Past and Current

I use to have  it all. Great friends where the laughter never end. A loving boyfriend. A proud mom. An adoring nephew, brother, and sister. I was the golden hope to a lot of those in my life. And then everything changed. The pressure of my life events began to push me down. Wear me out. I couldnt take the constant misfortune.
I was always described as strong; my friends would always comment on how could I possibly endure so much and still walk around doing what needed to be done. After a while I stopped doing what needed to be done. I essientially gave up. I wouldnt leave the house, sometimes I wouldnt even leave my bed. The weariness amd isolation brought about my alcoholic tendencies already rooted within me. Id drink and stay at home. Ignore my phone and mail. I just wanted to wallow and I did for years. It sucked ass basically.
Currently, I still have a lot of those tendacies. They’ve lessened but theyre still there. Im trying harder but it doesnt feel good enough. I feel like ive done so much wrong that any positive path I lead will falter because of karmic retribution. So im afraid to move forward. I feel like im on the cusp of something great but I cant exactly reach it because I dont feel I deserve it. With that, my past is holding my present at a standstill. The question is, how do I move forward in a positive way, when im being held down by my past negative acts? I have no clue.


Arbitrary life

sometimes,  I feel like I’m suffocating,

like life is so arbitrarily debilitating

breaking down the faucets of defense

it took me decade upon decade to dispense

and condense

into an adequate formation of my true common sense

trying to wiggle and strike

away the grief and strife

only to obtain

wicked strips


from my metaphorical knife

contrived emotions from going through the subjugated motions

that leave no expectations for my actions

or lack of adaption

To my appointed life,

But this is my life, I’ve made choices

Against muted voices.

Frustrated Adaptation

Depraved indifference,

shifted pespectives,

am i wrong?

I’m always right,

at least in my mind

I fight with swift words and accusations

make no time for these disproportionated situations

Treated indiffrent, lower than low

its fucked up that i have no where to go

invitations resciended

love for me apprheneded

i hate this loneliness piled on with a withered devoutness

The “how can this be’s” transforming into “this life is for me”

it has to be

it has to be

otherwise why won’t i flee

Unwanted longing

Know that feeling? When you can’t believe it’s happening. Again. Your breath catches in your throat. You grip the nearest thing. Your chest rises. Legs spread with ease. It happened and I wish it never stopped.


Because I forsake him

he now forsakes me




placed among the living deprived

disguised, force to hide with little to no holy pride

Had to lie

strangled by,

a wry,

war cry

of what most folks would call a perpetual life

because I engaged

while enraged, with diabolical estrangement

governed by loneliness

prepared by my wretched cowardliness

But I digress…

and address  my complex  rashness

and floor the rest


I foresaked him

and now he forsakes me.



I’m not sure if anyone knows how it feels to be Godless. Not the feeling of never knowing God but the feeling that he is absent from you. I grew up strongly with religion. It was one of the forefront of my education seeing as I went to several private schools that featured God as the creator of all things. The transition from textbooks telling you that God created Amphibians and their development to public schools telling you that evolution is at the heart of change, can be confusing if you look too close to what your being taught. But I took everything I learned in stride. I considered all I was taught as truth, just people seeing things in different ways. Either way, I’d say I was religious.God was in everything and God is everything. It’s what I was told, it’s what I believed.

I’d say any religion is blind faith, especially when the choice is made for you. But as an adult, it’s my decision now, and I feel Godless. No one is telling me what to believe, no one is telling me to go to church. It’s up to me to follow religion if I so choose. And in my laziness, I choose to pray when in need, say God Bless when I have no other way of ending an uncomfortable conversation. I’m choosing to half ass my beliefs because, I can’t quite feel Him anymore. It’s been a while.

I’ve been crying out asking for help through angry pleas of frustration and debilitating self-destructive behaviors, and have heard nada in return. Go figure. He’s stopped listening to me. Or that’s how it feels. I wonder if this is how atheist feel. No one to turn to but their own common sense and self established morals and standards. I’m afraid to leap in that direction because then not only will he have left me, I’d be leaving him too. And I’m in such great need that the thought of not following the given paths laid out through omens strike me hard because I’m close to no longer believing. Yet at the same time, I’m completely faithful.

I never liked the idea of “following” God. I think it’s my own personal control issues but the concept seem so demeaning and subjugated. Which is also the reason, I made a Twitter account but am weary of following others because of not only the perceived blasphemy but also the point that who are these people for me to feel the need to follow their every word or post, or whatever the hell this day and age chooses to call it. Other words like Lambs of the Lord, or Sheep also give me a twinge of being an uncomfortable fraud. Like an impossible itch too far from reach, or bedbugs crawling on you in your sleep with you swatting yourself unable to figure out what that creepy feeling is. Either way I don’t want to follow; I’m currently uncomfortable leading, so I choose not to do anything. The passive approach seems to work, until I begin to feel completely lost. So that gets me back to my original feeling of being Godless…

I remember being in the fifth grade and sitting in a my dimly lit room reading a bible that had been in my family for at least 50 years. I would read and hope that He’d speak to me because I was being so diligent in His word. But He never did, so I teased and tested Him with no avail. Even told Him I’d search for the devil’s bible if He didn’t respond to me. I was young is my excuse, but I do know that every time I truly prayed for anything important I got it. Even if it was a silly doll to hold at night. Or for my mother not to be so angry in the morning. Or for me to have one good day out of the week. I always got it. But I know that the difference between now and then is that I believed. Wholeheartedly. The innocence of childhood left me with little room for questioning. But as an adult, I tend to question everything. To the point that I have nothing but questions and not enough faith left to receive answers.

I’m not exactly sure what to do at this point. I’ve been waiting for a miracle but knowing at the same time I have to make my own. He only helps those who helps themselves. Another question burns within in me, How do I begin to help myself?

Stripped and Ripped

Stripped raw



a matter of forefront for choices

and noises

that escape from my lips, leaving burnt tips

of frustration and admiration of the constant, unrelenting, disastrous situations

and wisdom, a criticism of individualism

I’d rather follow not lead, that way I don’t have to think

choices made, eyes closed

no need to feel exposed.

Ripped off

pissed off

jacked off in a jacked up existence

tierd of pretenses, with prefixes of a precarious pre-existence.