hand in hand
heart and heart
soul to soul
to never part
the ticking loud
time being lost
never ending sound
worth the cost?
wasting away
worth unknown
taken again
to be left alone
healing wounds
inflicted by self
pain for life
numbness melts
wake up today
please stop
take a stance
not easily caught
moment to moment
heart unspoken
floating away
leaves you broken
Tag: poetry
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Her stupidty
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Unfinished
I heard the cheers and sounds of victory as I let another week go by and also again that I won’t write unless I’m allowed to. That’s when I heard another sound, the sound of rally. They whisper grab two of your personal journals and write as they reassessed they would watch. Ofcourse my negativity knows its not to help me but to laugh at me. Either way. The constant editing and still not have the edits take is also frustrating.
I’ve repeated yet another conversation…okay several but mostly small ones and then the long and exaughsting one. I am still very much anti people being friends. I am still running into people who want to prove a point to me. Police on speed dail. Everyone with their own agenda fulfilling there own needs. Forcing me to talk it out when that is not what I need. Trying to convince me I don’t know what I need.
Not looking forward to the summer. Not that we really had a winter. I am thinking of as much as I can to be prepared for the heat. I am putting back as much money as I can and have most of my large necessity expenses for the year behind me. The rest will have to wait till I have the money saved. I want to get in a place asap but ofcourse some one decided to vandalize my car and the battery I kept worrying about had a bad read. Seems like anytime I have money something happens to set me back. That’s real life but the law breaking and forceful and abuse being done by manipulative people who want to make some one break, bow down or to show control and power over some is not okay. Ofcourse the agruement is but that is the reality of your life and that is why you must except it. I was even told to my face the other day that they don’t want to let me up they want to keep me down. It is what it is and like I said all I really can do is call the police again and each time it happens.
When I did my budget and looked at money to save and what I am expected to pay and quite frankly willing to pay for parking, is was over 7000 dollars. That is only shy 3000 from the 10000 to put back from about 9 to 12 months rent. I looked at that for awhile before I excepted the amout and rationalized it all to the voices in my head, then moved on to the next thing to budget.
Reading a couple of books. A poetry book ofcoures and another book I had started reading on my phone but decided to go ahead and buy a tangible copy. I prefer tangible books to digital or electronic ones.
The goal of getting to the gym is not happening. People who like to assume I am too comfortable and liking living out of my car have decided to use opportunities to invade my space while I sleep. Also people who say they know me. If that was so then you would know I am a home body and love being at a home base. I NEED a home base. Then ofcoures people who think only of me ‘being’ another person completely disrespect I have a life of my own and prefer it that way and not a huge fan of being called someone else.
Personal space. It is important.
Kimberly 6:52 4/15/23
Edited
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Bad Week, Subconscious Desire a Weak Excuse
I failed again at getting something in by Sunday but now understand that a letter was coming through. Below is one of the last things I wrote almost twenty years ago. I held it back. If you know you know. Some drop their hints some don’t. Truth be told we are nearing the end. I hope you all good, happy and healthy lives. Thanks to the ones who helped with this one. I hate/love you.
I have lived my life ignoring others in a space I love to hate and one that has proven to hate loving me. Something that underlines all these layers that keep piling up over all my abuse, hurt and pain. The unseen is the reason I commit the so called sin I plan. This not so silent killer is aided my many voices and split down a middle of those who mind their own business and those that seek drama whether to destroy or appear helpful as angels. Mediums bent on bringing out the crys of the suicidal when in truth it is thier intrusion into private mental space that causes the intent to begin. Forced to continue being placed in these spaces because it’s where they think I want to fit in. As if I wanted to fit in any where. Together yet apart as dare I say friends and not mere carriers of work slipping me my notes as if we are at some mediphoric table. One perhaps low to the floor while Indian style set knees knock against the frame of a worn out wooden table. Old and weathered through time. The pictures they lay out for me as my now editors since tables turned seek to tell me stories but instead runs the lines as if to say we can wait till another day. There will be another day?…Will there? I sometimes wonder as my life and plans get lost in this collage of my life hidden in the blue and red hueing purple sky filled with teddy bears, pirate ships and dippers. Golden peaks rising with my fears of a lost anology among the many conversations and practiced speeches. Perhaps a art museum date or concert confusion. Was it the stage or the middle of the floor…definitely not the VIP section or really in public at all I’m sure. The sex, drugs and achohol all symbolism for the code of rolling emotions that came crashing through once this 20/20 vision came splashing through a dam of years held back due to the divination. Agruements and cover ups. Realizing the dream would never take fruition seeking another road to set my skills into motion. Every road lead me away from the life they had planned. So no road in the end was the intention.