She Waits…

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“You know what’s going to fucking tear you apart?” she confided into the darkness before her, as the agony unveiled from her eyes, “When you realize that the person who sets your soul on fire will never spend their life with you.” Every night, like clockwork, she would face the solitude and silence that would inevitably bring to surface the pain that she wrapped so tightly away with the sun. She lost him, and everything that promised to be the life that she would long for for the rest of her time on this Earth.

And, all because she gave. Or, did she give up? Everything that she was, and everything she was made to be faced the collision of the concreted expectations and the cut and dry life mapped out before her since the day that she was born.

Her existence was a conflict. Everything she ever knew, loved, or stood against held a damning lack of standing in the hell she was roped into. Dreaming became a synthetic pastime. When, to her, it was oxygen. Goals were put into boxes, collecting dust from intruders or fire from brainwash. And, love? Love didn’t exist. Not in the world she was born into, regardless of the truth in her soul.

Because love needed depth, and her mind fought to fly. The dark brought on nightmares with the silence, whether her eyes remained opened or closed. Her greatest demons resided in the shadows, though she couldn’t sleep to the truth that called her, thirsted by the burial of the mundane life that she now knew to be her own.

And so, she learned to survive in the parallel universe that was set before her. During the day, she woke up, showed up, sucked it up, and everything in between. And, the whole time, she fought to stay normal….She never forgot the night: Her blanket in a world of cold.

She loved the memories and the truth and the belonging, but she hated the way that it stabbed her heart and crushed any meaning that she could contribute to. The struggle was unavoidable, and the pull was addictive. Night had to come, and she was fused to the web that wove its strings around her.

When her past haunted her and caught her in the midst of her breakdown…It drove its claws into her constantly, taunting her with the whisperings that she had sold herself to the societal norm that she had loathed with the one that held the power to drive her to the ground. She armed herself against them with a drink in one hand a pen in the other. The darkness would call each night, and she would follow with no regard. The daytime was wrong, in every way…but night was bound to come.

The world could fight to find it’s rightness, but she knew where it laid from the very start. Come into the darkness and feel the beckoning. She waits, and the memories will follow. She can only be loved in the dark…and isn’t that the very best way?

The Blood of a Soul

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My subconscious continues to write, as I tire. Pure emotion drips from this pen, regardless of my current state of mind. Alcohol fuels the fire, and the burning of my throat and my thoughts holds the hypnotic power to bring black and white to life.

This is writing, in its truest form. The rules are tossed to the wind as the ink is freed along its paper roadway. How else can we see the blood of a soul?

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Wild Words and Poison

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30 years old, and I couldn’t tell you if I welcome that barrage of thoughts that march with alcohol, or if I fear them. But, I can tell you for damned sure that I open my mouth to every drop of that poison…and my pen hand shakes with anticipation as the heat of the words fill my existence.

Love-hate, at its finest. Dropping that pen would mean that the poison runs its unprecedented course through my body, and paper directs it toward its purpose. Legitimately my muse, the paper makes me visible.

So, write me. Write everything that bleeds through that poison and climbs its way toward a voice. Write long nights, started early and cursed to my aging, swollen eyes. Write regret. To never find that mountain that allowed two feet to find a hold toward dreams that wept so far away. Find loss. And, above all…find failure. Words unspoken by the day-to-day but growing by the fate of poison and the moon. Forever in my mind, unsilenced until they find their way home.

Are you awake?

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The formidable darkness envelopes me. The recognition does not subside with the fear that emanates with every breath that I take in its silence. It comes, regardless of the cloak that I wear. I cannot pull a hood over the dread as much as I can silence the pounding of my mind.

Destiny awaits in the night hours, the time when all at peace can find their beds. I have never recognized mine, nor do I turn to it in times like this. These hours are the beckoning. The fight for the life that is to remain but must be covered by all that this world has found to hold it down. This time is the proving grounds to the depths of souls that can mascaraed in the brightest of days. No hiding, no covering. Night folds within us. ARE YOU AWAKE?

