Love Letter #35

Dear DM,

The last few days have been difficult. I’ve had trouble sleeping. I’m in pain. Emotionally. Physically. I’m feeling lost and alone. Turns out I am not that introverted. Probably I’m just shy and avoidant. In other words, I really like my fucking freedom. It’s one thing to hang out at home ‘cuz you feel like it but being stuck at home day after day due to extenuating circumstances will make you crazy. I could really use some social interaction. I don’t mean anything particular by this just that I would like to have a conversation. A day out of the house with people. Eye contact. The sound of a voice.

I went out for ice cream today. They actually had mint chocolate chip (the green kind which is best). It’s probably an American thing. Toothpaste-flavored ice cream. No idea why it’s so awesome. Yes I do. Cold on cold. I saw a couple on a date. I’m wondering if there is a platonic way to date when you’re a grownup? I love hanging out. I love inappropriate jokes. I love stupid shit like tag and play fighting. I haven’t really dated since I was a teenager. So I am probably stunted or something. To amuse myself I go on walks with headphones on and dance or pretend I’m on a runway. I live in a village of around a 1,000 so I am guessing there are, at least, a 1,000 people out there that think I’ve lost my fucking shit. Which I have. I’ve totally lost my shit.

I definently don’t want platonic with you though. If there was confusion.

I still haven’t worked out this whole concept of surrender. How do I get out of the way and just allow the universe to work its groovy voodoo? I’m really good at making things harder than they need to be. I just don’t get it. Can’t we just fuck up and see how it goes from there? I want you as is. Sometimes I wish you would say something. You know? I don’t know like give me a sign or something.

I don’t dislike myself in a general sense (though I’d be lying if I said I was always easy) but it’s been a very, very long time since anyone has expressed a romantic interest or physical attraction in me. I’m starting to develop a complex about it. I know that it doesn’t mean anything. I know my worth doesn’t come from other people’s opinions but it is just inconceivable to me at this point that someone could see me in this way. It’s been too long. I’ve forgotten how that feels. How it feels to be seduced. To be pursued. In dreams you do these things of course.

I am trying to figure out how to enjoy being awake and indoors mostly and for indefinite periods of time. Honestly, I seem to be allergic to absolutely everything in the outside world. Which reminds me I had the bright idea to use scented products in the wash so I could smell something other than my own skin and now my whole body itches like crazy and the washing machine broke shortly after so I can’t rewash my clothes. My body is short-circuiting from stress. I mean I am literally allergic to everything right now. Why?!

There was an advertisement in the Swedish newspaper about Yoni massage. Should I consider this for stress relief? I can orgasm by myself but there is so much tension in my body I feel like I am going to break in half. I really need some fun in my life. Some way to decompress.

With all my love your DF


Wordle #270


I kick at your insulation,
at your smile as it fades
into oration.
I would listen to you talk
all night if it would save me
the enunciation
of my own bungling sentiments.

You are not original.
Heel, toe, line
lines flashing,
lines insistent
lines without terminus
or dominion.

Without statement
you are trivial and cold.
A park in the depth of winter.
I adhere to your limits,
so much as they admit me.

You are a terrible mimic.
My rims quiver and itch.
Alone, in a valley
of infinite selves.

My heart flips and fritters.
I am envious of silence,
of open spaces,
of transience
and all who appear
inevitably before me.

If only I could tolerate myself
long enough to become someone else.

I am really struggling to express myself at the moment. My anxiety has been particularly high lately.

Tale Weaver # 55 Making Sense of Nonsense – Agrotive


A thousand pipettes fire
from the minarets
of my deconstructed soul.

I have the itch again,
that need which being bottomless
is without resolution.

My hands stick to the keys,
to the letters crowding in retrospect.
I hate everything I read.

Paper towns, miles of fog,
an agrotive of eyeless houses
shuddering in the distance.

Today my words topple like soldiers
in a mass grave each one a father, a son,
an unrecognizable mask of death.

These are not the words I was born with,
they come not from my muse
but as a consequence of her neglect.

