Loss.
Mixed of
Redundancies and
Unfathomable desires.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
Furious
Because youre as gentle as a bulldozer stuck in drive.
Because id do away anything trivial for you, all just to make you happy.
And you?
You put yourself first. Like a prominent tattoo that reads "fuck you" on your forehead.
I am insecure.
Im afraid of losing someone I need in my life.
As I triple check my locks on my door because I cant imagine a life where id have nothing.
As I am paranoid, that everyone hates me even though they are my friends.
As I believe I am nothing, even though I breathe.
I dont want you to be getting off my friends.
Testing boundaries throws lightning down my spine urging me to lash and scream.
Sow your wild oats - just without me.
Its too much for me to handle.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Blackhole
Eating ideas, thoughts, and salvation.
Its an abhorrent entity
That has to exist
For all other beauty to flourish.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Asshole
My grandmother passed away on the fourth of July. I didn't cry when I first heard it.
I was laying in bed the morning of the event. I was asleep and had heard my phone go off relentlessly. My phone read "Madre." She frequently decides to pester me. I put it off. After four or five more alarms I finally mustered all the energy in me to wake up and check what it was she needed to tell me. "Grandma's dying." I thought to myself, what else is new? I had already known that she had developed anasarca within the past few days but I started to think, maybe this is it. This may be the day she dies.
My mother's text told me she was 60/40 through some form of horrible English. I get flustered every time I read whatever it is she has to tell me. I told her alright. There was some seriousness in my voice because some part of me still felt what was going around in my life. She told me to call, so I tried. I actually didn't hesitate to do so at all. I guess it takes someone dying for me to actually have the motivation to speak to someone when needed. There was no answer. My mother told me to drive to my aunts house, because she heard someone there got in contact with her.
I drove over, saw my cousin with red eyes sullen. My Aunt stood atop the stairs. I asked if they talked to Grandma yet, and they told me she passed away 5 minutes before I got there. I had missed my opportunity to speak to her because I decided it was more important to sleep in. I didn't care. I said "Oh. Okay." Little did I know my Aunt was frantically trying to reach my grandma in the hospital. She called up one of our relatives who was there with her. "Dave, on the phone. Answer. Hurry now." My family never had a single class of ESL. My cousin mark asked if i wanted to speak to her. I said, isn't she gone? He responded yes. My aunt still hysteric, said she's just sleeping hurry. I rolled my eyes and thought there might be some value if i still spoke to her. At first I told my cousin I didn't want to, but my Aunt insisted, so I did. I spoke to her.
"Grandma? It's me. I love you." I broke into tears as I leaned against the wall of my cousin's office. "It's Dave, Remember me?" I began to break up. "I.. I love you so much Grandma. I hope you're okay. I want to thank you for everything. Thank you for everything. Thank you for being there for me. Taking care of me. I love you. I love you Grandma. Thank you."
She took care of me more then my mother had. She practically was my mother. My real mom, was always working from 7 in the morning until 10 at night. I love her and appreciate her dearly for working so hard because I know it was for us. But my Grandma was the one who walked me to the school bus, fed me, and took care of me whenever I was sick.
There was a service today, at my same aunt's house. I didn't want to go. It was to be at 5:00pm but I didn't care to get ready until 5:10. I rather wanted to watch another episode of Breaking Bad, and eat left over pizza on my counter. I finally got ready and told my mom I was leaving at 5:15pm.
When I got there I realized everyone was waiting for me to start the service. It was 5:40pm. I didn't care. I planned on leaving as soon as possible. My entire family was there even with some extended through in-laws. Everyone was happy talking amongst each other eating. I was glad they were, they weren't overly excited to be there of course.
As the service started a few moments after my arrival, I leaned against a wall in the living room drinking some water. my mother sat closest to the front near our pastor and gave me an angry and stern eye to come next to her. I shook my head looking angry back. My two nieces then told me to go over to her not knowing i was telling her no. I didn't feel like extenuating my anger for my mother towards them.
As soon as I sat down, my mother put her hand on my leg palm down. She began rubbing my leg. It pissed me off. She turned her hand upside down raising her fingers trying to reach for my hand. I push her away with my leg and look at her angry. She treats me like a fucking child. They begin the service by singing a song in a book of hymns. My mother put the book on my leg in effort to encourage me to sing. I stared into space. I didn't care to be there. The entire ride over I was looking for ways to devalue the meaning of the service; saying, "We already met the day she died, why again?"
