Lately, I haven’t been able to journal. I just can’t. It’s as if the ability to just freely write has been taken away from me. My journal just sits there, collecting dust. But I can’t write. My thoughts don’t feel safe.
I have been writing here though. And oddly enough – it’s coming out in the form of poetry. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve written poetry since high school. I had a scary experience that left me all kinds of traumatized and so I wrote poetry about it. It’s how I coped. I suppose it makes a little bit of sense that I’ve been bitten by the poetry bug again. I’m going through a rather distressing phase and apparently that’s my poetry trigger. Who knew. *shrugs*
So apologies in advance for corny rhymes, awful phrasing and the jumbled mess that is my poetry.
I am broken
Made to feel inferior by your constant provoking
Beaten by your words, defeated by your actions
Ruined myself confidence with your dissatisfaction
Overly critical of all that I do
Keen to berate and rip me in two
Every discussion, I’m wrong and you’re right
Never realizing you brought me so much pain, night after night
You make me feel small
Like I don’t matter at all
I try to speak up, to use my voice
But screaming is often your method of choice
I try to stand tall and hold my ground
But you tower over me and push me around
You get so close up and in my face
Invading all my personal space
To you, I’m simply dismissible
I don’t matter and am completely invisible
You make me feel small
And one day, that will be your biggest downfall
Hi and welcome to the first confession of 2020!
New here? I’m a notorious confessor. I already have this problem of being very blunt (the bluntest blog – get it?) but on top of that I tend to confess things to the bloggy-verse. *shrugs* Oh well, shit happens. AND this whole global pandemic thing isn’t helping AT ALL. So…let’s begin.
- I miss seeing people I actually like. Yes, I am locked up with my kid and yes I like her most days. But I mean people I actually like and want to spend time with. You know?
- I have a secret hiding place for a Costco size jar of salted, dark chocolate caramels. JUDGE ME ALL YOU WANT BUT I LIVE WITH MONSTERS.
- As of late – I’ve been very into my horoscope and have fallen into the madness that is Secret Tarot’s YouTube channel. She’s incredible.
- I’m a difficult egg to crack. It’s hard for me to trust, to put my guard down. Very few manage to get through. And when I do finally let my walls down…I surrender completely.
- I put on perfume everyday after I shower. Yes, even if I’m not going anywhere. Why can’t I feel pretty? There is no need to live like animals.
- We have a cat – Kiko. He’s a great cat and I like him. I just don’t want a cat.
- I can’t seem to journal, as of late. It’s like I lost the ability to write. So I’m doodling. Lots and lots of doodling.
- We’ve only lived in this house a year but I can honestly say I’m not big on my new-ish neighbors. They are nice enough and don’t appear to be serial killers or anything. But my old crew were THE BEST and these new people just don’t have it.
- I’m convinced my hair has stopped growing and is falling out. Stressing about it isn’t helping – that is for sure. But I’m in my thirties for Christ’s sake! So I’ve invested in shampoo and conditioner to help my hair grow. I know, right? It’s a thing – put it in the Google.
- Lately, I’ve been sleeping cattywampus or completely sideways in bed. It feels more occupied that way.
- The best part about social distancing is that I now have a legit excuse to socially distance from my family.
- My kid is obsessed with Nutella. Sometimes I sneak a spoonful (or two) when no one is looking. And then when the jar runs out super fast I totally scold her for eating too much of it.
- I feel like 2020 will be the year I get my first tattoo or a new piercing… something permanent to represent change.
These are my confessions.
Books are my sanctuary
Where things are imaginary
I fall into the pages
Into different worlds, places, and stages
I can lose myself in the prose
Where metaphors and similes are juxtaposed
I can be someone else for a while
Fight crime, wave a wand, live the Jones’ lifestyle
I’m free to travel near or far
Through fiction, fantasy, mystery or memoir
Books are my safety net
A place to escape all of life’s regrets
Doll in the window
The prettiest of everyone
She was desired by many
But only promised to one
Taken home and loved
For a while anyway
Then discarded without hesitation
One cold winter’s day
She’s broken now
Way beyond damaged
And far less pretty than before
Left tattered and bandaged
Doll in the window
Who someone no longer wanted
Will never again be loved
And left forever haunted