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A Little Nitty Gritty Ditty

I’m dying

Inside

I ain’t lying

To hide

I see you coming for me

Mister Anxiety

Go

Fuck

Off

Turn your damn head

And cough

That’s right I got chesticles

And, I got you by the testicles

Got you in a vice grip

You try to move and I’ll rip, rip, rip

I break a chair over your back

To make up for all the things you think I lack

I repeat

Fuck you

Take a seat

You’re in for a treat

Believe me, I am for real

I won’t give up until

I’ve won

I’m done.

Poet’s Note: I have intense anxiety attacks. I’ve had a horrible one building along with a migraine for 9 hours. I missed an important appointment that I have been waiting for since spring. I finally couldn’t take it anymore and had to write it out. It’s a little better now; Of course I’ve had two doses of meds now and kisses from my service dog and support dog who are curled up next to me on the couch which is some feat considering that they are both big ass dogs. Please, excuse the foul language, but, if you have ever had a major panic attack, you understand. If not, deal with it. I think this would be a good rap, so I’m giving it to the best rapper I’ve ever heard, my friend, Ian Gabriel to do with as he pleases. With all of that being said, there’s one last thing…I’m out. Mic drop…

Featured

“Tears are words that need to be written” -Paulo Coelho

I am not good at crying. I was never comfortable with it. Growing up, when I cried, I was either told to shut up and take it, to be quiet, that I looked funny doing it, or that it made me look ugly. For the last ten years, the ten years since Mom’s passing, I have rarely cried. Now, as I am my dying husband’s care giver, I cry often…not only for what I will lose, but for all that I have lost. My virginity at age five. My son at age fourteen. My hope at age 21. I cry for a father who helped so many and hurt so few. Those few being us, his own family. I cry for my perfectly imperfect mother…a woman who lived in and past fear. I cry for my brother who forced reality down so far that it had no choice but to come bursting up. I cry for my sister. I just cry for all she believes she has lost. I cry for my husband, my one great love, as I watch him try to stay Army strong and dignified. Illness has no dignity. I know as I have been sick most of my life. Death has dignity. Not the moments leading up to it but the passing itself. I held Granny’s hand as she stroked out, then stared into something that I could not see, smiled, and commented that now, after a lifetime of being a stalwart Christian, now she understood. As they say in the South, a Lady always knows when it’s time to leave. I realized while writing this truth that I am no Lady, but I am a woman…a perfectly flawed and naked to my soul, human. You may not like what I have written. You may be uncomfortable with it. But, I have been one acquainted with the world of untruths for far too long. Mulder had it wrong. The truth is not out there, rather it is in us. And, so is God.

Susan in the Middle

Why must everything be a drama queen story

I feel like I live in the Spanish soap opera I had to watch in university days

Of course, I wouldn’t want to live in the French soap operas of high school either-

How dare you hug me Jean! I’ve only known you 5 years.

French soap operas definitely don’t live up to there reputation.

Isn’t there a middle ground?

One that doesn’t kill my stomach like a hundred balloons were bursting inside?

If writing gets me through it, why isn’t it my go to answer?

Off I go now.

The Crohns’ and IBS are calling-toll free.

ReRape

How innocent is a flower

after being plucked a half dozen times?

Or a snowflake that has already melted

on a tongue?

How rosy are the cheeks

of a Holocaust survivor during their camping trip?

Or a worn to the bone mother of nine

who can’t recall which end of the blush brush

paints her pale skin haunting

her prominent cheekbones?

How many pens can a victim use

to tell what you have done ?

Or pages of paper-tear stained paper?

How many hells will you endure

before and after your death?

I don’t care.

Trying, B

As I stand trying,

the world goes on around me.

Little do I know what happens next.

I am loved by about three people in the universe.

Which is fine for most,

but not for me.

I want to be cherished and radically loved-

not for the potential but for the me.

I love but do not feel loved.

Yes, this is possible!

I am a burden to many,

loved by few, tossed and turned by the waves of life.

My depression breaks down the door.

Doors are just the polite way of coming in.

When is my turn

Or did I miss it?

I know I live in this house to learn,

but, please, let school be over.

I have tried beyond belief.

Punishing me; let this time be over!!!

I have learned.

Let school be over.

Let my freedom bells ring.

Let there be peace today!

Thank you for reading! I hope that you have an amazing day!!♥️♥️♥️

Peace; Be still

The Heavens you sketched and colored for me,

prove a love so intense that, God, it beckons me remember you.

The sunlight that this hermit longs to have poured over her pale soul, the protection of my Lord, the God of recompense.

The cream hole in the sky at even time beckons me peace; be still.

So I rest my head on my prayer shawl.

And I know that when I converse with you,

I talk to the Lover who adores me so.

When Crying isn’t an Option but a Way of Life

I want to quit but don’t know how.

Fear flows from my head to heart to paper.

I never asked for this pain,

but I did the right thing;

Now I’m stuck like the tar baby.

I weep and moan, but no one hears-

not even my dogs, because I won’t let them.

I can’t let anyone see the real me.

There’s only one who would help, but he won’t.

Just one more day-everyone remarks.

What if that one more day is my last day?

This One is for the One I Love

I leap from jellyfish to jellyfish when I talk to you.

Never the same,

smack or kiss.

I am in my blue period of life, I guess.

What suits you? Anything I do?

You hate my freedom.

You hate my dogs.

You hate me. Maybe not on the surface but deep down where people don’t like to talk about sibling rivalry.

I was abused harder, but you had it worse, right?

Why is it always a competition with you?

Who cares?

You needle and needle and fucking needle, needle, needle until no one is happy. Everyone is in an uproar but you as you inwardly cackle.

You love it when a plan comes together! Your plan- no one else’s.

No wonder my brother hates me and loves you. Needle, needle.

Mom would be so disappointed and disapproving of you and your schemes.

You drive me to lunacy then let’s take a nap together.

Who are you like- Mom or dad?

I Miss You

I cried for you today.

In panic like I have never felt before,

Mila, Beth, and more tried to calm down the crazy lady,

but I needed to peel my skin off and climb on the ceiling and sit where I could breathe and see life.

I threw a tizzy.

I had a fit.

I had a whole dairy farm, and I am lactose intolerant. I was wildly tossing gluten in the air and catching with my open mouth.

But, seriously, I cried hard, “I can’t catch my breath, I’m going to suffocate tears” for you.

I missed you and don’t know where you went.

I searched the whole world, and came back frustrated and angry.

I miss my best friend.

I miss me.

Panic Rituals

Trembling hands holding a racing thought,

How much longer until we’re home?

I can’t believe I forgot my meds.

I’m such an idiot!

Who do I think I am that I can have a normal life?

Thoughts racing around on the coattails of a unbroken thoroughbred,

Trust me, there’s nothing ugly that you can say to me that I haven’t already told myself.

Took my meds two hours ago and my insides are shaking. When will they kick in???

Everyone is against me. Nobody loves me or likes me for that matter.

One hand stops trembling.

My sister loves me.

My heart slows down.

My friends love me.

The other hand quiets.

God loves me.

I am calm.

Peace; Be still.