After the hymn, our pastor decided to open up to us asking everyone to share memories of our Grandma. Everyone in our family knew that I was Grandma's favorite. She cared about me the most, it's why she chose to live with me and my mother for most her life. My mother noting the possible familial gain and respect of a good speech nudged my leg relentlessly. She then went on to say my name twice in a begging whisper because she knew everyone would be looking at me. I responded with a slight glare toward her direction. My aunt then also added on my name not noticing the overwhelming actions of my mother. I didn't give a shit. I wasn't going to speak by their terms. If i feel like speaking I would. I wanted to, but I couldn't with having my mother being such a fucking construed and contorted mess of rusted barbwire entangled in my skin. I don't need anyone to throw my name into a hat for my own service and this point in my life, I don't care about myself so it's easy not to give a fuck about anyone else. My cousin at my right laughed at the situation and said, "Okay, well I'll start." A few select people in my family said some words and I laughed at moments fondly remembering my Grandmother.
My mother spoke, "I can only imagine what was it was like for her." She began tearing up; crying. I put my arm around her to console her. I still love her despite how much she can make me upset and angry. "I only have one child and.. when I think of him and how he doesn't respond to my messages I worry so much. - pause - and then I think of how she did it with 11 kids..." A spark of anger ignited in me because of her seemingly intent pause and comparison of how much trouble I give her compared to eleven children. Maybe Grandma didn't have that much of a problem because she didn't overbear on their lives. Did you ever think of that? Just because I don't speak when you want me to and ignore your unreasonably frequent messages doesn't give you the right to upset me at grandma's funeral. Maybe I would give more of a fuck, if you had your own life and wouldn't put me in the center of it. Everyday she messages me. About things she's already said, about things I already know she will, about how she's worried about the most impossible and improbable events to ever occur. She's come to my work searching for my car after I had failed to respond to one of her messages the night before. She's paranoid, delusional and feels no need to reconcile with herself.
After her speech the pastor spoke a final word, "As Dave's mother had said, she's had trouble with one of her children..." Fucking Christ, why the hell do I have to be the center of topics? At this point I was pissed and felt everyone was attacking me if they mentioned my name.
As the service ended my close cousin I lived with made some jokes about the intensity of religion and how we needed to accept God or we'd be doomed forever. He made me feel better about being there. I ate a few parcels of food and lied to my mother telling her I had to go for a meeting. I got out without saying goodbye to anyone.
I was laying in bed the morning of the event. I was asleep and had heard my phone go off relentlessly. My phone read "Madre." She frequently decides to pester me. I put it off. After four or five more alarms I finally mustered all the energy in me to wake up and check what it was she needed to tell me. "Grandma's dying." I thought to myself, what else is new? I had already known that she had developed anasarca within the past few days but I started to think, maybe this is it. This may be the day she dies.
My mother's text told me she was 60/40 through some form of horrible English. I get flustered every time I read whatever it is she has to tell me. I told her alright. There was some seriousness in my voice because some part of me still felt what was going around in my life. She told me to call, so I tried. I actually didn't hesitate to do so at all. I guess it takes someone dying for me to actually have the motivation to speak to someone when needed. There was no answer. My mother told me to drive to my aunts house, because she heard someone there got in contact with her.
I drove over, saw my cousin with red eyes sullen. My Aunt stood atop the stairs. I asked if they talked to Grandma yet, and they told me she passed away 5 minutes before I got there. I had missed my opportunity to speak to her because I decided it was more important to sleep in. I didn't care. I said "Oh. Okay." Little did I know my Aunt was frantically trying to reach my grandma in the hospital. She called up one of our relatives who was there with her. "Dave, on the phone. Answer. Hurry now." My family never had a single class of ESL. My cousin mark asked if i wanted to speak to her. I said, isn't she gone? He responded yes. My aunt still hysteric, said she's just sleeping hurry. I rolled my eyes and thought there might be some value if i still spoke to her. At first I told my cousin I didn't want to, but my Aunt insisted, so I did. I spoke to her.
"Grandma? It's me. I love you." I broke into tears as I leaned against the wall of my cousin's office. "It's Dave, Remember me?" I began to break up. "I.. I love you so much Grandma. I hope you're okay. I want to thank you for everything. Thank you for everything. Thank you for being there for me. Taking care of me. I love you. I love you Grandma. Thank you."
She took care of me more then my mother had. She practically was my mother. My real mom, was always working from 7 in the morning until 10 at night. I love her and appreciate her dearly for working so hard because I know it was for us. But my Grandma was the one who walked me to the school bus, fed me, and took care of me whenever I was sick.
