Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, chronic pain, creativity, depression, faith, homeless, life, observations, poetry, society, writing

7/2/18: Fighting the World (poetry)

(A bit of gut-pouring poetry. I can’t go into what’s behind some of it this publicly, but it’ll probably make damn good story fodder one day. I do believe I’ll be okay. It’s just in this moment, this is how I feel.)

I feel as if I am
Fighting the world.
Pain and Anger hit me from
All sides.
My heart races,
Try to calm down.
Who do I trust
In this concentrated form of
Society?
When playing favorites is
Par for the Course.
Gossip and Backstabbing
Reign supreme.
One should be able to trust certain
Individuals.
But no longer.
I want to scream.
But all I can do is cry
Myself to sleep.
Too many objects to juggle.
Too much drama swirling around me.
This warrior is tired.
Too many battles.
A general with no more fighters.
I feel like I am fighting a
War with the world around me.
As well as the
World Within.

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Posted in artsy stuff, community, creativity, crowdfunding, depression, emergency, homeless, homelessness, life, peace, poetry, storage, urgent, writing

6/12/18: The Skies (#poetry & #crowdfunding)

(Yes, still gonna tack on the plea for help with storage.)

POETRY!!!!

They plead.
The skies do.
Look.
Be more.
Where you are
Is not
Where you are
Meant
To be.
Dream.
Plan.
Open them.
Your eyes are supposed
To see.
Be more than what
Is in the
Mirror.
Explore who you
Are
And who you
Are meant
To be.

~A

Posted in crowdfunding, depression, domestic abuse, emergency, empath life, grief, life, poetry, PTSD, semicolon, sexual assault, storage, urgent, writing

5/26/18: Abyss

Yeah, #crowdfunding. I want to get storage caught up before end of May. I’ve been catching up on nearly everything else and now need to get this sorted.

ABYSS
Surface spit-shined.
Years of talking ensured that.
What is underneath lurks.
It has been dormant far too long.

The subconscious is the hostage.
This has been normal far too long.
Deep underneath the surface
Pain lurks in the darkness.

What is under there?
I know not what hides.
Memories of fear and pain.
Memories I have tried to forget.

Where is the key?
There must be a key.
I cannot break the surface.
It is only starting to heal.

It lies in wait.
Holding my breath.
The hostage cries for help.
I must explore The Abyss.

~A

Posted in dreams, family, grief, insomnia, life, music, observations, writing

Dammit, Brain!

(Ignore the fact I chose a pic of Portia, it’s 3:40am now…)

Dammit, Brain, it’s 3am. And you decide to dream about a random chance to meet Marilyn Manson. You aren’t even a fan. Stop doing random shit Brain and go back to sleep like you should.

So, because I can’t get back to sleep, I decided to look up Marilyn Manson and see why he comes up. Read part of a rather odd interview. And below is what I found.

Now I think I may understand why my brain did what it did. I read an article on MM. He lost his mother and then his father, whom he was really close to. And in the dream, we take a pic and then I mention that I’m just here by happenstance. He said he felt the need to come over, even though I wasn’t seeking him out. I briefly mention losing both parents and then being homeless, but bouncing back. And he gives me a hug.

There’s a common thread in our real lives. Both of us are “adult orphans” … and after his dad died, he knew his dad wouldn’t let him take time to grieve as he was super supportive and a fighter. When my dad died, I was in the middlenof NaNoWriMo and, despite everyone saying it would be okay if I didn’t do it that year (2014), I knew he wouldn’t want me to stop writing. So I didn’t.

Something about that… I didn’t know that about MM until I just looked it up. Subconscious is trying to say something…

~A

Posted in dreams, family, grief, insomnia, life, music, observations, writing

Dammit, Brain!

(Ignore the fact I chose a pic of Portia, it’s 3:40am now…)

Dammit, Brain, it’s 3am. And you decide to dream about a random chance to meet Marilyn Manson. You aren’t even a fan. Stop doing random shit Brain and go back to sleep like you should.

