Complicated

Life has been so strange lately. I find myself angry for no reason. Caught somewhere between denial and oppression. 

Hoping that I’ll wake up and the loss of this last year will be erased or worse pretending it never happened. I’ll see a friend pregnant or that someone just had their baby and I’m so envious and angry I can’t see.

Why do they get their baby? Where’s mine?

And I hope that no one knows the awful things going on in my head. I hope God forgives me.

And I hate and hate and hate and don’t know how to get it out of my body. It’s starting to screw up my relationship. And I wonder how do people survive this. 

How do their marriages get through the loss of a child. 

How do I? 

There’s so many things we aren’t saying. Like if we don’t say them they will go away. So I’ll say them here.

I’m sorry

Part of me hates you

I hate myself

I hate God

I still want my baby

I feel like you’ll never understand me

I don’t even understand myself

Please forgive me

Sometimes I don’t want to be with you 

Because you will always remind me of what we lost together, of my worst day on this planet. And I hate that you’re associated with that pain. 

Dreams

 Here we are again. I’m sure a therapist would tell me I have unresolved feelings or some shit and that is why I dream about your annoying ass so often. No shit. The problem is I would like to Eternal Sunshine your ass out of my memory please and thank you. 

It wasn’t epic. You did not love me while I the idiot absolutely loved you. Unrequited absolutely but not epic. Not epic at all. 

So let’s Freud this shit and figure out why you continue to haunt me. Regrets…1 I didn’t tell you. But that was self preservation at its finest. I didn’t tell you because I knew you didn’t love me and saying it to you would have been too much and it would have fucked me up royally.

The love wasn’t bigger or more intense but there was something to it something with teeth. Something that could murder my soul if I wasn’t careful. I felt like I could see into you to a space that no one else could. It was different from the other loves Ive felt purely for that alone. 

Did you see me back. No

Much to my horror and pain you did not. I’m not sure you could have really even if you’d tried. This was all me. All my complicated feelings. 

So the dreams. I have a fulfilling life. I just spent an amazing weekend in Vegas. Come home and have sex dreams about you. Not just sex but babies this time. Children. Why? Because I know you have a daughter. 

You’d think that me knowing Karma bit you on the ass would soothe some fucked up part of me but it doesn’t. 

I want you out of my head. You Don’t deserve to be there. You didn’t sacrifice for me or take care of me or do anything kind or giving. You were my fucked up friend who sometimes fucked me but couldn’t date me because I had a kid. 

Fuck you.

My husband should be the one in my dreams. He fucking earned that shit. Has cared loved and supported me in everything.

Fuck you and fuck Me. I hate these dreams because every single time it makes me think about you all damn day long. 

So yeah fuck me.

How to Heal my Broken Heart

I don’t know what to do with myself. Some days are easier than others. I distract myself with walking and cooking and trying to keep myself from remembering how it happened, that it happened at all. Other times I can go on breathing and forget for a moment and that moment is far too short and not often enough. 

I’ve lost loved ones. My grandparents that helped raise me years back and my father more recently. I lost an adoptive grandfather/father only a year or two ago and still nothing touches the deep grief that lives inside me now.

I’m so angry at God. I wanted another child so badly I had to let that dream go when years went by without any plus signs. I worked really hard to get to a place where I could accept that I couldn’t have more children.  And then I got pregnant. 

It felt like a miracle. It felt like God had finally given me my child…my daughter. 

And then he took her back.

And I’m so angry.

And I want her back. 

And I hate him for it. And I can’t find the reason in his taking her and all but killing me. What is the lesson in this loss? Where is my peace. I had it once and now those dams are broken and I’m lost without my shepherd.

How do I forgive myself and love God. 

How do I get past this?

If only I had some explanation instead of more questions, more anger. I hate this body and this place and the love of my family isn’t helping keep me from the brink. The madness and anger just keeps eating all my joy. Ravenous it takes all that’s good and twists it into more pain. 

I hate myself.

Why?

Why?

Why?

To My Lost Baby

 You were born only two weeks after we discovered your existence. Through the pain and agony I wished with everything inside me to keep you there you were too little just seven weeks and there was no way to save you. 

But if I could reach out and rip you back from heaven I would, I’d give anything to still be pregnant with you. To still carry your tiny body within mine. To plan for a future with you in it. To pick your name and decorate your bedroom. To see your perfect face and hear your baby cries. I’m haunted by your absence. Why would God give me you for only a moment. 

I feel like I’m being punished. That I didn’t prove I wanted you enough or that my love was found lacking. I’ve dreamed of you for ten years waiting patiently for God to give me my next baby. Five years ago I accepted that babies were beyond me. That I had my two sweet boys and my daughter was never going to come. 

I made jokes that I would be a terrible mom to a girl. That my boys made me unfit and harsh. But deep down I was breaking apart inside with longing. I love my husband so much all I ever wanted was more of him and more of me. I wanted tiny toes and fingers that heavenly scent of sweet baby. In the end to mend my broken heart my husband got me a puppy. A sweet grey Weimaraner pup we called scout. 

Last year my sweet annoying girl bit my sons face and we had to put her down. I would not keep an animal that was dangerous. I would not pass on my problem to someone else. For years we fought against her emotional problems. Resource guarding, separation anxiety, food aggression. I read all the books to save her and in the end she defied my trust and hurt my son horribly. 

