alphabet soup

he didn't come home.
do i read anything into that?
not sure.
where's the consideration?
it must've gotten lost.
in that FUCKING barley soup.
am i over-reacting to feel hurt?
first time ... ever that
he fails to come home.

image originally uploaded by vialetter

i'm tired tired tired
... sooooooo tired of humans ...
and their seeming inability
to deliver anything except
a lot of empty and patronizing platitudes
you know, human race?
you're all quite tiresome
and that is how i feel
today.
right now.

- EDIT -
he came home.
i said nothing
he got cross at me
for talking loud
talking loud,
because he failed
to listen
i'm invisible
just talk right over me
i'm not really here
he's gone for cigarettes
its 4 am
i'm watching a movie
i just watched a character
slaughter a tiny canary bird
i think i was
slaughtered then, too.

i feel dead inside.
like that bird.

i saw you: about my 2nd son

i saw you today. and my heart impaled itself on the searing, serrated tip of my own guilt. guilt over you. and, tendrils of shame stroked my raw and bleeding soul. shame. the shame of a fallen angel. shame. self loathing. it beats down on my chest. sucks the oxygen from the my lungs. whips the serenity out of my heart. pierces the tiniest capillaries of hope and light that nurture my ugly self. shattered light. and leaking darkness. leaking. darkness.

i saw you today. from afar. oh, distant fruit of mine. i felt you there. sitting. crouched. on the front steps. shielding yourself from the world outside your head. from the invasion of sensory information you do not have the capacity to filter. i touched that place in my chest where you used to lay your head. and i felt a stirring. my body remembers you, my child. and aches for what could have been. for what should have been.

i saw you today. i knew instantly. even before my brain took awareness from my senses. i felt you. in that part of my heart and soul which i've locked away. locked away from myself. that part of my heart and soul that got crumpled and torn on that day we gave you away. crumpled and torn - i'm crumpled and torn. and you, my damaged child. you hold such beauty and light in your essence. such beauty for which i do not feel worthy.

i saw you today. you did not see me. i glimpsed you from afar. your special, glimmering light cast a shadow on my dark heart. godspeed my child. godspeed. i wish for you much love. love that's as fierce and abundant as this aching darkness in my chest.

image originally uploaded by demagistris

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a note to my readers - this is the sort of stuff that i need to write. that i have longed to write for so long. that i have feared to write at the old blog, for fear of cruel or snarky judgement from the self righteous few who feel obliged to judge anything that does not reflect their small window on the world. thank you, if you have read this, for witnessing this darkest part of my humanity. i feel like if its on the page, its not inside, infecting me.

in the wake of death, and life

bleary-eyed, i watched that sherrif in colorado silently pull the steely strength out of himself. he desperately needed it to carry forward. to discharge his duties. i wondered. how do the strong and steely dispel their fear, grief and despair? he thought he hid it, i guess. thought that he swallowed it, right before he froze the grief on his face in a twisted contortion. but i could feel it. oozing thru the photons that sprayed from the flat screened beacon in this lair's living room. oozing. trickling. a gentle deluge. silent. unseen.

i felt it. raining down on me. and i let it. i thought of the girl he killed. 16. it made me think of my own. the one i gave up. 17 he will turn in 3 weeks. somewhere. he's lost to me. loss. i know that pain. but not really. these parents must also feel the outrage of innocence. i could not, only outrage at myself. and ... it reminded me that losing a loved one to death is not necessarily the most painful way to lose someone. what of the survivors? the ones who were 'sexually traumatized?' i think of connie francis, that 60s songstress who survived a brutal rape and basically lost herself in its traumatic aftermath. she lives, but her soul and her essence do not. and i wonder ... what of the survivors?

and then i see the mind ripping grief pressed into the lines of terri irwin's face. her steely, square jaw seemed to melt right there, before barbara walters, as she spoke of the moment she found out about steve's death. and the sobs. gutteral. primordial. soul eviscerating. as she spoke of her children. she wanted to suspend that moment when she knew. and her children did not yet. bindy, skipping. contented, like any well adjusted child. unware that her world is about to crash, with her in it. it chills me thinking of this. of this moment right before death touches you. for the first time. surreal.

image originally uploaded by melanosis

i plucked you away

originally uploaded by daniel morris

searing …soul crushing …relentless pain
smothering me
the fruit of my mothering …
plucked away from me …
by me ... by us
and reduced to a large plastic bag

he came to collect your belongings today
the man walked out with everything … you …
casually, like a bag of garbage

the door closes behind the man with the bag
leaving me imprisoned in my sorrow
an image of you, etched in my heart
elfin child - soft ivory skin, long chestnut lashes
intoxicating squeals of laughter

each day that passes
without you
the deeper and more palpable my loss becomes
my respirates
i do not feel alive