hope anchors the soul

I get to the top of the mountain and my emotions are flawless and my ability to sustain pure joy is invincible. And I see our valentine’s day picture and it pierces to the core of my soul and straight to my gut and I fall full speed downward and my feet are placed firmly into the ground where I once was and I am reminded of the heart wrenching pain I began with and I wonder if you will ever know what its like or explain to me what I ever did to deserve this and I wonder if you still care or ever really did because you see these tears flow for a reason and the blood in my veins rush in every season and if you can’t manage a sorry or hope you’re okay I don’t know if I will ever be released.

He told me my natural hair was beautiful

And that my face was gorgeous.

He said because I was in my own world, I was attractive.

Now I realize all of his words were a bunch of bullshit.

See he had this smile that glued me

And a laugh that immediately tied me.

His game was on point

His swag was laid down

So easily did I let those things fool me.

His effort was ridiculously nonexistent

And my brains apparently not there.

And when he said, “let’s escape this mess,”

Reject that? I didn’t dare.

The things girls do for love

I will never understand.

But the things guys do for pleasure

Man, each of their moves deserves a back hand.

How dare he think he got control

I am a woman

Not a slut

Not a skank

Not even a ho.

A woman should respect herself enough to know

the difference between a tool and a man,

But when she’s been hurt so much and mistreated,

How can anyone expect for her to give a damn?  

I keep walking around, you know?

Not ever really sure about where to go.

My internal compass never seems to work.

And for some reason it’s always messed up.

That’s me. Twisted.

Messed up.

I stole my dad’s drugs when I was fourteen.

Tanked my mom’s alcohol when I was twelve.

I ran away from home when I was sixteen.

I got pregnant when I was eighteen, swell.

That’s me. Twisted.

Messed up.

I am consumed with a rage that I cannot control.

So I scream and I fight and I pull out my hair.

My words pierce like knives

 Behind this hate-filled glare.

That’s me. Twisted.

Messed up.

I have been used and abused.

Lost my soul in a man who claimed to love me.

A man who promised it was more than physical.

But the only thing he really wanted was my body.

That’s me. Twisted.

Messed up.

I do anything to make a man stay

Yet I put up a wall to keep them away.

One by one they leave and I am left, trapped.

So desperate for a love that never wants me back.

That’s me. Twisted.

Messed up.

I am severely depressed.

I scream silently in the hopes that someone will hear me.

And yet, I hide in my silence with the fears that someone will care.

Because I am broken and not put together,

And I don’t see how anyone could rescue this kind of screw up.

That’s me. Twisted.

Messed up.

I look in the mirror and I hate what I see.

A voice screams back, “You are fat and ugly.

Never skinny enough. Skip a meal or two.”

So I do. Again…and again.

That’s me. Twisted.

Messed up.

Some people once called me a lost sheep.

Told them my life story, forgiveness is what they offered me.

Said there was some guy, a holy dude of some sort.

Said he loved me for me, straight down to my core.

Not me.  I’m twisted.

Messed up.

Some people once called me a lost son.

Said I left my father, even after all he had done.

Said he was looking for me, his little lost sheep.

Said he loved me for me, like he was my little bo peep.

Not me. I’m twisted.

Messed up.

Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,

And can’t tell where to find them.

Leave them alone, and they’ll come home.

Wagging their tails behind them.

But not God. 

Jesus lost just one sheep, and set out to find it.

Left 99 alone and wasn’t worried one bit.

He cared so much about one lost sheep,

That he searched the plains day after day.

He didn’t stop until it was found.

Didn’t stop until that sheep was in his arms, safe and sound.

Jesus carried it home on his back,

And rejoiced when he arrived

Saying I’ve found my lost sheep! At last!

I am that one lost sheep.

Now safe and sound.

Jesus chose me, and carried me on his back,

And for some reason rejoiced with the whole town.

No longer am I my pains, tied down to the depths of my past.

I am what they call free, no longer living under a mask.

I am free from my hate

And so full of love.

Because the good shepherd found me

And made me a dove

That’s me. Once lost.

Now found.

For me a savior died,

Bled on a cross with nails pierced in his hands,

Wounds stabbed into his sides.

He took my shame and my pains and

Sacrificed his life that I may have a better life.

That I may be found.

And I have been found, by a man who will never leave.

I know, because He made me.

No death, no demons, nothing in hell or above

Could keep me away from this father’s love.

That’s me. Once lost.

Now found.

My God chose me.

What love is this, so pure and amazing,

That a man would leave a flock of 99 just to find one.

To me that is so crazy.

Now I look in the mirror and thank God for what I see.

A voice whispers back, “You are beautiful. Through and through.

Stop destroying yourself. Stop trying to measure up!

You are perfect the way you are and I love you.”

That’s me. Once lost.

Now found.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost but now am found,

Was blind but now I see.

I’m a glowing soul and a pretty face.

When I walk into a room, hearts beat at a fast pace.

Charm is my middle name and flirt is my first.

If I keep talking, my humility’s gonna burst. 