(slide that list of math symbols to me, shh keep it secret and safe) Mediocre life of quite and pretend solitude as covert narcissists ate up my time and destroying the life intended to be mine and only mine. All that money on their mind knowing I would walk away never to return and leave them alone with what they claimed was suffocation. A life time of continuing to remind others of the time wasted and the lack of respect and the to little to late care placed on the table from selfishness that said I only like you because you said you would compromise all your time for me. The constant admission that I am the problem just as many others and fitting that out across a stretch of internet conversations that will arguably be debated as to being used or to be used. Does it matter? The statements and decisions made as I interjected a few notes some personal some not. One thing I know is the connecting of dots and the problem solving I have come accustomed to that the origin seems to be ignored. The instinct and practiced critical thought processes running deep as I make my stand and leave. The judgemental stares as I follow the path through what seems like just another kind of hell trying to escape the upper side of it that has all the treats you might wish to eat. That realization all the treats aren’t real and the farther the walk the more disillusioned you become as your so called life doesn’t seem real. All the tragic endings and beautiful transformations made to save the innocence of children buying them a little more time before reality sets it. I want the children out of hell and in heaven. The ones with happy, healthy, well rounded utopian parents who have never had a broken relationship due to hurtful and harmful situations. For with them we would duplicate that in the same happy, healthy and well rounded utopian people in a rainbow colored world. The air seems thick with contextual emotions of reeling thought patterns motivated by intoxication but in reality it’s just another letter to my self that I put back that took time to lay out and plan. Having its own notes tied in. Now it’s just playing back as my time crunch screams you have little time for sleep and no time for hidden thoughts and cascading notes to write and throw to oceans and retrieve bottles of the same. No dancing, no parties, no more the life of the female Forest role even though the story goes you are the girl barely stepping back off the edge to run from the room. Note after note amongst so many sheets and yet all you were intended to be was just another lieing, crazy and lost little girl. They tried to stop me, he was about a week to late, figured it out when the comma took place. Instructions to write and my reply I already have and you decided to do it again trying to prove something I’m still not sure what. But again I stopped because of the ideas of others. As if I didn’t recognize my own face in the mirror. As if I hadn’t lived my own life. As if I couldn’t take the time to construct my own words. I touched it. I did. I regret and I don’t. As always both. On one side I am as purified as white gold on the other as dark as the most smoldering hot metal. Yet seeing nothing but diamonds in the sky and understanding this life was the only one I’d have, this life I lived in my mind. Divination by your hand stole it. Science by its own system saved me as voices reached out. The Supernatural shakes its head and I still have yet to figure what exactly her whisper said. The dark room and that screen was the time I knew my life…life would never reach past it for I am nothing but “a full blown loon” just as one says quietly another not knowing stakes the claim they make me as crazy as the moon. I laugh for I was born into what you call crazy I have been digging a way out but the longer I surveyed the area the more I realized it seems I’m camouflaged and unseen. With a Boo and a silent weapon just waiting for trip five and having that bang ending bullet to the brain. I don’t care what you believe I was there and felt every touch you left on me till baracaded doors were my only escape and you still found a way to take even my own work away. Inscribed and inbeded in time you just can’t except it I have found a way every time and I don’t care who knows it. Personal journals taken away and made a public display. Forced to put it out the for others to poke fun and humiliate. The nightmare that isn’t a nightmare but very real. “Oh the crys of the over dramatic, that is what they will say once I get her moved away.” Just another enemy in my way.
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Just Another Reminder
They lie to you
You know
Tell you things untrue
Things just to instigate you
They want to separate
Divide
Control is what they crave
Start a fight
Fill you with lies
Be everything you lean on
Mind control
Doll creation mode
Andriod for an asswhole
And what made me so
The truth
Gratitude and Gratefulness
You say in return for abuse
I've been nothing but thankful
Appreciative for surviving you
Coming this far
Living through your manipulation
Conscious and subconscious seperation
Be able to ware but not aware
Do as we say it's not a mistake
Oops didn't mean to cause a wheeze
Don't take a breathe
it's time to leave
Still walking you out
Just a reminder
We KNOW we have you figured out
But we are murders
Don't give a *u**
Get out
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Update: Thoughts I Hold Till the Right Day, Today
Repeat. I post the same pics. Not personal pics but pics I find so funny I can’t help not laugh every time I see them. I’ve been judged for it before. Some say I don’t remember doing it before and believe it is my first time and not aware.
They say come out of your room. Ofcourse I am informed that is my placement prior to this comment. It happens more then once and I am to say I am gay…or a liar perhaps…anything they want to put in my mouth and have it come back out. If I don’t comply then a punishment, more sleep deprivation, brain washing and repeating the same things till I meet their expectations.
