Mother Mother

Mother Mother
I hear your voice....
....in my mind.



How can I fix these wounds
.. when there's this living, breathing embodiment of my insecurities.
.. my negative voices.
.. everything I think about myself she says about herself.

How can I hope to be okay when I can't change her mind

How can I love myself when I can't convince her to love herself

I push her away, because she is showing me all I hate about my being.

How can I believe "fat" is not the definition of my worth when it is *the* main word she uses to prove her worthlessness.
.. and now my mind isn't as sharp as it once was I'm fulfilling the other part of her *proof* of her lack of value.
.. and I'm aging. Long past maiden, I'm leaving mother behind, and now I wander closer to crone.
.. and my former "cute" fades as the years show on my face.  And the weight with age creates this saggy baggy body.  It's the last key.  The last thing she berates herself with. "ugly"

Fat
and
Stupid
and
Old
and
Ugly

She..
...is me


and I don't just damage myself.

How do I prevent myself from becoming his voice?
.. his insecurities?
.. I want him to llove himself a billion more times more than I could ever manage to love myself.
     ... a trillion more times.

Someone convince him...
... his size doesn't matter. he is more than the sum of his parts.
... his intelligence doesn't matter. his heart is grand beyond what he can hold in his mind.
... his age doesn't matter. he'll be just as vibrant at 101.
... his looks don't matter.  It's just a state of molecules and it can't contain the infinite awesome contained within.

Help him not be me..
.. like I am my mother.


(I tried to delete the second "l" in love like 4 times but it kept reappearing.  I guess it needs to be there.)

Hindsight

Sometimes writing is my therapy.

The Desires of Your Heart

I've been trying to sort out the desires of my heart.
I was raised to believe that God hears them.
I've reached a time where I question if there is even a God out there to listen.
I've tried turning it off.
I've tried focusing on the benefits of not having my desires met.
I've tried "coming to terms" with it not happening.
And here I am.
If I indulge in the briefest thought of this happening I'm overwhelmed with by a feeling of love, of joy, of rightness.
I come back to reality, slightly worse for wear.
My heart is just a little broken.
I'm a little scared.
I'm doing what I can to not attach myself to any end result.
Take a deep breath.
And maybe put trust in something you're not sure even exists.

The One That Got Away

It's been a while. I got crushed by depression but I'm climbing out. Huzzah!

I downloaded this pdf for writer's bootcamp. Today's was "the one that got away". I don't have any of those. I'm with the man I want to be with. So I figured I'd put a different spin on it.

The One That Got Away

Other People's Poetry

Sometimes it's hits you harder than your own words could.

She Walks in Beauty

By Lord Byron (George Gordon)

 

She walks in beauty, like the night

   Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

   Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

   Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

   Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

   Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

   How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

   So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

   But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

   A heart whose love is innocent!

Crimson Wave and Good Ol' Aunt Flow

When they say "riding the crimson wave" I have to laugh.  It reminds me of the wakes in water after a boat has gone by.  Gently pushing you where you need to go.
For me the metaphor means something quite more grandiose.  Gigantic breaking waves, breaking me.
I will not be one of the masses who thinks her flow is a curse.  It's absence has been too pervasive to my being.  I need it to cleanse me.  I need it to prove that I still function as a maiden or mother.
But the great "Aunt Flow", she stays away too long.  Then she comes into my home with a great swinging of the door.  Crashing into the coat rack.  Then carrying her baggage, which is my baggage, she tramples through my home like an elephant knocking everything over and yelling about how she's sorry she's late.  She spills the boiling water on the stove.  She breaks the lamp with her gigantic purse as she swings around looking for only God knows what.  And I'm left standing there, mouth agape.  I love her but lord only knows what I can do with her.  I try to focus on just being so grateful that she's here with me finally.  But she leaves me beaten down, exhausted.  She ties me to the earth, she just needs to stop tying me to the tracks.
By the end of her visit I am battered and bruised and for a moment, grateful that it she will likely be late next time too.  I need the time to recover.  Do you think she'll notice if I spend half of her visit in the tub, with a strong drink and a cold compress on my head?  I promise to feign a smile, "Auntie, I'm so glad you're here."  And I am, but that smile?  It's forced.

Blog Prompt - Beautiful

from http://www.kludgymom.com/idea-bank/

12. Write about a time you felt beautiful.