My dad’s an alcoholic

He valued Heineken over me

Each sip he took

Produced a new look

Just wasn’t my cup of tea.

Never gave a shit about us

Or so it seemed.

My dad’s an alcoholic

Somehow still alive

At the age of 46 plus 3.

He had three girls

A wife

And a son.

When he chose it over me

The hope for any love

Easily. Done.

Never once did I ask

My father for a hug or a kiss

Instead he continued to sip his flask

That was something worth wanting to miss.

My father never cared about me

You ask, how do you know?

My dad’s an alcoholic

His love for me?

A show.

I wanted him to care

Wanted so bad to be loved

Wished all my life

That I’d somewhat be enough.

I write these things

Not to condemn

But to show how much

That I love him.

My dad’s not bad

Not a bad man at all

Hell I’m just like him

Hawaiian, big, and tall.

We’ve drank and smoked

My dad and me

Every kind of drug

Every kind of weed.

I slipped into that character

Tried to be just like him

I thought he’d appreciate my effort

Tho my efforts were always slim.

My dad’s life wasn’t a fairytale

Never got love from his parents himself.

Love was put up on a pedastal

Always put up on a shelf.

I write these words not meaning

What you think I do

But for someone to think he loved me

For that I’d call you a damn fool.

My dad’s an alcoholic

Never will I accept

Or fall for another

“I love you, daughter” trick.

Someday I hope to love him

Hoping the same from him to me.

My dad’s an alcoholic

Still hoping one day that he’ll be clean.

That day will come

When his love becomes as precious

As a child’s whisper

As a chorus’ sweet hum.

For now, I’ll continue

To live my life

Fighting to believe that my dad

Actually loves his kids and wife.

You’d never know

Because you never asked.

She hides who she is

And keeps her pain, masked.

Think you know where she’s been?

What she’s seen?

What she’s heard?

Keep assuming, jerk.

Someday you’ll learn.

Tonight is the night for cold cut turkey and cider.

The night for a lonely lit candle and a glass of salt. 

Tonight is the night for thunderstorms.

The night for a weary campsite and an unlit bonfire.

Tomorrow is the day for rejuvenation.

The day for tattoos and multicolored hair.

Yesterday was the day for retaliation.

The day for melancholy sighs and upside down smiles.

But tonight is the time.

The time for ceiling dreams and sinking pillows. 

Tonight. Tomorrow. Yesterday. Tonight. 

Might you let me know when

this world will end?

When the skies will fill with clear air,

and the seas with fresh water?

Might you warn me

before the skies go black?

When the stars all fade,

and the moon turns to dust?

Might you be kind and

love still?

Even when the skies aren’t clean,

the sea not fresh,

the skies not bright,

the stars not beaming, 

an the moon not alive? 

Might you, might. 

Used and Abused

She was only a child

She never partied

He partied. Wild.

Used and Abused

You’d never know

She hides all her suffering

In the depths of her bones.

Used and Abused

She bathes in her shame

Go through what she has

You’d remember his name.

Engraved in her mind

She carries the weight

Of the memories from that night

And the overwhelming hate.

Used and Abused

Look what he has done

Took her dignity

And boiled it in the sun.

She deserves not this pain

Of a fiery guilt

From a man who

left her stained.

So the man upstairs

The man who truly loves

Takes her wounds

And turns them into doves.

Used and Abused

She is no longer.

Loved and Worthy

She is forever.  

I’m sorry that I believe in morals.

Morals turn into control.

And control turns into an obvious theft of one’s soul. 

I’m sorry that I believe in commitment.

Commitment turns into control.

And control turns into an obvious theft of one’s soul.

I’m sorry that I believe in trust. 

Trust turns into control. 

And control turns into an obvious theft of one’s soul.

Whipped. 

Not like the cream, but like the man who loses himself.

Whipped.

Not like the rope, but like the woman who loses herself.

I called it love. 

Love turns into control.

And control turns into an obvious theft of one’s soul. 

I’m sorry that I

I hate the way his phone looks.

And the way it sounds when a message arrives. 

I hate what I saw last time.

And the way it sounded when it arrived.

I hate the way she makes me feel.

And the way her face looked when that picture arrived.

I hate the thought of anything.

And the way those thoughts sound when they arrive.

I hate the sound of my heart.

And the way it sounds when pain arrives.

I hate the way my chest feels.

And the way it collapses when sadness arrives.

I hate my face.

And the tears and redness that cover it when hurt arrives.

I hate my body.

And the weakness I experience when betrayal arrives.

I hate that feeling I get.

And the way my mood immediately changes when he arrives.

I hate that I feel no control.

And yet somehow, I am still alive.

 

 

Letting yourself. 
What a strange concept. 
To let yourself feel happiness. 
To let yourself enjoy ice cream. 
To let yourself be loved. 
How?
How do you do such a thing?
Running is easy. 
Running is convenient. 
Running keeps me from pain. 
Yet it brings pain. 
Letting keeps me from happiness. 
Yet it brings happiness. 
I refuse to let myself be happy. 
Happy, are you?
No. I’ll fix that. 
In pain, are you?
Perfect.