To experience telling the truth and have people call you a liar. Ofcourse I am informed of the knowing my every move from needing to urinate to documenting my abuse. The childish attempts to the adult sarcastic remarks communicating the understanding of the situation. I admit I get lost in the mix. From gaslighting to efforts of encouraging my humorous outlook on life. Sometimes one gets hit while in the process of telling the children to walk away we laugh not in jest but for sanity’s sake.
Some ask why. Articulate? What happen to your time? My response is even when found telling my feelings of what has happened fail at connecting with words and coming out. The flood of memories as pictures pass through while sounds of they won’t believe and the occult has washed away the truth. It was a chance I took. After all the challenge of who was it and who are you was nothing new. I had already excepted my life and my story from my perspective would never be mine. It would always be someone else who had passed through. Something I think through out the years gave me comfort. How could I be the abused, it wasn’t me it was you. The disillusionment grew and grew. I had become the perfect child, the Daddy’s girl who for her family always gave in and came through. Not the independent person who plans how to be removed and moved only to onward move. The one who stays, lies and takes all the pain while sitting in a mediphoric chamber where the only stories are the ones the parents made. A toy, a doll, a performer. Entertainment for them and by their narcissistic behavior it appears I still am. It isn’t my life I write, not my poetry, not my story but everyone else’s I stole and strung others stories into. A mere mega phone to announce awareness of the abuse others suffer but nothing about me, I have never been used or abused. So no matter the time I have to articulate, the truth is lost due to the masses my step father and others have had me see that I’m nothing but just crazy. Most importantly a thief and well anything that would discredit me. Perhaps given all I’ve said, calling on the articulate was me being the sarcastic asswhole I am.
With these emotions an under current while I try to find ways to grow my currency, live life in the present and move past those who are unaware my life isn’t revolving around theirs. Trying to find a footing with the occult by definition, hanging over my head and judgement of how and when it began from people who aren’t detailed, thorough or slow to speak. Some get way to personal and with a judgmental tone of I know how it happened confess or I’ll just slander your name till I’m right and I win by default because you won’t write to me or call in. After all the occult lifestyle is a choice, just as child pornagraphy, or molestation and we as children know what we are getting into. Follow all these insults and results of rumors with everyday tasks of living a houseless life style. People standing outside your car while cat calling, mocking, gaslighting and instigating more drama we want more drama. Like my life and escape is a mere show to put on for entertainment and people pleasing, as if doing so increases my happiness as well as theirs. No time for healing. Just more of the same, push it down and plan for the day you pick up that gun and end everything because we will never stop treating you and your life as a game. I am a mental person who needs pulled out of a schizophrenic break, or so they would have me say. A cover for them so no one knows all the family secrets. Family secrets. That’s just the people I was born into. We haven’t even mentioned the test of humanity. My very sad and disillusioned attempt to try and save myself by reassuring my doubts I could get out without people being influenced by money and power.
So with these mountains and mole hills in my view, I do…I do sit here looking…and I do…I hear them telling me look over to the other side. But I also hear from there the ones before you and the ones after. I wish I could say the buffet was closed or that I no longer wish even of the honest my life to be biographical book on display. Some would say it’s the money, the sandwich (the one even I have joked of), or the lack of a home. It is time. Time wasted. Time I can’t get back. Time spent on experiences I will never be allowed to experience. Time I was told I would be able to make up. You’ll catch up they would say. Catch up. To what? What is all the words, all the art, all the music, all the work? If we have missed each and every metal and emotional growth in real time what is any of it. I didn’t sign up for a crash course at life. But that it what I’ve been forced to experience. Time is what I have missed. Experience is what I have been left with and that is something through everything I have been greatfull for. The awareness that though my time has been wasted by people trying to hold knowledge and information while stifling my experiences in attempts to control me. There is alot that can be stolen from a person. Experience is not one. For to be locked in a room with no hope for escape for a lifetime is still an experience. One that though this current body of flesh must endure, the very essence, the energy that makes us who and what we are will flow on and into something else carrying the experiences we learned and absorbed into ourselves.
Rolling around the words till the time is accurate, spill them out and act like they were never yours. My life is not my own. On days I don’t want to kill myself this lie is one reason. I am not that girl. I never will be. Still that gun looks real appealing for if I’m not planning someone else will. I haven’t been defeated, it’s just easier to belive it along with you.
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Set It Free They Say Choose Dealth
Nothing hurts
Nothing stings
Like being bashed
For finally, being me
From the prism in my mind
To the billboard where worlds collide
The show you see before you
The invisible me
I used to look in the mirror and see the girl next door
The pure, the perfect, flawless, daddy’s little girl
I loved her, admired her
The image I wished reflected me
Instead
All this change
All this waiting
All this patience
Your angry?
