Like a marionette left in your grandparent’s attic.  

Covered dust, missing paint, fixed. joined. glued.

I know the life you still see in me

I was packed up long ago past the prime 

Out of date in today’s day

Manufactures out of business 

Missing pieces chipped limbs

Expirations overdue 

Take me out and share the time when you and I used to play

The shows and faded memories you share is all I need

But the smile is gone and to much time has passed

So you pack me back up

After the stories are told

Until your memory craves something more

Like a time capsule covered in dirt

You can always find me

Like a marionette 

Love is Patient

Love is kind

Love is knowing that every regret and painful memory gave me this

Every happy day. Bump and scrape

Led me to you

Every fight and every kiss was another word in the story of us

Love is a lesson for every wish that id do different.

Love is a second chance

That insidious reminder not. 

To trust. To listen. To care

Love returns 

It will not be you

But love is the memory you left me

To love again

To love better

Deeper

Than we loved 

Love is having lost you

Love is every chapter we shared

Love is every regret and painful memory  

Every happy day. Bump and scrape Love is patient til love

loves again

It took the flu and one more halluscination that didn't include you to realize you were gone. Scrolling through Facebook videos in my fever induced comatose I found a video talking about conflict and love by Annie Lalla. Love is not care free, love does not take a little. It takes everything... With conflict comes growth and that is why when you were lost we seperated and when I had struggles we didn't know what to do.

Then came you...

I didn't understand how I could hate and love you until I heard it from Lalla. "I love you more than I hate you." So it is possible and I'm not the only one. My heart tore, it bent, it broke and it shattered, but it grew...

It grew out of you...

You were my coat, uncomplicated and always there. You kept me warm and comfortable, hidding my insecurities. I could take it off in the summer and when it was cold outside you'd comfort me in any situation. No matter what task or voyage I'd wear you from place to place. You were my coat.

You, you were four walls...

You had so much, you built and were given. You collected and created four walls for anyone who needed shelter. They always say make sure your cup was full, you made sure your house was a home. Shelves filled with your education, Chachkies from friends and the world. I couldn't just take you off, everytime I wanted your love I had to enter those four walls. When we fought I learned to not just slam the door. I learned to sit at the table and bite my tounge. I learned to listen to your heart and not just words.

You inspired me to build...

I started to pave the foundation for my walls. To build a life where I could nurture those that needed it without taking from myself. I wanted more love but not selfishly. I wanted an adult love. A healthy built home and someone who has thier own. Where we could take the best of ourselves and build a new home. The blanket I've had since I was eight. The make shift desk. They art you hang on your walls that represents your culture and history. I don't want just some warmth, I want those four walls...

#love #conflict

I have a little shadow and it follows me

Sometimes near, sometimes far...

A cold touch. My shadow paints,

Velvet landscapes.

He draws a picture of stunted words and stained memories.

I have a little shadow and it follows me

Sometimes near, sometimes far...

He paints pictures where words fall short

I have a little shadow sometimes small, sometimes room filling.

He leaves me be with friends but never out of sight. He waits then at night he comforts me in steel reassurance. Together we paint pictures of things forgotten.

Silence isn’t supposed to be so loud...

He comforts me with stories

Stories that he ends with crimson periods never to be told again.

I have a little shadow and he has something to say

I have a little shadow but it’s only me...

Me and him at the end of the day, me and him at the crack of dawn. Me and him in the shower, him and i after a long day... me and him when I’m happy the both of us when i am sad. In rage filled, rapture... tortured i have a little shadow that has something to say.

#poetry #shadow #therapy #life

Knock, knock...

Who’s there?

Suicidal mother, never was there father? Abusive step father and dead lover? Anyone?

Father? Rapist one, two, three? Demons?

Hello! Where did everyone go.... why did you leave me too?

Wind like fingers brush against the wind chimes of scars to let me know it’s home. Creaky floor boards signal when someone is by the door. Appliances that need residential instructions. You know the ones... the microwave clock is on time but the radio is is 45 minutes behind. The oven door doesn’t close and if you want to use the microwave you have to use paper plates.

There is a room upstairs that isn’t properly insulated so the winters are full of cold toes and blankets and the summers are... gross. The inside part where your elbow is, I’m not sure what it’s called but it gets sticky in the summer and it sucks.

But it’s in that room where I’m comfortable. I don’t think of the Leakey shower faucet in the stairway restroom. The broken fan in the den or the rooms and how they have to be cleaned.

I bolt my hand made door and sit at my desk and knock.

Trying to fill a void with memories.

#therapy

*Trigger warning*

You asked me to make it a little longer, that I tend to write things to short.

