Self-Making

You make me feel so broken,
so damaged, defeated and hurt.

You make me feel that I am noone that matters
that me living makes no sense
that I am nothing but empty.

 

 

I don’t need that. 

 

You make me feel so amazing,
so loved, beautiful, and incredible.

You make me feel that I matter on this earth
that I am valued,
worth everything.
That I am needed.

 

 

 

 

But I don’t need that.

 

 

 

I don’t need it because

 
I am my own power,
my own truth.
I believe in me to do better than I have ever done.
I can be appreciated, loved and trusted
without being chastised for my past.

I can be those things
and not just feel those things.

I can be the factory that I am
and I can make all of those things

 

 

myself. 

 

 

Forth and Back

You are weak, you are strong, you are every lyric to every song.
You bend my blood right to the core and plant my feet on every floor.
So I am everywhere because of you and I don’t know what you do
but I love and I hate it and for the life of me I can’t escape it. 

 

 

 

This is what You think.

You think I’m out with people.

Late at night I dance with beer sloshing out of my bottle
and straws flicking out of my thin, bending cup.

I’m busy on my phone
collecting up all the people I dropped in the past year.
I’m meeting people left right and center, going to the movies and having dinner by the lake.
You think I’m doing that
and not laying on the basement carpet staring at the water stains on the ceiling.
You think I’m blasting through this like it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done
but I’m here
I’m flipping right here
in the square middle of my bed under my covers with new tears running over the dried tears
with no desire to see or talk to any soul but you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fack.

I hate that you think I’m not doing what I am.

 

The Day My Mother Left

March 11 2016

I walked up the basement stairs about 830am and could feel the chill in the air already.  I opened the basement door and came face to face with a touque wearing, flurescent vested, glove wearing man.

” Can I use the washroom? Where abouts is it?”

In 4 seconds or less I see everything. The doors are open and there are 3 other men moving around and I see the big white truck out the kitchen window with a ramp up to it and items, and lamps and mattress and desk and I think inside ‘ she’s not actually.. is this what this actually is??’ and then Aunt Dawn comes down the stairs with her arms full of bags and I ask ” Is she moving out?”

With grim expression and a slight smirk, she nods her head- out the door she goes.
There are 4, 5, 6, movers, all moving fast and the world is blurry for an instant. I stand there cemented to the spot. I don’t know what to do and I see police car, one, two and I know I do not want to see Mom but she’s there before I can move and next thing i know i  am doing what i dont want to do and moving towards her and i hug her and say the least thing i want to say to her. ” yay, you’re finally doing it!’
then i walk downstairs then i walk back up and i go up more stairs and i am crying and i open my brothers door and i sit on his bed and i say ‘ josh ‘ and he turns over slowly and sees my face and is alert and there is panic in his eyes and i say ‘ moms moving out ‘ and we sit in stunned silence and then we talk and then we look out the window and then we sit some more and then we go back down together and zeek all this time is watching stuff on my computer and doesn’t know anything that’s going on .
and josh calls our sister and she didn’t know . josh calls our brother later on and he didn’t know
and dad is in chatham and he
does
not
know.
i feel wrong being here.
then there are more cars and aunt ruth and uncle john are there and he asks me ‘ hows it goin’ and i say drly’ perfect’ he says oh right, dumb question’. and they hug me and i am stiff and my eyes wet and they just keep being wet and i am standing there beside them and i dont want to be and they say they have nothing against my dad and that john, ‘ i’d like to go golfing with him this summer’ and i’m saying inside my head, ‘ya the fuck right’. i am mad mad mad mad mad and feel out of place.
Then I am downstairs and the movers are there now too and ask ‘ are we just taking the tv?’
My blank stare is enough answer.
I know this is the best thing to do. For Mom to leave.
But I am still angry.
I am mad that she chose to do it this way. To have it planned for at least a month. To get her own place. To know she was spending her last days here. And us not have a clue.
I am angry that all those trips into town were ones for lawyers. she never ever told us she was leaving even those times.
I am mad she didn’t say goodbye, but i know that was easier for her to do.
I hate that she said ‘ you can visit, theres a suite you can stay in for 3,4 days for free’.
‘im sorry mom, ‘ i think to myself ‘ i have not fricken processed this in the slighest.
The place she will have gotten will be very nice. It won’t be dumpy. And Josh and I sit dumbfounded, and he asks me about the affair because in Moms email to him, she mentions it assuming he already knew. He didn’t. But I say nothing about it and say , ‘ask dad,he’ll tell’.

