HastyWords's Blog, page 12

HIS NAME IS LEONARD

He was full of life

Hard to get close to

Didn’t need love

Or help or care

Just did his thing

Perfectly resilient

He loved the sun

Solitary days

Listening to the world

Dramatic with their flare

Always changing colors

Demanding attention

But not him

His name is Leonard

Painful when messed with

Not really the hugging type

But by far the prettiest

And most chill cactus around

DEADFALL

Deadfall seasons

Come like the night

Sneaky and silent

Waiting quietly with its

Blood red oranges

And copper smells

A soft wet decay

With no words to say

Rain without cover

Cold without a coat

Dark without light

This is the last place

I’ll see until spring

Peeks into my soul again

CUT SANDWICHES

The shoes were thin and worn

The day was windy and rainy

The voices demanded volume

And the faces… they were blurry

They don’t care. They don’t care.

They don’t care. They don’t care.

And the tears don’t matter

They’ve just made it harder

Can’t breathe underwater

And the blood doesn’t matter

It’s just wet rust… pitter patter

The heart is drowning

But the brain just smirks…

I told you so

I fucking told you so

Hey let’s play would you rather

Would you rather be loved

Knowing you’ll be hated too

Or would you rather be

Nothing at all

THE SINS OF TRAUMA

There are lots of things I hate

About trauma

Real honest to goodness trauma

Like…

How it automatically steals

Future joy

How it cripples effective communication

How it makes trenches

With one way signs in brains

How it dictates patterns

Of protection

Of avoidance

Of self-sabotage

Of self- destruction

Of hyper-vigilance

How it demands boundaries

That are more like walls

And armor

And obstacles

For protection

Which work only barely

Against future abuse

Or future survival

But works more effectively

At keeping away success

And joy

And love

And safety

And how relentless it is

At making a person feel

Unworthy

And broken

And angry

And how unfair it all is

That it happens all the time

And how many of us

This describes

UNFOCUSED

The days are too short

The minutes too few

I wasted so many already

On hurt feelings

On tears of surrender

On disliking myself

On anger and frustration

On wishes and hopes

On sleep… on avoidance

On escapism and heartache

Precious golden seconds

Carelessly spent

On too many of the wrong

Small things

And not enough seconds

Focusing on the little things

With love

SPRING MIX

Green leaves sit

Vibrate and valuable

Huddled together

Inside plastic

Waiting

They did their job

They grew big

Got picked

And packaged

And ended up

In my fridge

Where good intentions

For health and happiness

Wilt slowly

Eight dollars and change

Each week

Wasted on

Not following through

DO YOU LOVE ME?

Everyday

For years and years

He tells me

I am beautiful

That he loves me

And I believe him

Because he’s honest

And yet…

Some days I need to ask

“Do you love me?”

And it must be exhausting

To reestablish the established

To re-utter the uttered

To have to tear down walls

That have been torn down

All because depression has learned

To build walls fast, must isolate

Separate me from love

So I can be defeated

But I’ve learned some magic words

That if said to the right person

Will send the walls back down again

“Do you love me?”

Means I need help

And because I trust you

I’ll believe your words

So right now

More than the other thousands

I need you to tell me yet again

I belong here

Because I’m valuable

And loved

And my hope is that someday

I can fight depression

By asking myself

“Do you love me?”

But it’s not trustworthy

Because too often my voice

Has answered “I never did”

On stronger days though

I’m trying to train that inner voice

To automatically say

“Hell yes I love you”

And those damn walls

Won’t stand a chance

Byron, thank you for being a voice I can trust when I can’t trust my own. I love you

IT TAKES TWO

I was thinking about how much I try to be a good person. Foster good intentions. But I’ve been the villain too. I’m not perfect and I do mean things whether intentional or not.

Eminem “Big Weenie” just started its lyrical foray in my head. Give me a sec’. Gotta shut that down dead.

Ok…

My heart is cautious but it hasn’t always been. It used to be superhero quick to ALL IN but it’s older and wiser now. It’s been in a few battles since then. Most of the battles were and are with my own brain.

Speaking of big meanie anyone who has been severely depressed knows what living with a mean brain is like. So to say I’m not capable of being mean would be a huge lie. My own brain has hurt me more than anyone else possibly could. Unfortunately, that brain has lashed out and done some damage.

My daughter tells people all the time I’m too nice but she knows better. She’s seen the villain try to eat her mom. But she’s seen her mom fight and win.

It takes Two to Tango. She’s going to school for graphic design. She was given this phrase to create a design for.

This is her design. Isn’t it wonderful?

I had to train my brain and my heart to Tango instead of fight. Surviving myself is the most heroic thing I’ve ever done.

FRACTIONS

There are fractions of me

Scattered all over the floor

And I feel like if I knew math

I’d be able to solve them

Puzzle them out for good

Once and for all

And I’d be a whole… finally

Like all of you

NO MORE WORDS

The noon sun peaks around clouds

And paints my wrinkled face softly

As I sit on a tractor in the middle of a field

Engine off, the wind questions me in whispers

This morning was hard I softly mumble

But the wind carried my words away

Dried mud clings like armor to my skin

The land I worked already erasing me

And I know I’m not fit for this place

A sewing needle in one hand

A fishing line in another

I thread the eye carefully and

Poke mindlessly at the calluses in my palm

They no longer feel the pain

Numb to the time and effort spent alive

And I raise the needle to my lips

And I sew my own mouth shut

Because this will never be a place

For any kind of words