The real me
The pain, hurt, rejection, confusion
You don’t want anyone to see
But I do know it doesn’t define me
This importance of truth
Resounds over and over in me
I need to fall apart to be me
And I waited because of you
Now before it goes to my head
One way or another
I need to be me
Or I’ll have to set it free
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Another Familiar Stranger
I turn on the music
Tend to the chore at hand
Few minutes you chime in
We know you're here
One of the few
My choice to forget
Memories refused
To much land to look back
Favorite color black
A little sensitive perhaps
Overthinker
Another betrayer
Definitely one of them
A muse of sorts
Leads me here
This one back and forth
One day they seem happy
The next ready to fight me
Sometimes moment to moment
The talk leads to numbness
Hides when sought
Quite as I spill my thoughts
To much in common
Perhaps not
Not one I think I want near
But definitely one I want here
Even if I scream leave me alone
They know how to stay still
No words
Now emotion
Just me being me
Us floating in an ocean
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Make Believe
Notes left on my phone
Thoughts of you in my bed
Missing you in my space
Your symphony in my head
Our hands on the keyboard
A whisper in each keystroke
Dreams of moving forward
I was more the coward
The darkest of times
Deepest despair
Until I found you aware
But where
I wonder sometimes
Had I not made the choice
Would we have crossed paths
Was it mine or yours
So many lives
And roads traveled
Yet the quietest of all
Is still a mystery to unravel
Truly no thought of money
For there was no end
No happy beginning
From the darkness born in
So with caution in the wind
I gave all I could
To a dream world
With no hopes to win
Left looking stupid
With everything lost
Not a penny gained
Nothing changed
Attempting to escape from them
The ones who caused me pain
Reunited with the best of notebooks
We write and rewrite again
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Old Stuff; Visual Lies
Old writings popping up. For the longest time, most my life I wasn’t allowed to listen to anything but Christian music. Only allowed to write nice, uplifting or Christian poems, stories and the such. Wearing only skirts up until after I was divorced. I wasn’t allowed to wear pants even when I was married due to my stepfather lecturing me on how that would be the first thing to cause me to go into a life of sin. The intelligence he showed in each step of setting me up for looking crazy shows in everything I was put through as a child and young adult. The fact I would even write that these things were apart of my life making him look like an ultra conservative Christian man when it was far from the truth.
I lost myself in the Christian faith with the idea that if I had to live this life and still wanted to find my own belief in something, study Love then looking at the lives of Christian people and how they interacted with the world and each other was as close to being myself in secret I was going to get. So I sat and watched. I participated in the symbolism and the rituals. Many times I was seen as a real Christian when in reality I was just walking in Love for people abd bidding my time for escape. The amount of patience I found while trying to keep who I was a secret just so I can get out of a situation was surprisingly easy from the stand point of an observer and sometime participant. I have several poems and journals written to Jesus about Jesus. Alot of writing is vague and coded so to try and get as close as I could to getting my true feelings out. not being allowed to write anything dark or depressing let alone non religious was just a stupid idea to me. Writing was supposed to be an outlet for me and instead I was just kept from writing it. Most of it was kept a secret from my stepfather inless it was for school. Whatever the cause it is what I knew would make it difficult for me when I left and had to face many who believe I am Christian. I am not a religious person and never have been and I will continue to say it no matter the cat calls of hypocrisy. It’s never easy walking out of a situation where you had to lie. Liars are marked even if you where just trying to escape.
Believe
Lord, here I am again
the top of the valley
bottom of the moutain
neither looks inviting
I stand here alone
pondering
over anylyzing
sadly, debating
I've walked along the base
not looking up or down
it was too detramentle
I almost lost my faith
which way to go this time
Lord, I need You now
Your guideance please
a gentle nudge if no word
I now know what it looks like
it is hard not to miss them
saducing spirits filled with emtyness
their longing hollow eyes burn
all i know right now
all i can see
the past and the hurt…
i know I’m not going back there
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Synced x 1
As I sit here and contentplate
Follow the road to my death
I remember the good times
I remember the bad
The bridges I burned
The mistakes I made
We are more than this body of flesh
The intricate details of the mind
The layers too many to number
Like the sand
Can you honestly look at me
Say you will take me as I am
With all the mess
All the troubles
The pieces lay bare
Blood, dirt, plaster
This is the only me I know
The mess the problems
Mental case
The daydreamer the imaginer
The journey is too much to bare
This burning in my chest
Death by asthma and cigarettes
Once I spoke of words in third party
Now I try to strengthen the muscles
Cognitive functions stolen
I just wanted to forget
Not strong enough
Too weak so by my actions they tell me
But it was my need to process
Keep from my anger
But instead my wounds festered
They know all
They knew every step I would take
My clever window only a façade
The only thing I had was time
And I am betrayed by it every time
Choosing to stay on repeat
This the only move I had left
Over and over
They plan every little thing
They watch and they sit and wait
I long for the day
No noise, no hovering
I know who I am
And still
There will only be silence
After the ringing