Okay

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Feb 112020
 

I open my eyes and feel you’re warmly wrapped around me
I don’t see you though. I look and you’re not there.
I wait
For an alert
Or a ding
That makes my heart speed up and I fear bad news because for so many months those morning messages were filled with the unknown, absolute dread.
And yet,
I crave you like an infant demands the breast.
I need to be cradled in your strong arms, hear your heartbeat and feel that you’re alive.
Because
You are alive. You fought, you fight.
Every day you’ve been in a battle to keep your body and soul together
And mine has fought to be next to you.
Holding you the way a mother should hold her son, only more.
Kissing your tears away as my fingers tease through your hair.
My mouth finds it’s way to yours
You kiss me back.
Your fingers intertwined into my long hair
The others trailing their way down my body like electricity.
I gasp as your thumb presses on my special spots.
Our lips unlock and I look at your soul and it exhales the power of life into me.
You are CPR for my soul.
My body twitches at the thought of you.
My belly dances for hours after you’ve touched me.
The space between my legs was made for you
As though the pieces together are completing a puzzle that was started a lifetime ago.
I know you worry.
I worry too.
When something completes you in such a profound way it’s our instinct to guard it, fiercely.
You
Fear leaving me.
You won’t be gone forever.
Our souls will still have each other
That is a connection that transcends time and space.
You
Fear me getting hurt.
Not by you
But, by my own self-destructive thoughts being manifest.
I will do my best to contain them.
It is hard.
Not because of you.
But
Because my past was hell.
It’s like a knife trying to cut into me and rip my soul out, at this time of year anyway.
You apply pressure to the wounds when you hold me
Keeping me from completely falling apart.
I will slide into your bed and wonder if you feel me.
Hope
That your arm wraps around me
Your hand finding it’s way to my belly
Kisses on the back of my neck and shoulders as I drift safely to sleep.
And
When tomorrow comes
The next day too
The connection will not be severed because our combined soul does not make two.

Oct 152019
 

Three more lines garnish this heavy cloak, the nudity exposing the real me and how badly I have broken. I am numb. I have to be. If I wasn’t, the quadrillion pieces of my heart would be slicing through me like razor wire gutting me from the inside out.

My eyes can’t focus. My brain can’t either. I hate myself. Hate myself for so many things, namely, allowing myself to dream, to imagine a life, to be naive enough to believe in another person when it went against my instinct to hide and pull away. I hurt because I allowed myself to go to the one place I swore I never would. 

I deserved the pain. The punishment. I let myself believe I didn’t. I failed myself. I failed everyone. And, now what do I do? Where do I go from here? There is no up. The compass points North, South, East, and West and no matter where I stand I seem to be in the middle, the needle doesn’t teach me how to climb out of this pit, it tells me to stay parallel. To traverse the world down on my knees is no different than up in the sky. The views both inherently evil and beautiful all in one. 

I am the brokenhearted, the evil, the beautiful. I am my own worse nightmare, my biggest fear. There is no amazing grace for me because I am perpetually lost, never to be found. Maybe if one looks really low they would see fragments of my battered soul at their feet. Or, perhaps they wouldn’t see me through all the soul-holes and would continue on their way. 

I am the hate, disdain, the pain behind every smile. The brokenhearted that’s been discarded. I am the nothing that fills space and causes hurt. Why did I crawl from the depths of hell just to fall right back in? I am sin. 

Jul 112019
 

Sitting on the outside while feeling like I am on the inside of all the secrets the world has to offer. I stumble. I fall. I second guess myself. I look around and have absolutely no clue if my life is real or a story of fiction, words on the pages of some book that is being written as I stumble to understand this nexus.

How does one know when the world is using them? When all of the hurt that they feel doesn’t need to be felt at all? And, how does one swallow down that hurt and see the bright side, looking for the silver lining in every situation when the situation remains stagnant and oh so incredibly different every single day? Will I know when it is real or when I should walk away?

You see, once you’ve been gutted, cut from sternum to spleen and had everything torn from you, figuratively, it is hard to ever trust a touch, a feeling, an emotion for what it is. This voice in the back of your mind always sits in anxious-wonder waiting for the ball to drop, the lies to be exposed. How many people can be in on one lie? How many people can hold onto a dozen or more lies? How many records can be hidden in a world where we have freedom of information? Am I looking too deep to find answers when I have what should be the truth sprawled out in front of me?

It is almost as though I am performing an autopsy on life itself rather than the dead. Making my Y incision and peeling back the layers, looking for blemishes, flaws, things that I was told weren’t there. Seeking answers to questions that no one ever asked. Presuming the innocent are guilty before I begin my investigation in the first place. Allowing myself to be pulled down and tortured by the hurt that I unveil, hurt that wouldn’t have existed at all had I left the flesh alone and not sought problems that didn’t exist outside of my mind.

The mind is a powerful thing. Probably the most powerful thing. We can make nearly anything manifest if we will it to, subconsciously or with intent. Some are great at using this gift to live a life of intent, to create and not harm. Others, like myself, are great at feeling the pain of the world and allowing it to pull down, hard until I am the bloody mess.

Do I want to be a mess or the one that speaks the wise words and influences others to be wise with their time, to live an intentional life? I personally don’t feel any amount of infinite wisdom can be worth the air used to speak if we haven’t walked through our own broken dreams, felt our own brokenness, held our insides in our hands and begged to be saved and to die, all at the same time.

Inner conflict may be the only thing that keeps us looking forward, seeking answers, questioning the unquestionable and living a life that seeks knowledge and power rather than pretending we have it all figured out.

