Get help. Listen to what people are telling you, especially if it makes you angry to hear it. Don’t go on the defense and make excuses. Stop lying.
Be decent to your loved ones and friends and strangers.
Lose my number. Remove my photos from your Facebook.
Stay away from me. No one needs you here. You will abuse again. Eventually you will abuse someone badly enough where they won’t be able to let you have a pass.
Get help. Real help. Please.
That’s all. Just fuck you. I wish I hadn’t of held back and instead told you what I really think about you.
Didn’t even have the balls to talk to me face-to-face.
He puts it all on me like it was my choice. Like I wanted it this way.
He said he loved me. He does not love me.
What a fucking liar. I don’t know why I thought he was different. I need to go get my fucking head scanned. Maybe it’s a tumor I can slice out so I never have to feel like this again.
Cast aside, full of questions, confused, angry.
I wish I didn’t mean it when I told him I love him.
Fuck me for letting him in. Fuck my brain for thinking about him. Fuck my heart. Fuck my traitorous body for missing his touch.
He don’t give a shit about me
He thinks in shadows.
There are days that I spend wiping clean the messes I make. There are days that flash, over and over and over, in my head and in my heart that go on forever, stomach churning thoughts.
There are nights I pass this over, in a soft, godless blanket. There are mornings I wish never came.
These are not unique feelings. These are not interesting feelings. There is nothing in my mind or mouth of which I take ownership. I am a mimic of nothing deep.
Of everything I see and feel and experience, there is no joy but the joy I find in the eyes of my children. My Elvis. My Henry. My sweet, beautiful, echoing angels. My mischievous, demanding, flirtatious boys.
I love my nephews, my nieces, my sister, my mother, my friends; but they are not enough to chase away my shadows. They cast a warm glow, but it lurks, just the same.
It is unfair to put such a heavy burden on my sons. I hope they never know how much I need them. I want them to look at me and see good things. I want to be good.
My life, in verse.
My boys. My girls.
Smiles from strangers.
Making you laugh.
Odd bursts of affection: giving and receiving.
Knowledge. Knowing the answers to questions.
My mother, my sister, my nieces and nephews.
The light that shines in the eyes of children.
Green chile burritos.
A clean house; no matter how fleeting.
Writing for the demons and juggling for the angels.
Staying up all night – even when exhausted – to finish the book that absorbs me.
Escape to wonderland.
You did that thing again. Keep breaking promises. No one’s keeping track but you.
But we know, don’t we?
You think because you pressure them into saying things it’s sincere? They just want you to shut up.
So shut the fuck up.
You shouldn’t be doing this anyway. No more babies you fucking idiot.
Always one more
She ain’t coming back.
Be glad and grateful for what you have already. Three wonderful boys. The memories of a wonderful baby girl.
A job – of sorts. Maybe a better one one day.
Maybe get your shit together.
You’re not looking so good these days. Seems like you still wish you were in the ground with her.
You stupid, greedy asshole.
That is it, isn’t it. You’re just hiding. Just playing human.
You thought he meant it?
Stop it. Now.