I can’t get unstuck. Everything seems to be moving in fast motion. I can’t breathe and I’m having trouble seeing clearly. My throat begins to tighten as I become aware of the time that has passed. My eyes well with tears as I take heed to my inner voice telling me I have failed. Another year. Another Christmas. Another birthday. The already small voice inside me saying, “this year will be different,” has faded. It is but an indistinct noise easily ignored. Overshadowed by other voices telling me that the bills are due, and Jazz’s sweet sixteen is fast approaching. There is no end in sight to the madness that has become a normal way of life. I’ve tried a thousand times to break the cycle of insanity. It’s been too long now. I am beginning to think I don’t know another way. Since the dark womb. There has always been chaos. Daddy’s rough fist against mommy’s teary cheek. The shrieking. The screaming. The begging. The soul piercing cries. Hers and mine. Daddy’s foul breath, him screaming unforgivable words. I miss him. What I wouldn’t give to have him back. To feel the warmth of his sober embrace. I’m sorries and I love yous causing a stream of recycled tears to pour from my tormented eyes. My own abuse is a blur. The rape. The closed fist punches hitting my numb body. The suffocation. The misery of seeing his face for the twelve years I won’t ever get back. I won’t ever miss him. I pity him. But I forgive him. My children won’t allow me to harbor hatred towards him. I can’t ever hate the person who helped me to conceive them. I’m stuck. Stuck in a rut. It’s dark, and damp, deep, and slimy. I am trying to claw myself out. My hands are raw and bloody. I am trying to scream. But there’s no sound. The walls are closing in on me. The last glimmer of light is dimming. God help me.
Napowrimo: #1
Right now, at this very minute, list five things in front of you. In front of you being a relative term: on your desk, on your arm, out your window … . Choose the two most disparate things and yoke them together into a fabulous metaphor. Now, use it in a poem.
Keyboard, Screen, Mouse, Cup, Phone
My screen. The cup of passion we both lustfully sip from. Endless hours of enticing words. Read with hopeful eyes. Wondering if. They will ever meet yours. Yearning fingers. Carefully choosing each letter. Forming words that make your center ache. Causing a hungry expression to reside on your face. Words that you will make your heart beat fast. And your fingers move quickly to respond. And me. On the other end. Chest heaving. Hanging on your every stroke.
What have you been doing with your writing?
Someone asked me this question today, and I had no answer. I said something about wanting to take some workshops, and needing inspiration. BULL! I just haven’t been doing anything. I mean, in my defense, I am so extremely exhausted. By the time I get home from the gym, walk the dogs, cook dinner, clean up and fuss with the kids to do what they need to do… I am done! I wouldn’t be able to put two sentences together. As a matter of fact, it is 12:28am as I am writing this. Horrible! So I will attempt to make more time once again, because every time that questions is asked, I feel like crap.
Digital Girl
The base bumps
bumps
bumps
My heart races
Quick quick fast
The liquor takes control
My eyes get low
Fixated on you
And the things I wanna do
Just take me already
And do what you want
Put my hands
Where you want them
And I’ll put my lips
Where I want them
Pull away
When I get too close
Torture me
Tease me
Make me scream
In agony
Let me have another sip
To drown the sweet pain
Of having you within my reach
Of knowing your scent
And your touch
The exquisite aching
Of having never tasted you
And wanting you so much
I’ve had you a thousand times
In a thousand nights
Only to wake
And find
The touch is my own
It has always been
You exist only in my mind
On my screen
My digital girl