Blueberry Banana Bread

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  • 1 egg
  • 4 ripe bananas, mashed
  • 1 cup blueberries
  • 1 ¼ cup flour
  • ¾ tsp. baking soda
  • ¼ tsp. salt
  • 6 tbsps. Butter, softened
  • ¾ cup brown sugar
  • 1 tsp. vanilla

Preheat oven to 325º. Combine all ingredients. Grease and flour a loaf pan, and pour in the batter. Bake for about 1 hr. and 25 min. or until toothpick comes out clean. Let cool for 10 min. before removing from pan.

The Words that Impaled Distraction

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I fought myself to go that weekend. You could call it an intuition, but I’d attribute it to everyday anxiety—something that has only risen as my years have passed. It would be hard to find an outfit. It was cold. I’d be tired. So many bullshit reasons so I pushed myself to go anyway. I pulled off the outfit, and I was pleased to feel that the confidence dressed me with the clothes. It was the old game that I knew well: Distraction masks fear. So, with every touch of makeup, the straightening of hair, a spray of perfume, and the way-to-high heels–I nailed that distraction. Too well this time, in a world that I still have so much to learn about…

It was the usual routine. A hand off of money and ID to my safety net, and we left the guys for the bigger party. Most of the conflict I had envisioned proved to be drawing my attention to the wrong threat, and I relaxed as the tequila added up and the moods were calm. I had years to know the majority of the people around me. Unfortunately, I would find that my distraction would not prove infallible to the tarnish that laid beneath that pretty coat.

We began dancing, something I can never force myself into without the right amount of alcohol. He joined us, and the mood changed quickly. He was like a father figure for so many years. It had to be the environment. She held my hand, letting me know she had my back as always. We kept dancing. The song let up, and I complimented the band. It was only a second of her walking away, and eyes hit me like steel. No amount of makeup would cover the tears that leapt with his words: “Why are you…the way that you are?” I couldn’t stop them. A slap in the face wouldn’t have held a candle to the impact that those words were driven by.

He saw, and it was too late to look away. “Do you want to go outside and talk?” I nodded. Talk, yes. See, that was the man I knew for so long. He’s just worried about me; I can make him understand. We passed her, as well as my other safety. They were both concerned, but I assured them that I wanted to go.

We were barely out the door when the apologies started swimming from my mouth: why it was my fault, how I fucked up, all that time alone and scared. I couldn’t make it understandable; there was so much built up. Bits and pieces poured out, and the tears were uncontrollable. He hugged me, and my friends were certain I was okay. I wasn’t okay. I was back there, and I couldn’t break out of it now. All the screaming and begging. The hopelessness. The desperation. It was consuming me, as I stood on that porch.

We were alone again, and he ushered me to the parking lot. I was cold, and there was so much more I had to explain so I agreed. I didn’t realize how drunk he was until we got there, and by then I had already walked all that way in those heels.

Sitting in that car brought it all to an end. He didn’t care what I had to say; no one seemed to. I couldn’t be a distraction. I couldn’t cover up the pain and the damage that was done so long ago. Who am I kidding? My ruin grew that night, from a past that I am unable to escape. It is a part of me, something that I can never wash away with the makeup remover; I can never take it off and hide it in the closet. Because I was used long ago, I will forever wear the silent invitation to do so again and again…

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Peas in Cheese

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  • 4 ½ tsps. Butter
  • 4 ½ tsps. All-purpose flour
  • ¼ tsp. salt
  • 1/8 tsp. white pepper
  • 1 cup milk
  • ½ cup processed cheese
  • 3 cans peas, drained

In a lg. saucepan, melt butter on low. Stir in flour, salt, and pepper until smooth, and then gradually add milk. Bring to a boil, cooking and stirring for a couple min. or until thickened. Stir in cheese until melted. Add peas, and cook until heated through.