When the pain comes back to haunt me
And I find myself sifting through the past
I share the deepest parts of myself
My darkest hurts
To release myself from its hold
Release
This House
This house
Where the past blends into its faded walls
And whispers lay forever still below the floorboards
It’s once glorious shine
Weathered by years of changing seasons
A fresh coat of paint would work well to hide the imperfections
Softly veiled windows
Reveal silhouettes of a life in progress
But only offer slight protection from prying eyes
Behind the walls
Muffled voices determine the mood of the day
And the safe keeping of private moments
The Innocent
You don’t know what it feels like unless it’s happened to you
Blocked from defending yourself as the villain tours the town
To be victimized for years but you never said a word
You didn’t want to bother anybody
To turn the other cheek and just walk away
There’s no fight if there’s no opponent, or so you thought
But your silence only allowed for words to be filled in
Skillfully crafted words, the most manipulative kind
You tolerated the lies and staged little plays
The watchers, the followers and said nothing
Believing the high road would keep you in good standing
But you didn’t factor in doubt
And you didn’t factor in loyalty
You didn’t recognize the skill of the villain
Because these are not skills you possess
Your innocence betrayed you
Remember Me
Remember me
As I walk through the ash
Left behind by the shadows of men
In the footsteps of strangers
Innocent of all evils
Remember me
Let not my memory fade
As the faces have throughout the years
Be it known, the sacrifices of all
To which we must never forget
Remember
For when we forget
Mistakes of the past are repeated
The memories are too far faded
And again, we fight in the shadows
Remember me
Do not leave me to lie in vain
A ghost, nameless and forgotten
War is hell and hell is undeserving
For any soul
Autumn
I love the early nightfall of season’s end
As if it were an intended reward
For the suffering of a long hot summer
A respite for a soul
Craving an extended slumber
And the inner warmth of homemade stew
The quiet comes early
And with it, the hypnotic sound of crickets
Laying somewhere beneath my windowsill
It soothes me
Soon the events of the day begin to fade
And I find myself slipping into a dream
The battle is lost to keep it
To let go would mean a goodbye to this night
To sleep, would see it gone for good
But too heavy my eyes fall
Not even a chance to say goodbye
Until I awake, never knowing what could have been
I open my eyes to the warm sun
One day closer to another long summer
One day closer till I bid farewell once again
To my beloved autumn
A Moment
Quiet
Let the world stay
Still in the moment
Paused for breath
The surrounding song Of life in that moment
To just be
A Beautiful Memory
The plain blue box
That sits in the back of my drawer
The hinges stiff with age
It’s edges worn and gold trim faded
It even smells old
The inner fabric still scented
With hints of old perfume and lotions
Imprinted within its satin lining
A familiar smell that brings me back
To childhood memories and easier times
And for one moment
I feel my youth again
Father’s Day
(TRIGGER WARNING)
Imagine a small house, nothing fancy
With a perfectly manicured lawn and a white picket fence
Lots of children happily playing on a quiet street
The wood screen door slamming shut as they run in and out
In the kitchen, the wife is preparing a delicious meal
While after a hard day at work, the father sits back in his chair
Watching life unfold around him
I call it the ‘Leave It To Beaver’ dream
A fantasy taken from a popular 1950’s television show
Featuring the most idealistic, conservative family of the time
It was my father’s dream to have a family like that
But he was nothing like a 1950’s TV dad
My father lived in his own world
He liked to call himself, ‘an idea man’
Because he had ideas for everybody and everything
In reality, he was just a narcissist who liked telling people what to do
And if you didn’t listen to him and take his advice
You were either suffering from depression or delusional
Depression was his favourite reason to explain someone’s lack of participation
And according to him, a lot of people were depressed
I had seen this man on almost every occasion
Shake hands and compliment people
Only to turn his back and call them assholes and losers
It’s what narcissists do when they feel threatened
I don’t think he ever had any friends
Acquaintances yes, but friends, not in the true sense, no
He certainly would not have been a good friend
And this is where we transition into him not a being good father either
I have maybe only one or two nice memories of my father