So, because I can’t get back to sleep, I decided to look up Marilyn Manson and see why he comes up. Read part of a rather odd interview. And below is what I found.

Now I think I may understand why my brain did what it did. I read an article on MM. He lost his mother and then his father, whom he was really close to. And in the dream, we take a pic and then I mention that I’m just here by happenstance. He said he felt the need to come over, even though I wasn’t seeking him out. I briefly mention losing both parents and then being homeless, but bouncing back. And he gives me a hug.

There’s a common thread in our real lives. Both of us are “adult orphans” … and after his dad died, he knew his dad wouldn’t let him take time to grieve as he was super supportive and a fighter. When my dad died, I was in the middlenof NaNoWriMo and, despite everyone saying it would be okay if I didn’t do it that year (2014), I knew he wouldn’t want me to stop writing. So I didn’t.

Something about that… I didn’t know that about MM until I just looked it up. Subconscious is trying to say something…

~A

Posted in faith, grad school, history, life, poetry, society, writing

4/6/18: Stumble #poetry

Stumble.
Fall.
Get up.

Just drop out.
They said.
You will never amount to anything.
They said.
You’re stupid and slow.
They said.

Stumble.
Fall.
Get up.

I will not drop out.
I said.
I will be somebody. I will succeed.
I said.
I am not stupid. I am not slow.
I said.

Stumble.
Fall.
Get up.

I graduated.
I discovered community college.
I met my true self in college.
Associate degree. Then a Bachelor’s degree.
Almost a second one.
Nearing a Master’s degree.

I stumble and fall.
I get up.
I look at the damage.
I dust myself off.
Not so bad.
Ruffled but not broken.

Stumble.
Fall.
Get up.

Invisible to those around me.
Unspoken words begging
To be said. Heard.
I wander in a world that doesn’t
Understand me.
I stand tall and spread my wings.

And
I
Fly!

~A

Posted in community, crowdfunding, dreams, emergency, empath life, faith, family, friends, grief, homeless, life, poetry, society, storage, urgent, writing

3/19/18: Remembrance

#poetry
(Yes, also #crowdfunding. Shameless, I know.)
*
*
*
Look to the night sky.
The stars above
Suns of other worlds.
The light seen is old
Yet reminds of more.

Dreams of beloved
No longer here.
Aching to hold them.
Look in their eyes
Talk to them once more.

We wish. Hope. Dream.
One more time.
To say how we feel.
Make peace with the past.
Another chance, maybe more.

They know. They watch us
Move forward.
Looking back at memories
Held dear of those gone before.
Wishing to say ‘I love you’ once more.

~A

Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, community, creativity, crowdfunding, depression, dreams, emergency, faith, grad school, homeless, life, Personal, poetry, society, storage, urgent, writing

3/17/18: Adrift

(Yes, still desperately trying to raise funds for storage before the end of the month. Any help will do…)
*
*
*

I sit in my boat.
The map in my hands
Confuses me.
I thought I knew which course
To take.

The winds have died down
No more than a
Dull roar.
But only in
My mind.

I am unsure of the course planned.
I believe it safe, but
The fear of being unable
To complete that path
Overwhelms me.

So many charted courses
Even more hazards
They veer around.
Which route?
Where am I going?

How will I know?

~A

Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, chronic pain, depression, disability, health, life, Personal, poetry, PTSD, writing

12/13: The Mime

(This was started almost a month ago. Since then, I’ve figured out some things regarding my C-PTSD and how connected everything else is to it. I also have a bit of mime training… hence the reference.)

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

The fight in me lays dormant.
Screams muffled by tears.
The fog closes in around me.
Turning me invisible to those
Who pass me by.
Pain slows me down
To a crawl.
I am wrapped so
Tightly
I can barely breathe.
The fog steals my
Every breath.
I cry out
Help me
But no one can hear.
I slam my fists on the walls that
Keep me
Prisoner.
I open my mouth,
Crying for help.
I am the mime in the invisible box.
Let me out
I can no longer
Breathe.

~A