| Picking blackberries...I hear your voices back and forth
fighting for God knows what
I hear my name thrown in and out
immediately I become the scapegoat
I try to bury myself in the latest book
Duncan, Lowry, Higgins-Clark
Bradburry, King or Stine
But freedom does not come
My head starts to hurt
my heart starts racing
it's my fault yet again
why is it always my fault
I do what you want
I give all that I am
and yet you rip my heart apart
like the blackberries I pick for you
tearing my hands
blood laden with black juice
thorns tearing apart the soft flesh
of berry and skin
"that's not enough"
"go into the bush"
"don't you care that this equals dinner"
"GET IN THE BUSH"
scraping my arms, i lean in more
doing all i can to avoid the thorns
but this is blackberry picking
it's not easy
it's times like these
when your yelling and screaming
that i remember the blackberries
and realize I am one.
hidden in the thorns
soft
thin skinned
fragile
scrap your arms and lean in more
do all you can to avoid the thorns
but remember
this is blackberry picking
it's not easy
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| I want to find my purpose from the pain....My heart is breaking
my worlds changing
forever bleeding my heart is weeping
tears of blood
to fill the oceans
no longer blue unlike my eyes
they once read true
of hope and love
now bitter red
no longer high on life
i'm not a cutter
at least not on surface
but who can trust
a cover up is no longer
a wounder soldier
of love and hate
of lies and scorn
and complete and total distrust
no method to the madness
strictly beating
pounding my heart
like the meatloaf she made
you took advantage
and now here i am
a lump of raw disgusting meat
what right did you have
what right do they have
right is so wrong
how can a wrong be right
irony
there's no pattern to this writing
i'm not intending there to be
i only wish for this pain
to find
a purpose.
*tell me how broken has become the new beautiful*.
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| 4 weeks and counting...I have four weeks to find a job and somewhere to live.
God help me.
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| Jonny's daddy was taken him fishin' when he was 8 yrs old... I heard this song tonight around 12 ish.
I was putting gas in my car.
In that song, Johnny offers up his life for his wife... who he disliked as a kid.
When I used to listen to that song I also swore that I would find a guy who would want to do that for me.
Just knowing that would he would do that made me cry.
It's a lot of years later and I still haven't found my "Johnny".
When I catch myself thinking about things like that I always question what I've done wrong.
I give so much of myself to so many people. Almost anyone who asks for my help, time, or resources, gets it.
Especially guys.
that's stupid.
Unfortunately... I doubt it will change.
I'm a giver.
I just want to love. I just want to give.
But this giver can't give when she's out of everything.
I can pretend I'm fine... but I want the guy that makes me look him in the face to tell him what's wrong. That calls me out when I'm b.s'ing it. The one that would love me unconditional.
Because, this will always be my prayer:
Take the very breath you gave me
Take the heart from my chest
I'll gladly take his place if you'll let me
Make this my last request
Take me out of this world
God please don't take the boy
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| Long time no see....I quit doing xanga for awhile because I was addicted.
But I think I am ok enough to start doing it again.
ha.
Ok is such loose word.
I am going to try to get into the habit of blogging again because one day I would like to print out my blogs and save them. A journal of sorts. After all, most of my important events have been written about on here.
That is all.
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