The rest are so traumatic, I can only share pieces at a time
It’s only been five years since his passing
And I’m still triggered when I see men that look like him
A panic, and in the moment, I need to remind myself he’s no longer here
But it always takes a minute or two
You see, my father never saw me as his daughter
I was his possession, a tool, I served a function
He talked of what a proud father he was when I came into this world
How he took me everywhere and showed me off to everyone
But he lied about it all
The stories he told were all designed to make him look like a hero
It’s what all narcissists do
But he was nothing more than a villain
A man who punched holes in doors and walls
Drank too much at times and taunted my mother to tears
Never caring his children were in the next room crying
A violent and emotionally abusive man
One who often hid behind a staged image
Those are my earliest memories of him
My father lied to me my entire life
He tried to control every aspect of my life
Using every person involved in my life
His way of maintaining control
He would say I battled depression, an illness I was never diagnosed with
Pushed me into the arms of controlling men
Knowing he could control me through them
Instructing them to call him
Because he could tell them how to handle me
So when my boyfriend dragged me by the feet
Across the kitchen floor, a wooden porch and then down the stairs
Across a gravel driveway till I was thrown onto the front lawn in front of a few stunned spectators
And because I was screaming, crying, terrified
Ultimately responding in the most correct way
It was then I found out my father had spoken to and had advised this man
Because the words that were screamed into my face that night as I was dragged out like a piece of trash
Was that I was just as crazy as my father said I was, and he was told to drag me out on my ass
So how did it get to that point you ask?
Well, I had been cowered into the corner of a room because my bi-polar boyfriend had stopped taking his meds again
He had been screaming into my face, accusing me of stealing from him
A truly terrifying experience
And somewhere in between a conversation took place with my father who suggested how to ‘handle me’
I never went back after that night
But I really wanted to hurt him
And it was just one of the many things my father was responsible for
So no, Father’s Day is not a good day for me
It will never be a good day for me.
Nurtured
By nature I’m a helper
It’s just who I am, a nurturer
And I love that about myself
I could be in the most incredible pain
My body bent from the weight of exhaustion
Eyes puffy, barely open, mind too tired to think
And I would still give whatever I had left
Easing the discomfort of those I love dearly
But there’s always a cost
The comfort in my reliability often leaves me unnoticed
Perhaps even purposely ignored
Forgotten, the weight I bare in silence
Of all I agreed to take on
The part of myself I give to others that takes days to return
Though I’d rather help than burden
And so I write to let it out
I forget sometimes people aren’t like me
They don’t notice the things I do
I’m a fighter, I’ve always had to be
Maybe you don’t see it
Maybe that’s just how it is for me
To care but not be cared for
The price I pay without complaint
Over and over again
Indignation
I get angry sometimes
Verbal expression was never easy for me
So this is a newly acquired skill
Throughout my life I have often been the focus of indignation
The inability to articulate my thoughts and feelings
Only cleared way for misinterpretations and manipulations
I was and still am a scapegoat, the perfect victim
Muted by thieves and rogues who I felt sympathy for
Those who couldn’t give a damn about me
The hate-fueled vengeance that turns people into monsters
In the absence of light, they remain unseen
But as I’ve grown older, I’ve learned
I don’t have to worry about justice, for justice will come for them all on it’s own
And whether a developing conscience or simple circumstance is determined to be the cause
My only thought is of sympathy once again
Because to live with such evil
The desperate need for control and validation
It must be a lonely existence
So yes, I get angry sometimes
But the things I get angry about are the things worthy of my anger
Social issues, the abuse of innocents and so on
I no longer give time to those who steal it
To feed their egos and cravings for an unbalanced life
I can’t control what they say or do
They are the ones who ultimately have to answer for their actions
I may have fallen once or twice but I caught myself.
Because there is no resolve in the business of vengeance
Only grief and misfortune
And I have already paid my dues
SUBURBAN CABIN FEVER 