Archive for August, 2013


Posted: August 25, 2013 in me

the beat of my heart reminds me that im not real

like the warm fuzzy lining of a coffin

left above ground

afraid to admit to the ruse

hope floats

like a bloated corpse on the river styx

penniless and denied admittance

i lay here suffocating

with each involuntary breath

weighed down by truth

everyone lying for there my benefit

helping me be the idiot

but im exhausted

from all the shit i do on accident

sometimes waking up and walking through  my day

feels like wallpapering the rabbit hole

im just not buying

and all i have is blood money anyway

earned with my greatest skill

being a fool

and making the same mistakes

some say i need to look in the mirror

and see myself for me

but i cant

i live there now

glassy flat and lacking perspective









Life experience is the trickiest of tricksters. A majority of the time, it completely lacks value to anyone else but ourselves. Even then, there’s no guarantee that all of our trials and tribulations and stumbles and standings up and dusting ourselves off will even get through that thick block we call a head. Yet aren’t we all in search of the quick or permanent fix? I know I am. Or was. Until I decided to give my life a skim. Only then did I realize I held all of the answers. OR at least the answers I would actually listen to. Nonetheless, if somebody reaches out to me or shares their pain with me, I  feel compelled to share my experience. I am not a trained professional. I am not some sage spiritualist. I am not even an author whose words could be considered prayer like. I am just a chick, that once you get to know me, you wonder, “Why isn’t she completely fucking insane, and how does she get out of bed in the morning? AND make so much sense?” Well kids, it’s because I became a student of life, starting with my own.

I often see friends and family struggling through relationships that recently ended, ended long ago, or should have totally ended last year. There is this THING we do in those places. We look for signs and answers and the ever so elusive CLOSURE. The shimmering unicorn of emotional well being. Ah closure, how you shall take us to the sunnier greener side! But this is the thing, your closure ain’t your momma’s closure. Nor is it Hollywood’s. Or the Bible’s. Or Random House. There isn’t some great conversation that grants your soul healing in your horizon. Your relationship is dead baby doll. And nobody cares like you care. Not even the person that relationship was with.

Time and time again, we look to the person we crashed and burned with for some kind of answer. I ask, if you could communicate with them in a way that was comforting and productive, why aren’t you together? Did the semantics of togetherness somehow hinder their compassion? Or empathy? Or understanding of you? And is that suddenly no longer the case? Doubtful. I wasted so many hours crying and blubbering to the person who I parted from in the past. As if they OWED me something.  Some huge answer. The missing puzzle piece that would close the gaping hole in my heart. But that guy just wasn’t the one for me, or I for him. So how now would we be able to make all right in each other’s world when we failed? Failed in the time we actually wanted things to work? This person whom we hurt or hurt us didn’t go though some great therapeutic and saintly conversion since 3 days ago when one of us packed up our toothbrush and slammed the door. IF IT DIDN’T FEEL GOOD THEN, IT ISN’T GOING TO FEEL GOOD NOW!

Allow me to give you MY definition of closure. (I assume at this point, everyone will completely tune me out and start punching concrete and wonder why they’re bleeding, but still…) Closure starts the moment you stop bogging your friends and family and ex down with your “WOE IS ME, WHY ME” shit. Closure is that day you wake up without a sick stomach, or puffy eyes. Closure is the call you make to a friend you basically blew off for being honest that you were in a shitty relationship, because maybe they were right and maybe YOU were the dick. Closure is realization that you have let yourself go and get a haircut or buy a new outfit or do laundry. Closure is when a stranger compliments you, and you blush, and forget your heart is dead and full of black soul sucking spiders that only 3 hours of the same Dashboard Confessional song can assuage. When somebody asks “What happened with you and so-and-so?”  you answer “It didn’t work out, so we broke up.” instead of holding them hostage for three hours with a diatribe on the injustice of love and your victim status.  Closure is when you stop looking for self-esteem in another’s genitalia. Closure is when you stop comparing everyone who dares show interest you to that “one that got away.” Closure happens when you aren’t using another relationship to heal you from the last one. Closure is when you sit down, put on some music, dust your blog off and think to help somebody else with a verbose look into what 20 years of personal pain and idiocy  have taught you. Even though they won’t listen. Closure is acceptance. Closure is moving on. This isn’t Eat, Pray, Love. This is Monday.