Though grief only sickens me once or twice awhile, the apathy, my infirmity of seeing only darkness- mine, but not mine alone, pervade my mind and deteriorates my vision, my senses. I can’t feel I can’t try.
I will never be mothered again. give, I give but never receive my mother’s love has gone.
Were you ever safe? with the world depleting and convulsing in it’s last breath -not man’s evil, it’s own- is dying, being killed, killling the depths, the heights the waters, so mysterious so expansive, horrifyingly mystic kidnapping and harassing, stripping bear all stripping control, all. Are you ever safe?
In creating, though upward I ascend in aspirational joy -energized downward, I spiral in my context’s prevailing axiom for “life’s good.” Upward, Upward I should trudge forth or irrelevent, inconsequential, irresponsible I shall be. Could it be -this paradigm- serves all but me? Shall I reject the construct that to be happy, I must debase…
Margins are critical for the integrity of this home and anxiety erodes the foundation. the stable one, unable to keep the walls anchored, holding on with all her strength is anguished, is depleted she falls and is crushed beneath the impossible weight of her expectations. She did not accept the reality that she could not hold…
The chaos and torrents of fear consume and dominate. They disrupt my days in womanly and oppressive ways I fear the time, the transitions and damage to the bonds. For though the bonds are strong, the gusts of shame feel much stronger.
I am marked by the sorrows of my neighbors. The proximity I allow is burdensome yet, I insatiably need it, as darkness often feels more consistent than light. For in sharing in the horrors of those loved of those despairing I experience God in a tangible way. The comfort I provide is the comfort I…
I wonder what could have been had there not been forbearance for, bearing you has irrevocably altered me transformed, transfixed me. Thus, my wonder leads to sorrow, not longing (at least not for long) for in my wonder I remind myself to dwell not on if but is.
Betrayed by kin, Neglected by them for the mechanism Of my body Has ceased And my humanity Suppressed for the first time Perhaps, for all time left for dead There is no life here There will be no life here You may not have life here.
When my life of insatiable movement has been tethered, and all that remains is the stagnant inside: Who will they say that I am?