My Mind (No Translation #3)

I stands alone on a broken shore, and Us is there no more, the We They were is gone today but here tomorrow though They never really were at all. Me is there but I is gone and never to be here again, for the We I was is gone today, to come again tomorrow, at least that is what They say. So yet I stands on the broken shore, where Us never was to be, and Me is all but gone, just a broken memory.

On Preconceived Notions and Utter Bullshit

I’m honestly not sure if the title to this post is even remotely acceptable but its not going to be another poem, I feel like actually talking today so here we go.

People seem to have a lot of preconceived notions on how others should deal with their emotions. How someone should love, how someone should show they care.

How someone should grieve, how and for what reasons they’re allowed to be sad or even depressed.

I’ll tell you right now, its all bullshit. People, some people, not everyone but some, have this idea that bad things happen and then you just, restart, hit that little button on the side power back up and put a smile on.

That doesn’t always work. There are days, there are days where I think to myself, I’ll admit, I grieve, for being my idea of a fuck up. I don’t know how to even start going about fixing it. There are days that I look at myself, and I wonder where did the me that loved actually living go off to die and replace him with this drone that carries on?

There are some things, some losses in my life, that I don’t feel fully comfortable sharing on a public forum. It seems far too much like attention seeking for my sense of comfort, but I will say, that when you lose someone, that doesn’t stop, it doesn’t end. That process, that grieving process people say comes to a close eventually? It never REALLY does, there are days that, at least for me, I wake up and I think of one of those people and I still, years later, wish it was just a joke. Something I could fix with a quick call on the cell phone and talk about how odd that fake funeral of theirs back in whatever year was, I’ll avoid using actual dates, for the same reason.

Though I must say, I can’t help but feel that this idea that talking about them, talking about their death, lets call it what it is for once instead of using the word loss or passing, is somehow wrong of me. To call it attention seeking, would likely be adequate, to some extent. Even if it only is for my own attention, to draw my own eye to my scars that somehow popped open, we all share things in hopes people will care. There is, in my mind, nothing wrong with that, and this sense of shaming that we have, that “oh they used their loss to get attention” is such the wrong way to approach it.

They wanted attention, needed attention because they hurt, it is not somehow wrong to need attention, to need help. To want someone to talk to you and really, truly care. That’s just being human, being alive.

So really, what I guess I want to say is if you’re grieving, while my loss is likely not the same as yours, and perhaps not as recent, I have scars from that too, and I can say in all honest that I do care, and that I feel that when people have reached the point that they, not in so many words but in actions, feel it is time to move on, to get on with your life and stop crying, I have to say that’s just utter bullshit.

Yes, you should continue living, it would be doing the one’s we lost a disservice to their memory, and it would be doing irreparable harm to the ones still alive to do otherwise.

Move on however? How? How long does it take to move on? I’ll admit I sure as hell haven’t, not completely, but how long is too long? Is there a list? Check here and fill out form b 112? That’s not how it works, that’s not how life works, no matter how many people want or wish it would behave otherwise. You grieve, as you need to, you try to find all those pieces that might be shattered and missing, and put that back together as well as you can as you try to keep going forward, regardless of how heavy that weight is, and you do what is right for you. I can’t say for sure if you ever stop hurting or not, I can say there are days you don’t think about it quite so much, life has a way of taking your mind off the past, but there is also days were I at least, feel almost guilty, for still going forward, for trying to move past that point in my life, and I turn around and I see it and I realize they never got the chance to move on, they stopped, that was it.

So you grieve as YOU need to grieve, and take the time it takes YOU to put yourself back together, and  when you’re finally able to move forward because YOU are ready to take that step, make it known, ask those around you for the support you need and take that step. Share your grief and pain, make sure you’re not alone unless you truly need the solitude, and if you do need it, make sure you remember you don’t have to be alone. Also though, remember that just because someone else thinks you should be ready to start being OK again does not mean you have to agree.

 

That’s really all I wanted to say, I blame books for this but I just had to get this off me, it was weighing me down. Thanks for reading, and I do hope you find the way that is your way.

 

 

My Mind (No Translation #1)

I and We dislike that Me that decides to cry when We decide to go and try to do something that I will like but We despise and that Me at that time inside my mind took that knife to that I that made the We and left Us alone with only that shuddering shaken shattered Me that made mistaken miserable miscalcuations that led to monotonous misery and an indentured imagination lacking intellectual stimulus and emotional support so the I and We are gone and Me is sitting and standing while stalking and crawling and sitting in that corner rocking cutting their arms with a blade that doesn’t have an edge while edging closer to the edge staring in stupified satisfaction for surviving without living, simply persisting in painful permenance and stymied stagnation without proceeding and exceeding just falling behind, lacklust and lacking

Rising Fear

I see them coming closer I see my rising fears. I see my hand upon them as they are ever drawing near. I fear this is the end love. I fear my death is here. The water is a rising and the tides of dark are near. I see them coming closer, these are my rising fears.

My hand no longer holds them no longer held at bay. The dark has come at last, night has overtaken day. The hounds of hell are baying, I see them at my feet. Their jaws are ever open I pray my soul to keep. Let me run a while more let me out pace my rising fear, though this may be the end dear it seems my death is here.

I see them coming closer I see my rising fears. I see my hand upon them as they are ever drawing near. I fear this is the end love. I fear my death is here. The water is a rising and the tides of dark are near. I see them coming closer, these are my rising fears.

The dawn is never coming, the shadows have arrived. My fears have risen true, the darkness did survive. I fear this is the end love, my death is truly here. These were the ones I ran from, they were my rising fear.

 

Not Empty

I take a shuddering breath in an attempt to fill my shaking form.

The words they gnaw and bite, a raging storm.

It dwells inside, a burning hole with in my chest.

I don’t hurt because I’m empty, I realize as I burn and twist and writhe.

I hurt because the words most surge forth, the stories must be told.

That which dwells with in, the thoughts and worlds created by the muse inside my soul.

So much within and only so much room to use, the words are to heavy to carry too many to hold.

They bite and gnaw at my chest, beasts I’m unable to hold at bay.

It rips me apart in a visceral way, the blood and gore there for me to see as my dark imagination holds sway.

I see now I was never really empty, but rather over full, filled to the brim with the words that I carry, the stories that I hold.

Some things simply must be told.