The Disappearance of Sanity

I have accepted the training program at The Unemployment Office, it will provide me with a minimal income and hopefully lead to future employment. It is 4 hours a day but with the bus schedule as it is, if I can’t get any leeway, it will be more like 6 hours. I am not a flexible person and my time management skills are atrocious no matter what I do I am going to lose several hours to the great, untenable void that is Dissociation. Will I be left with enough time for my other responsibilities? At the moment I am just not certain if I can pull it off but it is presumably possible, as I was a student. The course starts this Monday and thus it may take me time to get my bearings. I still haven’t managed to reestablish my routine as is, February was a horrendously busy month. I am also worried about therapy because I am not certain I can ask for every other Friday off and I don’t see how I can do both given the distance between the locations and the horrifically long wait traveling by bus entails. My therapist’s hands on methods make me wonder if Skype would even be a possible compromise. The course runs for many months. I can’t skip therapy for several months. On another note while I was in the throws of mute hysteria on the bus (where I am nearly deaf btw) I received a call from the doctor, it seems that they messed up my Pap Smear and have to do it again. An appointment I now have no time to make (the woman’s clinic I go to is also very far away from where I take my job training).


Would I burn out my throat

If the solvent were assured

To take nothing but my voice?

Mud well passed the knees

My primal belly exhales

The fascist grit,

The necrotizing erythrocytes

No one wants to heal

From the inside.


My hollows are deep

Echos scamper from

The barge of my throat

Who is the source

Of these recursive screams?

Is it one of us?


Death is not always obvious

But it is persistent.

Sometimes a ghost

Is just a ghost

Sometimes it’s remorse

And nothing spoils youth

Like remorse.


The rudiments of dreams

Blister behind my eyes,

Those ungodly windows

There is much in this life

That is only supposed

But if not for imagination

I wouldn’t know anything at all.

Too Many Straws Not Enough Scarecrows

My inactivity has likely been noted by now and I apologize for it but am not yet at liberty to rectify the situation. Bit by bit I am incorporating new activities into my schedule but it is taking some time to adjust. I wake up between 5:30 am and 6:00 am and am usually hard at work on something until Isadora goes to bed for the night. Once she is in bed I spend that time with Sam which has always been my custom.

So what precisely is going on.

First the car. As you know our car broke down during the holidays and we sent it to the shop for repairs despite our intense aversion to that particular vehicle we simply could not afford another car so soon after buying a new house. As you may also know it broke down again shortly after it was repaired so we had to borrow a car from the in-laws. After the car broke down the second time Sam had a breakdown. He couldn’t bring himself to repair the old car because the very sight of it filled him with violence (it has been giving us issues for year) and he didn’t want to inconvenience his parents. Since we live in the country now we have to have a car. I think you can understand the dilemma. Anyhow his parents bought us a Mitsubishi Outlander and they refuse to accept money for it. It is a used car but a nice one. It has a four-wheel drive and we can now get up the driveway without a racing head-start. His dad has agreed to take care of the old car but once he took on that car it began to develop new problems. In addition his own car actually broke down. When I say that car is cursed I am serious! I think we need an exorcist and not a mechanic.

My health (men look away and skip this section)

I have Menorrhagia (heavy and prolonged periods). I take medicine to stop my periods but for the last few months I have noticed an increasing amount of bleeding and menstrual pain. Prior to taking this medication I would have my period every 2 to 3 weeks and it would last 10 to 14 days. I had even started to have between period bleeding. Several days of my epically long periods the bleeding would be so bad I really couldn’t leave the house. So I am not happy to be bleeding. I actually have no idea why I have Menorrhagia. My mom also had it before she had a complete hysterectomy and hers escalated to the point of needing transfusions. She has Hypothyroidism. I am thinking I am going to have to have my thyroid checked (provided I can convince anyone to do it, the thing is my thyroid levels fluctuate so sometimes I am in the range of Hypothyroidism and sometimes not). I have a doctor’s appointment on Friday to talk about the meds. I am scared that they will take me off if they aren’t working properly and I will go back as before. As I am of child-bearing age I am not sure they’d be so extreme as to remove anything. Aside from that they can scrap off the lining from my uterus permanently which sounds horrific to me.

School. As you know I am back in school though I am only taking one class. In order to study in the city I have to acquire special forms to prove my residence so the district I am in can pay for my traveling expenses. I was told I have to talk to someone in my district and that my school could not provide the forms. I attempted contact with one man but he would not return my entreaties. The second man was considerably more friendly but did not wish to speak to me directly, he wanted to speak to a school administrator. He promised to contact said person but after waiting a week with no response I emailed him impressing on him how important these forms were. Lo and behold I discover he has no such forms and I am supposed to get them from my school after all. Though I was told by the school that they did not have the forms and looked at like I was crazy for even mentioning them. I have been trying to get these forms since I started! Supposedly my teacher will give them to me but I also have to get proof of residence. So it isn’t sorted yet. Speaking of school I went yesterday and on Tuesdays the bus schedule forces me to go in early. Well I get there and it is closed I mean completely. So I’ve made a long trip for no reason and lost the better part of a day. Apparently there was a random teacher conference. A fight broke out at the school the previous week, some of the students are from countries that are at war and it got ugly. Our class continues to get bigger as we take on students because several teachers have fallen seriously ill. I snapped from stress and yes I was cussing at a locked door for a good five minutes.