I only write when I have something worth sharing and I sit and ponder for hours sometimes days thinking of what to say. Having conversations with myself, my concious? Then when I put it into existance... I don't know it feels light, like an empty box. And I think that staring at my blank canvas I said all I need to say.

I want to say I was five and I want to say it hurt. I lock certain memories incase of emergency, fuel for hard times... Maybe it was the broken heart that released the cursed door that allowed for every blink to turn into a childs car ride. I'm still to dissacosiated to get out of the car. So I view these memories through stragers windows. Turning away at the sight of these ungodly acts but not truly feeling the pain.

When I see him speaking to me I can feel my hands being forced and I can feel the white tile. It was cold.

I remember his large palm carrying his oversized weight into the low of my spine almost as if he was trying to feel how far he reached inside my adolescent body. I feel a little cheated. Did I fight back before that? How did it go from getting water during mass to my first sexual encounter.

I open my eyes once more in order to get back to reality and avoid this shitty Netflix que that is my past. Until my reality becomes to hard to handle and I am forced to close my eyes to let the tears run out.

I'm a child in the car once more and the glimpses through these windows are a little clearer. Like an early Disney animation three sketch like shadows tower above me as I continue to shrink. He holds my nose and I try to scream for help as my mouth is filled. I gag and bite down before finding comfort in white tile. The tile is starting to cover in tears and saliva before red ink starts to bleed into the floor. I can't remember the pain but I know I was punished for fighting back. I don't actually know how strong they were maybe it was my small frame that allowed every kick to send my flying across the floor.

That's time is when I no longer could call it my fault. I knew if I wanted it to stop I had to finish it. To this day I have not been able to masturbate in the normal sense. I do not want to see my cum come out. I flinch in the fear that it will end up all over me. I fear womens hands anywhere near my penis, I say that I am tickelish but truly I'm afraid that it's wrong. What if they don't want to and just want it to be over.

I was passed around like this for years, I don't remember everytime... At least not yet. I wish I knew the pain. It's not my fault but the street lines and old raido that plays on these drives all say that I was to weak to defend myself and then I feel cold.

The cold you feel when your skin touches tile.

#amemory #alettertomyfather #therapy

I love a woman that everybody knows,

For a price you can wait at the door and be flipped through like one of her magazines. The ones she reads when she unwinds at the end of the day; filling wholes with carbs and silence. I listen to the whispers and judgments that become so loud. I start fights like a man digging for gold. Through blood stained hands and a back that forces me to pause. I’m looking for the truth that you hold with your best interests. The lies are links in your chain that holds others within earshot but never letting them get close enough to see your self inflected wounds. I just want the truth and not some version of it.. This is the terrible part of loving a part and thinking it was the whole. I could hear my heart beating and it hurt. Thinking of you hurt

#heartbreak #toyou #therapy

I don’t miss you. My mother tells me stories of how i used to wait at the door for you. Even cancel plans because it was your weekend. I don’t remember any of that. I don’t get why i should miss you. I’m always asked if i miss you? The world makes me feel like i should but what am i missing other than their idea of their own father.

My dead first love i miss. I miss talking to her, eating with her... fighting with her. I have memories to miss. But with you i never built that connection. I don’t have memories of you no emotional time that i hold. No binding bonds. So i don’t get why i should miss what i never had.

#children #father #life #toyou

Like a theif in the night I crepped into heaven and took moments with you. With every kiss I stole a miracle that was never meant for me. I stole life in those seconds, every time your eyes caught mine. Every slight touch and stacked words that built walls gaurding me from my demons.

Every moment with you was a stolen second of life that I did not deserve. Your voice was the porch light in the chasam of my mind guiding me home.

How do you thank an angel. How does a devil rest. True to your name... Persephone without you the harsh chill of winter fills this world. I'd steal the starts out of the sky just to light your way. I got lucky with you...

I stole everything I could but I could never keep what wasn't mine.

As you get older you learn goodbyes are not final, death is not permanent and love will always find you.

#toyou #mylove #goodbye

I stand behind my walls of good intentions. With demons hidden behind numbers lost and friends drowned by memories of times long ago.

Ever since my first sleeping pill at the age of nine. I found silence in steel. Anything to not feel...

My mind cranks with every beat that is my heart. From the color of your shoes to the way he would bite down when he struck me. The song playing on the radio or muffled voice that is speaking to me. My brain plays a tune to the hummingbirds flight.

I keep these secrets hidden. Because I’m an addict. Would you trust me if you knew my mouth watered at the sound of rattling pills. Would you lock me up if you knew the day dreams of death played on repeat like the latest number one hit.

What would you do if you knew?

#toyou #addict #recovery