I Said goodbye to the puppy I loved…and a new kind of pain came for me. My regret for loving her, for trusting her, for putting my son in harms way. Even now as the stitches have healed and the skin is smooth I can’t look at him without feeling a deep hurt inside myself for being a part of what happened to him. I wish so much I could erase that puppy from our lives. 

She was never the child I wanted. She was never you the baby I wanted so badly. She was the bandaid on a dam crumbling. In the end I think she helped but then she didn’t. Nothing can take the place of a child you know you are missing. And here we are again I’m missing you. Wanting so badly to be pregnant still. To have that beautiful future with you in it. I know you were my daughter. And I want so badly to climb up and take you back. 

I wonder if God will ever let me have another when all I want is you. 

And suddenly..

 I’ve been writing again!! Suddenly my boys are both big enough and now it’s like I have my life back. The first few books I wrote at night. I perilously typed away at the wee hours while they slept. It was the only time I had back then. So I pulled all nighters and existed on a very small amount of sleep. 

Sometimes I wonder if all that late night writing messed up my sleep patterns for good. I still struggle with insomnia, but they don’t need me as much anymore they’re both teenagers. And now just like that simple snapping of fingers I have time. 

It’s weird how quiet my house is now. The screaming and fights have calmed down. They don’t come running to me for everything under the sun and while I’m sad, a bigger part of me is grateful. Moms give so much of themselves to their kids that having a little piece back feels utterly amazing. 

I’ve already written out a plot and have a few chapters typed out and even more written down in a notebook. I’m putting a big chunk of my single mom life into this story. It’s a romance and it’s something that’s brewed inside me for a long time. They say we work out old hurts with our writing. 

I feel an old wound closing as we speak. The good and the bad finally on the paper. There’s this strange sense of relief. Like I’m exhaling that breath I’ve been holding for the first time. Also I should note all of my best single stories of the past were beyond crazy. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that I lived through some of the crap I did. 

So I’ll go back to writing and hopefully finish all those stories I promised myself that I’d write. 

You come to me in Dreams

When all is dark and quiet, you come to me in dreams,

You pull me close and call my name as my body draws you in,

We climb that high off mountain, our bodies play the game,

We come apart and come together again, and again, and again, 

I wish I didn’t miss you, I don’t even know who you are, 

The years have flown and we’ve both grown further and further apart, 

It’s strange how things can be so different, 

Loves have come and gone, but deep inside the recesses of my mind you live for me in the dark,

I don’t want to miss you, my heart has clearly moved on,

But still I find myself resigned against the dreams you occupy until dawn.

What is it about you that still has a hold of me,

The slip and slide, the groans and cries, the whimpers of passion and glee,

My husband still fulfills me takes and gives as I need,

But somehow when the lights go out it’s you I find between my knees when the world and I are fast asleep. 

Viscous

I wrote this way back and it was somehow never published. Read with caution I was pissed.

A thousand voices,
typing, the click clicking of the keys drowns out the morality, drowns out the inner voice that screams out STOP,
a mob of ugly putrid opinions, pointing fingers, stones in hands ready to fling, but instead you use words,
slut, whore, tease, bitch, slut, prostitute, you wanted to be raped, you changed your mind, tease, slut whore, bitch,
you fling your stones with quiet abandon, you wrap your words with hate as you hide behind your screens,
shame on you,
shame on me,
shame on us all for letting our daughters grow up in a world that believes that what makes them worthy is between their legs,
that their voices, their words don't matter, that everything means yes, short skirt...yes, a smile yes, accepting a drink...yes, no...yes, NO...Yes...NO PLEASE STOP....YES ABSOLUTELY YES,
because why would we ever say no to you wonderful, powerful men,
we always mean yes because we are empty headed walking vaginas made exclusively for your pleasure,
how dare we say NO, how dare we even think it when our short skirts, and flirty behavior, and drunk maybe blacked out faces scream yes even when we scream NO,
protect our boys who take without asking from the worthless whores, from the teases who mean yes,
protect our boys from the six years of prison for only "twenty minutes of action",
protect our boys from the sluts and teases who change their minds,
protect our boys from just being boys, from being unable to control themselves because she dared to wear a short skirt,
she is an object,
she is a thing,
she is not a person,
there is no equality,
it is an illusion,
we are still objects,
and every time a boy gets a slap on the hand after raping a girl we prove once again that women, girls are still objects made strictly for your pleasure,
that we are not worthy,
that we are not worth the time it would take out of his life, that he is worth more because he has a penis.


Lately, everywhere I look there is an injustice against women. Girls being hounded or called sluts or threatened with rape for having a voice. Girls who cry rape who are called liars. Who are called names that are so bad I can't believe grown men would actually say it let alone scream it from the streets. I'm thankful I have sons. I'm terrified they will grow up to be one of these men. Men that see hard evidence of an assault and because the boy is rich, good looking and has a future let them go with a slap on the hand.
What about her future. What about the nightmares and years of therapy she will endure because of her pain.
If she were a child, would you look away so easily.
Pedophiles are the worst most deplorable human beings, but a college boy who rapes a girl only made a mistake or she was a tease.
What if she were younger.
You would not be so quick to look away, to call her names and pat him on the back. If she were younger you would grab your pickets and pitchforks, your torches and whips and walk the streets to hang the man that dare defile a child.
If she were a virgin would it make a difference?
Would you care more if that rape, was her first time?
Would if matter what color her skin was?
Would it matter if she were a boy?
It shouldn't matter.
He should pay.
He should be the one hounded and called names.
HE should be the one that is punished.