work, where suddenly I fit again.

If it weren’t for @fudo, @ledlevee and @putski, I may have not written or socialized the entire winter. If it weren’t for The Prose, I might not have made it through alive.

So if you ever wonder if you make a difference in the world, know that if you read, liked, reposted, followed and especially commented on one of my sporadic posts this winter, you helped save a life. I can’t tag all of you for fear of missing someone and creating a hurt where I am only trying to pay back love, but if you are reading this, I am definitely speaking to you.

And of course my indebtedness to @jeffstewart and @A and @mamba and the other Prose ideators and administrators, known and unknown to me, knows no bounds.

I feel renewed this morning, woke up wanting to enjoy living instead of convincing myself to stay alive, so I know the depression has passed until late fall. And the very first thing I had to do, was say thank you to y’all.

Heartfully,

Mee Jong

The music reaches underneath

and peace it cannot bequeath

i listen

and feel

and listen

and feel

And I confuse

What is real

Until my feelings

Congeal

You

Strip your ego

And the music

Flows

And your spirit

Glows

And I know

You are all

That’s right

In the world

It's true that I am small

But

My presence can feel tall

And

I don't mean to make

Other people shrink

And

I wish you wouldn't

But

I need to be the size

That

My heart dictates

And

I laugh when you can't stand

Me

Because I know that means

You

Have an issue with

You

Just like I

Have an issue

With me