Then, all of a sudden, a crashing silence falls on our heads and we stand up and we say, ” Are they gone already??”

and upstairs we go and there is no trace that they were even here, save for the spaces of things that were there and are now gone.
we move to her room and it is empty empty empty and we stand in it for a few minutes and we lean against the windows and i watch the birds at the feeder.
we wait for dad to come home and he comes home and he stops in the driveway in his white jeep and he backs up and we watch him do this and then he pulls forward and we know he has seen the marks on the grass and josh and i put our coats on and shoes and walk out to the garage and he shuts the jeep door and he follows us in and josh says’ we have some bad news…..pause… ‘ mom left’
“oh really. that doesn’t surprise me too much’ he says and his eyes are full of question and josh begins retelling the hour and a half.
and i recall people taking pictures and writing down items in the garage and in the kitchen and dad said ‘when he saw us walking out he figured somethign was up’ and when george and him left early for chatham  earlier that day they had to turn around because they forgot something and mom alreayd had her car trunk open and her bedding inside because she thought they would be gone but they came back and he saw that and thought’ either shes gettign it dry cleaned or moving out?” and she had this all planned. calculated down to the last plate she was going to take. she knew everythin she was entitled to and she had it all configured in her brain about how much stuff she needed for her new place. three stools? yes, they’ll fit quite nicely. a couch? tv? oh i need a coffee machine, yes i’ll take that one. and this good chinaware too!
dont ask me how ballistic my uncle george ( who is living with us too ) will get now without his 5 hour daily tv watch. to be honest i think that was kinda a mean one taking that . it’s not like she can’t afford another one? but we’ll get another one and a nicer one and we will change the whole basement around too. this is more my house now. I’m the woman in it.
we shall change the locks on the house.
and dad is not to know where mother now resides.
—————————–
I do feel lighter.
I do feel the air is thinner, there is less tension and Zeek finally feels more like mine again.
She will be happier, and we will be happier too. Everyone will. In time.
We will fill in the blank spaces of the house, we will take out all the knick knacks she had and it will be like she was never here. Starting over.
She is still my Mother and I suspect there will be good change in our relationship because of the distance but for now I will stay angry and sad and feel pity for my Father.
For after 36 years of marriage,
his wife has left him.

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.

 

 

 

I am

I am scared of whatever future there is that I own. Or if there is much of one. Choosing. My choices for it are not concrete. Im battling belief in it. Trying, trying, trying.

Dark Space

It’s scary. I’m scared. I know life is going to be like that sometimes. There are lots of uncontrollables. But it doesn’tt take away from the thought of opting out of living it. It’s easier like that. Those thoughts are easy and comforting and selfish and make you feel better. Having control of that one thought and action, eases the fact of all the other uncontrolled.  Even if right along with the thought of giving up, is the thought that I couldn’t. But only because I’m a Mom.

The Millionth Chance

How many times will it take?
How many chances will I get?
Why can’t I get a grip on living a good life.
I have failed so much and it hurts my heart to death. I keep messing up.
And I don’t even fucking know why. I barely know how.

I think I can move forward while holding on to stuff from the past?
That is one of the lousiest thought orders a human being can have.

Realizations come in giant waves that have me speechless. I can’t explain myself. I’m just a knotted rope full of threads and unravelling dishevellement. I don’t understand me much anymore and it’s getting me further into a darkness I will not be able to breathe in.

On the other hand, I just made red play-dough with my child and that was rather amusing and made my heart feel beats of light life.

Where do we go from here.

Hurting for a Good Reason

I have known for awhile, in the back of my head, that it would crash.
That at one point, life would just fold in on itself.
And I would deal with it then.
That’s what I told myself.
Hurt has now got the strength and has shaped and it’s formed and.. it’s in me. It’s what I have begun to feel. I don’t get hurt often. I really don’t.
But I feel that this is the beginning of the toughest thing I go through.
This will be one of the biggest changes in my life. Coming to terms with things will take awhile.
It’s not like anyone has died,
but a part of me has to. I have to kill parts of me, in order for me to live. And to love.
To love completely.

Making Good from ‘ Bad ‘

I write differently to different people because everyone is different and people need to hear things differently or read them written that way instead of the other way and each way makes you pick up snatches that aren’t the same.
People make me figure stuff out about myself.
I only have my own self reflection here in Thailand so going to Canada and being exposed to mirrors that talk back is incredible. It makes me feel more like a person instead of a shell and it is scary to think that I may think of myself as a shell in Thailand and only that. But there is so much to feel in Canada. So much to give and so much to take and I have to stay sensible and realize that it is only because my time has been limited each and everytime I have went back,for the past four years. It affects these things so much so, that breaking down isn’t so much of a surprise. Because these are the life sized things. For me. These are the things that pinch my heart and stagger my thoughts and wind my ideas so that they go walking across the carpets on missions to unknown destinations.
That is me dealing.
There are always many tears when I say goodbye in Canada and I am always trying my best not to drown in them. Being conscious of it. It is good to feel that way even though it is hurting.
If I felt none of this, could I really sense the better in the good? If I had nothing to compare. Nothing extreme to relate it to, then the good wouldn’t be so good and the value would be non-existent.