With My Pencil and Paper

Silent No More

I write because

Nobody seems to

hear my words.

Ever

They are snatched out the air

by the vultures that encircle

me every day,

picking away at the lies

they have carved into my skin

leaving nothing but

exposed rage,

and the knife they so

gently inserted into my back

hoping I wouldn't notice,

but can feel slowly twisting

into my spine,

like your trying to find that

perfect song on a road trip

to my brain.

Except somehow you got

distracted by my ADHD,

swerved into my Insomnia

and crashed head on into

a migraine

and now your stuck on

Repeat

Repeat

Repeat

like a magician yelling

Abracadabra

I pulled my self esteem

out of a hat the other

day and handed it to God

praying he wouldn't drop it.

Yesterday, I tripped over my

smile, thinking it was a

crack in the sidewalk before

watching it dissolve into a

puddle of anxiety.

Now, they say how people see

you is not how you see yourself.

I find that ironic since I'm often

told that I'm too skinny,

I'm too independent,

that I fidget too much

and that sometimes I

just need to

"sit still and look pretty".

But truthfully sometimes

I wonder whether

I'm pretty enough to sit still.

I've always been told that I'm

a B***h, coincidently, most

often by the people who

treated me like s**t and

turned me into one. Who then

get upset when I turn

around and start treating

them like the heartless b*****s

that they are.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you weren't

expecting that were you?

Well you seem to of underestimated

me, and that's funny."

Because laughing at fire is

dangerous, especially when your

candy coated shell is made of

alcohol and irresponsibility

and your Twizzlers are filled

with all that can be cooked

crushed or smoked.

"I'm starving," you say to me,

as you reach your shaky hands

into your seemingly bottomless

bag of skittles, pulling out

your demons 1 by 1 by 1 equals

3 times you went to rehab,

each time you came home,

you shared a drink with the

devil and went searching for

your soul in the darkest of

alley ways even you were

afraid to walk down.

"Mama, where's Daddy?"

"Mama, why is Daddy always

sleeping?"

"Mama, why is Daddy always

sick?"

Mama, Mama, Mama,

her tiny voice echoes in my

ears until that one day

when he calls me a B***h

in front of her.

"Oh"... I say, looking down

at her precious face,

watching the innocence

slowly drip from her

broken mirrors.

"Go play with your sister

Sweetie, I'll be right there."

"But," she says.

"Go ahead Sweetie, after I'm

done talking with your Daddy,

I'm gonna take you and your

sister to the park.

"A B***h?" I say to him.

That must be Japanese for

Thank You for raising our

daughters, Oh excuse me,

MY daughters. Because while

you've been out playing

Russian Roulette with the

Boogeyman, I've been playing

Queen and King to MY

little Princesses in this tragic

fairy tale based on deceit

and lies.

Our castle crumbling into your

ocean of Alcoholism and

splashing onto the rocky shores

of your drug addiction.

So if being a B***h means

taking care of MY princesses,

making sure their tiaras

never slip, and loving them

more than any kingdom in the

universe, then I guess that

makes me the Goddess of

B***h.

And then poof, we were gone.

Because as you all know,

you can't make fire feel afraid

and I am a raging inferno.

But alas, through the smoke

and ashes, darkness turns

 to light and an angel appears

handing me 3 doves.

The first, a green dove.

I've known this dove since

April 24th 1979.

We used to hold hands and

stand on the edge of the

volcano together,

waiting for it to explode.

Then sprint off into the woods

after the eruption and climb

the trees to escape the lava

that flowed from our

Rageaholic mother.

If your not familiar with the

term Rageaholic, it's very

similar to an alcoholic, except

that my mother's favorite

beverage wasn't exactly

alcohol, but she did drink

from the same violent cup

as her mother and her mother's

mother. A toxic blend of bad

decisions, regret and resentment,

only to be thrown up daily

into her daughters' subconscious

and by frequent reminders of

her favorite colors,

black and blue.

My Sister, Always there for me.

Always.

Love you more than you know.

The 2nd, A pink dove.

We buzz in and out of

the beehive everyday

together, hoping the

exterminators don't get

us before 5:00pm.

Busy worker bees,

laughing through another

day of outward smiles and

inward screams.

Our friendship, golden,

sweet and thick like honey.

Strong like our trust and

fearless like sisters.

Love you.

And the 3rd. A purple dove

I call Enchantment.

She is the most beautiful

dove I have ever seen in

my life.

She flies with sapphire wings,

lavender eyes and a spirit so bright,

she's like heaven on earth.

My heart dances to the beat

of her happiness,

and her smile,

the most perfect crescent moon

the stars have ever seen.

My Best Friend and Sweet Love.

Always see yourself as I see you,

for your soul is pure and glitters

like the sun.

Believe in your Magnificence,

and don't be afraid to open

your heart to love my darling.

because, not all who love you

are going to break it.

Love you til my last breath.

But this is why

I write, because

nobody seems to

hear my words.

Ever.

Reviews

[BThomvanWart]

This was a whirlwind of processing and responding. It's such a marvel to read. The constant return to difficulty in life is relatable, but that's not a main point. This piece speaks so much, at such a volume it should be deafening, but it's crystal clear. It's strength and humility, it's insanity and clarity. This is the kind of work I love to come across because it's so authentic and awakening. Great, phenomenal work.

[Zeldablue]

Thank you very much!