Messy Weekend

Maybe it was my quivering stomach that awoke me. My head heavy and my heart along with it. I stand up to get water, and I wonder if my legs will hold me. My eyes have dry tears stuck to them.
More then half of my Saturday was spent in drunk phone calls. Reaching out for help, while losing the idea of what I really need help with.
It’s that low point in drinking for 30 days straight. That depressant within it that finally kicked in. Was it building up to this point all along?

My body has sore throughout. Some places more then others. I am weak and my brain fuzzy and confused and I’m conflicted and uncertain and I don’t feel stable. I have to move slow, and slow is even too fast. I have to make a decision, and that is one decision too many.

I will figure this out. And I will need to be confident on what I figure out or else I will not be able to act on it. I feel like my heart just doesn’t want to let go but that is confusing my head up because my head I think, thinks it should.

What a flippin dilemma.

The Rise of Whelm

My tastebuds linger of yours
The smell of your scent that always seems to stay the same
My hands in your hair, wrapped around the strands I braided for fun
16 months ago.

You had opened up the door before I had even reached it
shut it and you stepped out and you took two steps toward me
with a pained expression on your face
and for a second, I thought you were going to hit me.

But you sweeped me up without caution
and pulled me so close
your arms around my back, my legs around your hips
your hands moved under the back of my shirt
just to feel my skin.

Your hands moved to my head
feeling the tangles of my hair
to my face you felt my cheekbones
and I whelmed right up to the brim

 

 

and then it spilled over.

 

 

Ache a Lake

If this is the process of a heart opening up to love,
well damn,
feeling just got an infinate times more tender.
My sensitive guts, oh come on now!

I feel broked open!
Airing out my heart has never happened
until now!

it’s the only thing on the line

blowing in the wind and those dusts and specks, yeah! They blast into my blood line and stream through me like they know they ain’t supposed to be there
and it brings me to my knees, oh like heckaloo it does.
I’m bending out of a tree and I just want to feel limp
to not feel the split open of my heart
all the strings and power and muscle exposed
just hurting aching longing

Lake Heart Ache.
what a fricken real life thing .

 

Beginning of a Good Breakup Hits Me

Oh shite,

this is harder than I thought.

I’m gulping in air-tears trying to keep them from popping out of my eye balls and my heart is about as heavy as an empty aircraft and full as a buffalo who’s eaten 10 heaping plates of macaroni and 12 bowls of chocolate mousse cake and 284 bugs all in 2 minutes. And I mean the BIG bugs.
I must maintain positivity. I must.
This is so difficult.

Looking at my phone still, knowing the texts will not happen anymore after today.
The miss is setting in harder than it has in the past two months.
This will not be good. This will not be good…

But it will be good.
Because I will make it that way.

I can choose to.

And I choose to.

The Inbetween is Real

All kinds of struggle.
I’ve kind of labelled mine in a broad but specific sense. Because THAT makes sense.
And it will. After you finish reading.

I’m inbetween wanting to walk in front of a speeding train, and wanting things to get better.

But not.

You see?

I want things to get better but I don’t want to make the effort.
It’s like wanting to lose weight but not wanting to pass on the skor bars or double cheeseburgers. Not wanting to run uphill for 2 minutes everyday or go for a walk.

In between not wanting to try for that,
I’m inbetween wanting to try for an exit.
A solution that is quite frankly, absurd.

You don’t exit because things get tough.
But you think about it everyday.

You don’t want to explain yourself to your family,
but you can’t leave without them knowing.

You don’t want life to be like this
but it is right now. Except

you can change little particles of it.
You can,
but you don’t want to.

Because being sad is easier.
Because laying in bed with a breadknife under your sons books, is a better feeling.

Because the idea of leaving, makes things better.
It dilutes trying.
It makes trying seem more difficult and thus, makes doing nothing, more justifiable. 

 

You see?

It all makes sense.

I’ll Get to Here in a Rhyme

I’ll shark my way into the system of casual beaded motion.

I’ll take the drops from the bottom of the Atlantic ocean

and
I will make fish swallow the universe.

 

I’ll clip my choices on the everlong bend of wire.

I’ll take a match and light the whole fucking thing on fire

and
I will make the clouds blow into the sea.

I’ll soul my self with a thumbtack of sewing.

I’ll take a boat and I’ll do all the rowing,

and
I will land on ground that feels like a steady world of strength and power.

 

 

 

Hurted Again

We woke up beside each other again.
I’m pretty sure I went over last night after you had told me not to.

And I shouldn’t have.

You were drunk and angry and I couldn’t say anything to make it right.
For the first time in our time together, you pushed me twice.

I was in slight shock.

I’ve seen you upset and mad before,
but not like this. Not this much.

I have never taken so much hurtful words before. I have never just sat there and got verbally beaten. I have never stood for it. I have never sat for it.
You are the only one I’ve let do so.
Partially because I feel I deserve it, and partially because I’m hoping it helps. And that if you’re venting to me, maybe it won’t be to someone else.
The momementum  was such, that it even rolled into the next morning.

Your eyes blazed anger. I wasn’t scared. I just felt helpless.

I should not have went over.
I will not next time.
See? I’m learning.

 

Finally, Now I know

I was looking back on old typings of mine on my external hardrive. We’re going back to 2007?  My mouth dropped at a certain one.

I was telling myself that I didn’t know what it was like to love. That I just wanted to feel a heartbreak, to truly know that I was loving.
I continued on expressing how I had always been the one that broke up with whoever I was with at the time. And that by being loved so much by these individuals, I abused it. It meant less to me because I didn’t understand it. And I always had it.
I begged to feel heartbroken.

And now?

After 27 years of living,
I know what it’s like to have my heart busted.

 

 

And you blew it

You know, at what point do you stop and say,
I had everything And I Blew it.

At the point when your life basically falls apart, is when.
That’s when .
There’s no other when .

It has to get to the worst it’s ever been,
the worst you’ve ever believed it to be at the time,
for you to understand that you had everything
and you blew it.