I have to resume that shit but where’s the time? How do I not break down in class?

Child’s Health

As you know my daughter had chicken pox a while ago. Well last night after a very annoying day I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep but that isn’t how it turned out. Isadora got sick and started throwing up and I mean she threw up a lot. I actually have no idea how to clean vomit and cleaning it with paper towels given the volume well it took a long time and she desperately wanted to go to sleep again poor baby. After everything was clean as I could manage in the middle of the night when I am all but brain dead, I gave her a bucket. She threw up a bit more but did get through the night with some sleep. This morning I went to do a load of laundry and a fuse blew. It took out the washer, drying, dishwasher, television, and a computer. Sam went to get new fuses before work but even though replaced the appliances aren’t working. He had to go to work so as of now I don’t know if they will work. But I hope they are not broken. I had to put Mr Bear into the wash which is Isadora’s sleep toy but the washer went down and now he is soaked and won’t dry by night. I don’t own a hair dryer and everything else that could dry isn’t working. I told her he would have to sit in a bowl by her bed and she seems okay about it but it remains to be seen how she feels when she can’t cuddle with him at night. She hasn’t thrown up today but isn’t really eating and she is obviously feeling bad. Did I mention I also have a test on Friday?

keep your coat on

I debated fiercely with myself today. Should I write? Should I post?

Yesterday I had a therapy session. So far we’ve only worked on relaxation techniques. I find relaxation unsettling, particularly in the company of other humanoids. Lowering my guard leaves me damn right paranoid and so even before the sessions begin I am worked up (it’s the expectation of exposure). We started out playing instruments, my therapist specializes in musical therapy and trauma. I have no musical sensibilities whatsoever, no sense of rhythm but I do like music just the same. I chose the Marimba. I felt a mix of emotions seething insecurity and childish wonder/joy were the top two. I found that I lost focus quite a bit and whenever I did I could tell because the notes became muddied and I lost whatever tune I had concocted. The therapist accompanied me using an African drum and whenever I listened to her playing I instantly forgot what I was doing and my hands became utterly alien to me.

After the music session I had to write a time line. We started with the first five years of my life. The first five years were very difficult and even though I was told not to give too much detail about the events it is impossible to speak of those years without mentioning trauma. Many of my early childhood memories are negative, so negative that even the positive memories make me queasy.

The therapist asked me if there were any positive figures who were predominant in my life. I found that a difficult question to answer. I do have relatives that are sane and kind but I spent very little time with them. I was able to think of one person though, a younger cousin. Growing up she was my closest friend, a kind of surrogate sister if you will. I’ll call her S for sister. S was born with a birth defect, a dangerous black growth on the back of her head. She had surgery after surgery after surgery growing up. She was horrifyingly thin, like the children on charity commercials, just bones with a canvas of thin delicate flesh, almost like a spider’s silk. She got sick often. She had chronic headaches. She was bullied mercilessly for her partially bald misshapen head. She stood up for herself and made friends. She was a very happy, affectionate child. She was innocence personified. She is my hero. Because of her condition she will always be at a high risk for tumors and has in her adult life dealt with her share of cancer scares and chemotherapy. She is tough and I don’t mean hard, I mean she is strong and resilient. She is a very devoted mother. She is also outgoing and confident which means we are completely different.

When I was talking about her the therapist said that I am also strong but I have never found myself so. How does one define weakness? What about strength? Am I strong because I didn’t die? Because I didn’t turn to addiction? Because I am not continuing the cycle, the path my genetics and wiring would have me repeat? If that is strong I guess I am reasonably but I would not call myself a “success story” either. I have a lot of fears and while I am courageous in some respects in many others I am a total coward. I knew I shouldn’t have taken off my coat when I came into the appointment. I have been wearing my coat each time but yesterday I wore a thicker wool coat and removed it, I think it gave a false impression.