I promise I have nothing figured out. Not a single thing. But I live in love, I hurt in love. I am the most authentic version of myself that I could possibly be. I bare my scars to the world and I do not fear the world’s judgment as each and every scar is a reflection of the shattered mirror that shows my life. The broken raw version of me, not the airbrushed version I wish the world could or would see.

Who am I? That’s a question I have been seeking an answer to for nearly 20 years and if anything, I am further now from knowing than I ever had been in the past. For the first time though, that feels strangely “okay”. I am far from content and yet I am good exactly where I am – performing autopsy’s on my own life searching for the answers to… I don’t know.

Fueled Flame

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Jan 312019
 

The Realm of the Dead

I beg the world to just let me be numb, to make the pain from yesterday and tomorrow roll off of me. Like a tsunami that pulls the water away the pain always rolls back in, deeper and harder than it had ever been before.

I try and see the good in life. Maybe I’ve gone blind.

What is the point in all of this hurt? What kind of god or deity says that this is okay. That free will is acceptable when it comes to damaging others. The scars in my brain are lesions that can’t be fixed. Not in this world. Probably not in the next.

I am angry. Angry at God, angry at myself for having faith in the greater good when the reality is that there is no good. It is a falsity, a bald-faced lie that we all look to as some sort of guide to having the best life, when none of us really do.

I hate.

I hate the happy people. The rich people. The people who got to die when I can’t. The people who laid there looking like they were sleeping peacefully ready for their grave with their mouths stitched shut to avoid the look of a screaming slack jaw staring up at the mourners. I envy that person. The person in the pine box, preparing for the flame.

All of this life, all of this hurt, this broken-ugly is hell. The good die young because they are too good for this inferno.

And today, like in years before, I watched the sunrise as if it were my first, and then I said goodbye to the light, knowing it was my last.

I cut myself just to feel the pain.

I bleed just to know I am alive.

I am sorry, every single day.

If God was my tourniquet, what will save my soul now that he has abandoned me?

“No” comes from my mouth so loudly in the darkness of the winters night that I wonder how it’s not heard around the world, I wake myself. The rapist’s in my head alive and well. I am the zombie that can’t get them to go away.

Crazy… I was crazy once…

Then, the brutal hit of life stole the wind from my lungs and snuffed out the flame that I had glowing inside.

Perhaps, I am numb, the pain is so bad I can barely recognize it. Is this a part of the show? This evil game where I am the mouse and I can’t tell who the cat is, so I have to trust no one? Don’t inhale the toxic fumes called air, Marisa. Hold your breath until the darkness creeps in and you close your eyes.

And if you don’t love me now…

Well, you probably never did.

Time…

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Dec 252018
 

I told you I would break.
I didn’t know when.
The tsunami that was coming finally arrived.
The waves are drowning me.
I don’t know if I survived.

The dripping crimson I don’t regret.
All of this time and I feel nothing yet.
Scars rough and tough unlike my soul.
You are the hole that has no light.
I don’t want to fight when it’s not me that’s alive.

Dec 052018
 

I listen real close and I hear words echoing inside myself. I wonder if it’s my own trailing thoughts, or a distorted message that I can’t grasp from the One who created me. He knows I have fallen away from Him. He knows everything. If only I would have got the memo that I would be struggling to stay afloat all of this time later.

Braving the waves can be hard when the water is cold as ice and the tide is pulling you down and out. I admit I haven’t prayed much since my miscarriage. Sure, I have prayed. But not the way I used to. Not from inside the depths of the Word.

I have prayed for children with cancer when asked. I have prayed for friends struggling with their health. I have prayed for car crashes, bus wrecks, murderers, victims and the truth. Yet, I haven’t sat down and humbled myself before the Lord my God.

I haven’t called upon His name and begged that He forgive me, grant me peace. I haven’t asked Him to guide me and each day that passes is another day that I have wandered in darkness.

There have even been days where I have scrolled past the blessings that others have tried to show. I have been envious and even bitter that they are finding joy, when I have found… nothing.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
~Mathew 5:3-10~

Lord, my spirit has been poor, my heart has been in mourning, my thoughts and behaviour have been meek, I have hungered to be right by you and scared to act, I have shown mercy to those who have hurt me, I am handing you my heart knowing it will be cleansed, I have disconnected from the things that cause division and I have tried to bring peace in Your Holy Name, I have been persecuted for being a Christian, and yet, you tell me I AM blessed!

Dec 032018
 

It has been a good long time since I have put words to the blinking cursor. I don’t know why exactly I stopped writing, or rather, why the words stopped flowing, but I think it has to do with loss.

I just keep losing in this game called life. I keep feeling the slashing pain of being gutted by the insides that are supposed to hold onto life and grow the future. What will the future hold when it cannot manifest within the womb that is meant to nurture it?

What will stem from a society run by people largely created in labs? Where our mothers and fathers spend their life savings just to get us here. Will it go to our heads? Will the race to become superior start and end with that money saved and raised to ensure our creation?

Where is God in all of this? Am I God? Is the Dr. God? Is God really the currency we pay that decides life and death for us?

How much money does someone hand to the God that has stopped the blade from slicing too deep, who has stopped an infection from setting in and who has stopped the blood from flowing out before it was too late? How much was that worth?

Is the currency for the numbness that allows me to bleed just to know I am alive the pain and torture I have experienced? The chain that held me all those nights has become the ties that bind me to the past and the past to me, forever.

I don’t know what it is I want. Or what it is I actually feel. I just know that most of the time I am in a stoic place and the other times my heart is racing out of my chest and my anxiety is through the roof. There is nothing predictable about how I will respond, psychologically or physically, to the same thing twice.

Tonight, I have peace in knowing I am not God. I am not the one with the control. I am simply a piece of the puzzle. I can find comfort in that.

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