There was a service today, at my same aunt's house. I didn't want to go. It was to be at 5:00pm but I didn't care to get ready until 5:10. I rather wanted to watch another episode of Breaking Bad, and eat left over pizza on my counter. I finally got ready and told my mom I was leaving at 5:15pm.
When I got there I realized everyone was waiting for me to start the service. It was 5:40pm. I didn't care. I planned on leaving as soon as possible. My entire family was there even with some extended through in-laws. Everyone was happy talking amongst each other eating. I was glad they were, they weren't overly excited to be there of course.
As the service started a few moments after my arrival, I leaned against a wall in the living room drinking some water. my mother sat closest to the front near our pastor and gave me an angry and stern eye to come next to her. I shook my head looking angry back. My two nieces then told me to go over to her not knowing i was telling her no. I didn't feel like extenuating my anger for my mother towards them.
As soon as I sat down, my mother put her hand on my leg palm down. She began rubbing my leg. It pissed me off. She turned her hand upside down raising her fingers trying to reach for my hand. I push her away with my leg and look at her angry. She treats me like a fucking child. They begin the service by singing a song in a book of hymns. My mother put the book on my leg in effort to encourage me to sing. I stared into space. I didn't care to be there. The entire ride over I was looking for ways to devalue the meaning of the service; saying, "We already met the day she died, why again?"
After the hymn, our pastor decided to open up to us asking everyone to share memories of our Grandma. Everyone in our family knew that I was Grandma's favorite. She cared about me the most, it's why she chose to live with me and my mother for most her life. My mother noting the possible familial gain and respect of a good speech nudged my leg relentlessly. She then went on to say my name twice in a begging whisper because she knew everyone would be looking at me. I responded with a slight glare toward her direction. My aunt then also added on my name not noticing the overwhelming actions of my mother. I didn't give a shit. I wasn't going to speak by their terms. If i feel like speaking I would. I wanted to, but I couldn't with having my mother being such a fucking construed and contorted mess of rusted barbwire entangled in my skin. I don't need anyone to throw my name into a hat for my own service and this point in my life, I don't care about myself so it's easy not to give a fuck about anyone else. My cousin at my right laughed at the situation and said, "Okay, well I'll start." A few select people in my family said some words and I laughed at moments fondly remembering my Grandmother.
My mother spoke, "I can only imagine what was it was like for her." She began tearing up; crying. I put my arm around her to console her. I still love her despite how much she can make me upset and angry. "I only have one child and.. when I think of him and how he doesn't respond to my messages I worry so much. - pause - and then I think of how she did it with 11 kids..." A spark of anger ignited in me because of her seemingly intent pause and comparison of how much trouble I give her compared to eleven children. Maybe Grandma didn't have that much of a problem because she didn't overbear on their lives. Did you ever think of that? Just because I don't speak when you want me to and ignore your unreasonably frequent messages doesn't give you the right to upset me at grandma's funeral. Maybe I would give more of a fuck, if you had your own life and wouldn't put me in the center of it. Everyday she messages me. About things she's already said, about things I already know she will, about how she's worried about the most impossible and improbable events to ever occur. She's come to my work searching for my car after I had failed to respond to one of her messages the night before. She's paranoid, delusional and feels no need to reconcile with herself.
After her speech the pastor spoke a final word, "As Dave's mother had said, she's had trouble with one of her children..." Fucking Christ, why the hell do I have to be the center of topics? At this point I was pissed and felt everyone was attacking me if they mentioned my name.
As the service ended my close cousin I lived with made some jokes about the intensity of religion and how we needed to accept God or we'd be doomed forever. He made me feel better about being there. I ate a few parcels of food and lied to my mother telling her I had to go for a meeting. I got out without saying goodbye to anyone.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Reverse
Separation from anxiety.
Finding self in a haze,
Unclear yet fathomable.
But it does exist.
The only unfortunate part is that it
won't be permanent.
Only temporary.
Aided by a memory
with holes like a sponge,
The facet of clarity
that shows me the way of happiness
and solidarity,
Will fade, as my brain forces
new memory to replace it's existence.
Drugs.
Finding self in a haze,
Unclear yet fathomable.
But it does exist.
The only unfortunate part is that it
won't be permanent.
Only temporary.
Aided by a memory
with holes like a sponge,
The facet of clarity
that shows me the way of happiness
and solidarity,
Will fade, as my brain forces
new memory to replace it's existence.
Drugs.
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