Poetry and thoughts

I wish ...dead too

I've got strong views about marriage

And everyone's giving me the shits

Church associates asking for sex

Health care workers asking for sex

Friends asking for sex

I don't like two-timing

I don't like cheating

I don't believe in sex outside marriage

I'm starting to hate what life has dealt me

That's my take on things regarding these matters

A poem I found on instagram and related to through my DID experience.

F E A T H E R S by Violet Jean Frost

I LAY THERE IN THE DARK

AND FELT YOUR FEATHERS

FALL ON ME

FEATHERS

FALLING GENTLY

NO FEAR AND I

I COULD HAVE BEEN

IN THE DAYLIGHT

YOU CAME

WHEN I PRAYED

FALLING INTO MYSELF

I FOUND MYSELF

A LITTLE GIRL

FALLING INTO MYSELF

I FOUND MYSELF

IN YOUR WORLD

OH ITS TRUE

YOU DELIGHT IN ME

OH ITS TRUE

I SEE THEM DANCING

NO FEAR AND I

COULD HAVE BEEN

IN THE DAYLIGHT

YOU CAME

WHEN I PRAYED

“I am not a Sunday morning inside four walls
with clean blood
and organized drawers.
I am the hurricane setting fire to the forests
at night when no one else is alive
or awake
however you choose to see it
and I live in my own flames
sometimes burning too bright and too wild
to make things last
or handle
myself or anyone else
and so I run.
run run run
far and wide
until my bones ache and lungs split
and it feels good.
Hear that people? It feels good
because I am the slave and ruler of my own body
and I wish to do with it exactly as I please”
― Charlotte Eriksson

“To run with the wolf was to run in the shadows, the dark ray of life, survival and instinct. A fierceness that was both proud and lonely, a tearing, a howling, a hunger and thirst. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst. A strength that would die fighting, kicking, screaming, that wouldn't stop until the last breath had been wrung from its body. The will to take one's place in the world. To say 'I am here.' To say 'I am.”
― O.R. Melling

Poetry is the ultimate expression of our belief in our madness and sanity at the same time. Poetry gives us all equal footing the mad and the so-called sane can all speak hard truths without fear because poetry is unlimited. It is art. Picasso had something very important to say about art. “Art is never chaste. It ought to be forbidden to ignorant innocents, never allowed into contact with those not sufficiently prepared. Yes, art is dangerous. Where it is chaste, it is not art.” Poetry is a form of art, of all forms of writing only being a Playwright is nearly as artistic as being a Poet in my opinion. Being a Poet does not mean living an isolated life as a distant tower. Anyone can be a poet. Therefore go boldly dear poets, post boldly, be proud of your work.

The small life.

I have a small life now,
since the back injury.
My head done in.
By a narcissistic boss,
and… a withering of reliability.

Every bad thought I ever had,
every bad deed done against me.
Every sore point on my body,
Every diagnoses bringing me
closer and closer to invalid.

Still, I am me,
abounding in creativity, intelligence, laughter
Some days none of those.
Just sit and rock backwards,
Forwards, soothing myself.
Or I do the dishes, staying present to the forks and plates
as I swish them with hot water, a sponge and my mind.

Moongal (c)

ugly memories

when I was out of control

when I was not my true self

anxiety riddled, full of self doubt

it is hard to shake off the collar of guilt

when I am desperately seeking a valued direction.

If heaven was whatever we wanted it to be
I would begin with a world full of colour
I would identify as someone sated and free
With assurance that I'm a good Mother

I would create a world full of empathy
And destroy the brutal, the dregs
Eradicate threats to society
Stop the need for anybody to beg

There would be an end to poverty
and peace would run through us all
We would all look and feel really lovely
In our own special ways, self adored

We could choose how long that we live for
Or whether to just stay alive
And be with loved ones forever more
Choosing more than just to survive

Pain would exist but be limited
Brutality would cease to exist
There'd be no such term as self destructive
My heaven is built on bliss