Anyways yesterday was a tough session and I am feeling fragile and hostile. I can’t even exercise because I am so nauseous from the stress. One thing I am not good at, is letting go and switching gears. Once I start to open up, I mount an attack against myself in retaliation. I get locked into some morbid obsessional loop that I can’t seem to break free of unless I perchance to have a good night’s sleep. I did not have a good night’s sleep. After the session Sam came to pick me up for lunch and my mind was all over the place. When he left I did a little shopping but I lost so much time wondering around that I was nearly late to greet my daughter from school. I called my MIL just encase I didn’t make it in time and I only barely did.

That is why I am not posting any poetry today I am feeling too vulnerable and emotional. If I do write anything today I will need to sit with it a little longer than I usually do.

(Sam is sick he’s had a high fever all night so I am going to make him stay home today.  I thought my stomach problems were stress related but since he is also having stomach problems I think we might have gotten some bug.)

Going Nowhere


Do you approach me now

To assign a destination

To the topography

Of my inhospitable flesh?

I have traveled for miles

Down ravaged gangways

Unaccustomed to the brevity,

The shark eyed infrastructure

The transparent hunger

In eyes that never suspend

Their purpose for long.


I labor over my identity

As if it were applied

A clumsy wooden frame

That holds more charm,

More beauty than the occupant

Can woefully prescribe

I could look at that frame

All day but the portrait

Does not resemble me.


How strange it is to start

But never to cross

A single boundary

Even with the gun waving

Before my estranged eyes.

The threat, the authority

Perhaps it is why

I only run in place.


I am not alone,

There are others faster than I

Sweating for both

Effort and effect

Wearing their pink soles

Blue but going nowhere.


More of my crummy photography. This is me I am wearing hubbies’ jacket which is too big on top of a large skirt that is why I look so lumpy lol

Photo Prompt #28 “Climbing the Walls”

Climbing the Walls

ghost-of-a-gone-bird@Deviant Art


Whenever I scream

It’s always behind a fist

Of carefully perforated neglect

A little window of light

As inconsistent as a pupil

Hardly worthy of mention

But if not for that oversight

I would have darkened entirely.


Being is more than enough

Too much when it assumes

The future tense.

I wear my nails to a pulp

Later I’ll fashion the shavings

Into a fine ivory parchment

Too rigid to absorb ink

I’ll write barren poems

And we’ll both weep

Under the white ceiling.


When I ascend this outer wall,

The first of many shells,

Will you extract the bones

From my larynx

That I might draw a breath

Every now and again?

The gravity of success

Plays me like a dervish

And I cannot but waver.


I do not want to speak

Of therapy or torture

Of the moon-harvested vacancies

That gnaw at my heart

As if it were comprised

Of rubber bands.

I will never be beautiful

In terms that other’s envy.

I am strange, stranger

Even than the imaginings

You’ve used to persecute me

Though perhaps less evil


My hair comes out like cotton

As if my head were a field

Infested with veils

That have not yet been sewn.

I am naked as a watermark

Clutching the wallpaper

As a virgin does modesty

But I am not a virgin anymore

Never was thanks to the apples

Shat by my liberal ancestors.


They’ve taken my blood

And I theirs so there’s no knowing

In whom the contagion began

Perhaps it was born of this union?

A kind of karmic revulsion

That we pass between us

Like bouts of hysteria.


They suggest that love is art

And yet so few are willing

To divulge their content

And who can claim beauty

Or profundity in such fallacies?

I do not wish to assimilate with you

The invertebrate variable

The necrotizing fascist

This life will kill me soon enough




My lips fall like a noose
Leaving no breath to proposition
If you fell upon me now
It would only hasten my retreat
Indecision might defeat
The purpose but sometimes
It’s all that I’ve left to spark

I don’t want to fill
Your prescription
I have only the blue
And you my dear are
In dire need of red
Sometimes I just feel
Too complicated
To satisfy this quotient
And you, a victim
Of entitlement,
Never seem to understand

I sleep now as a dead thing
A moat replete with the residue
Of your wasted euphemisms
My heart can’t shake the film
Of your recovered pessimism
Until you can don’t tell me
What it means to live
(what’s real if not perception?)
I am in a lot of physical pain today hard to focus have the sense that my thoughts are jumbled. Lately I seem to be swaddled in other people’s pessimism and I am feeling a little drained and overwhelmed with it all. BTW I am locked out of Twitter and can’t seem to reset the password that is why I am not tweeting or leaving comments. I may be tweeting if WordPress does (since it was set too automatically tweet my posts) but I can’t purposely Tweet anymore. I can follow people though weird.