She’s Hurt

At night she sits, with tears in her eyes.

Recounting the events, that play in her head.

But why does she cry?

How can it be that the love can be so painful.

Love was beautiful, love was ecstasy.

Not screams in the night or arguments, fights.

She relives her mothers life.

How did she get here, what did she do wrong?

She’s hurt.

Blood slowly trickles from her forehead,

As the tears stream down her face.

He was angry, She was wrong.

She’s hurt

Trying to think what to do differently,

trying to think how to make him happy.

She’s hurt.

Part of her wants to run,

Part of her wants to stay.

She’s hurt

“I’ll run to mom”

but she will tell her to stay.

“I’ll run to my friends.”

but they will take him away.

She’s hurt.

Not knowing that love is not suppose to hurt.

Not knowing that she can move on.

Not knowing she don’t need him by her side.

She’s hurt.

Not knowing her greatest weakness,

can be her greatest strength.

Not knowing she can get up and leave.

Not knowing that love is not lived that way.

Just knowing that she has to stay.

She’s hurt.

Knowing it’s going to happen again.

Knowing he’s not going to change.

Deep in her heart she wants that to be a lie.

Knowing she can potentially die.

Knowing she is alone.

Knowing that there is no love at home.

She’s hurt.

Her tears stream like rivers down her cheeks, mixing with sweat and blood.

She’s hurt.

Dear Lord if she only knew,

that you where by her side.

That your hand was stretched out waiting for her to take it.

That you could give her the strength to survive.

That she can stay alive. but…

She’s hurt.

Her strength is gone,

Her heart shattered to pieces.

The bruises, cover her body, cover her soul.

She is broken.

SHE IS HURT.

 

 

 

 

 

 

FOR YOU

You torment me in my dreams…..

I have want to walk away,
But there you remain.
A sheer memory of what you are.
The love of my life.
The one that made my heart race,
with a very simple smile.
The one who made me feel,
like I was walking on a cloud.
I have never felt this love for someone else,
even though I tried.
For many years I put you aside
not understanding what you felt.
But i knew deep inside of me,
I did not want love of second hand.
I wanted a true love,
unconditional love.
But i did not believe you could give that,
So I walked away.
Not knowing how much I messed up.
I was never sure, you never told me.
I hate this feeling, I hate it I do.
Why did it have to be you?
But you have remained there,
through my stupidness,
through my downs,
through my ups.
Away, but you have been there.
I felt, that I did not deserve your love.
For me your love was pure.
And knowing how I was,
I did not want to taint it.
I came from a family that did not teach me,
what love is.
And you have a family.
They love you.
I hated everyone,
But I didn’t hate you.
How was I going to love you?
If I didn’t even love myself.
I cry at times wishing I was with you,
I wish I can feel your hugs your kisses again.
The way you looked at me,
the way you touched me.
I still remember I will always remember.
No mater how much I want to forget,
your memory haunts me til this day.

The Roads

My life on the road has never been any better. I guess growing up with so much negativity in my life I honestly thought I was going to end up going down a very dark road. I realized how wrong I was when I came to a fork in the road. It wasn’t a two-way road it was divided in different shapes aimagesnd sizes and colors. Let me tell you what I saw…

I saw a BLACK road. I was able to see far enough down the road even though it was dark. When I came to its entrance, it made me feel full of hatred. It welcomed me with open arms. I had learned hatred from a very young age. I experienced the hate from family because I was not their child. I felt hate when my father hit me because he as mad at his wife. I hated her, she destroyed my life. As I got older I hated people. They also hated me. I was rude and obnoxious. I hated everything, I hated everyone especially when they turned their back on me. I felt myself drifting further into the entrance. I still harbor so much hate but I have to wait.

Then there was the BLUE road. I really didn’t like the blue road. Even though it welcomed me with open arms. It made me want to cry and I didn’t want to cry. I cried when I was born. I cried when they yelled at me. I cried when they told me I was fat.I cried when my sister and grandma died. I cried when I was humiliated by my ex husband when he would cheat on me because I wasn’t good enough. I cried when my ex boyfriend beat me because I didn’t use drugs enough. I cried when my daughter had her baby because I thought she was going to die. I cried when I almost died. I have cried and cried and cried. I don’t want to cry no more.

Then I saw the GREEN road it also welcomed me with opened arms.  But I did not like what I saw. I wanted everything about it but I couldn’t have it. I wanted to be skinny but I couldn’t. I wanted to have money and it floated around me and others got rich and I didn’t. Everyone else got love and I didn’t. What was the point of going down this road if I couldn’t get what I wanted. The next one was no better…

The road was RED it was full of evil. It shook me to the core.  I saw blood in the entrance it went as far as I could see.  It made me feel like I was going crazy. Crazy. Things in the dark creeped up and around and made me feel like I was going to die. It haunted me in my sleep it as well as in the day. I even saw the dead. No really they were dead. I saw myself as I laid in a hospital bed. No this road I definitely did not want to go there. As I walked to the next road an arm came out and began to pull me inside. I wanted to scream but no scream came out. I closed my eyes and when I opened them…..

I saw the YELLOW road. No not the yellow brick road. It was yellow. It had chickens running around it clucking me to enter. I immediately got scared I knew I could walk in but I didn’t want to. Something held me back. Just like when my mom left and left us with my dad. Just like when I was approached and threatened to get my ass bet by two older girls. Just like when  I saw the fear in my daughters eyes, when we got hit by a car and she was eight months pregnant. Just like when I found out that she was pregnant. No this road made me feel like I wanted to pee, so I turned to the next road…….

A PINK road, there was a joyousness in this road. I was happy. Just like when I got my first kiss. When I heard the first cry of my daughter. When I heard the first cry of my son. When I heard the first cry of my granddaughter. A joy when I finally decided to leave the only place that I knew as home. The joy of just watching my grand-daughter play and laugh. The joy I feel when she calls me mum. So much joy definitely the way to go. But then I saw….

The WHITE the road was white. I’ll be damned it was white. Very peaceful. Spiritually you may say. How I felt after I gave birth. How I felt like I went and asked God to forgive me for everything bad I had done. God, yes I said God. I believe in a higher power and a pure higher power. I believe in him because without him that road would not be white it would be splattered with red…..

I decided to make up my mind. I closed my eyes and thought very hard. I had to make a good decision, this road, I was going to travel for the rest of my life. I had to think nice and hard because crying so much would depress me and hating so much would kill me. I couldn’t be smiling all the time either. Can you imagine? I would die looking like the joker. I couldn’t make up my mind so I thought I’m going to eenie miniee mynee mo this shit. What else could I do? I opened my eyes and the roads were gone. They were no longer in front of me,they were now in back of me. I had traveled the roads already. As I turned back around the roads had no color. I began to walk forward, I saw my steps left colored prints. Sometimes black, sometime blue, red, yellow, pink, and even purple. At times I saw no color. No Color at all.

The lower ones 2

And I thought the Rescue Mission was bad. Welcome to Saint Vincent de Paul.

Welcome to Saint Vincent,

the community of the poor.

Where your room is full of bugs

and much much more.

The food is not so bad. It’s actually pretty decent.

But that is not the point I am trying to make.

the horrors of this place are just o so great.

For let me warn if you should enter here,

don’t expect for anyone to listen, my dear.

Because regardless of the bed bug bites, the fleas, and the mice.

You get accused of making it all that stuff up,

even when they are hanging by your eyes.

Ok well maybe thats way to much but the other two lines are true.

But beware of the tyranny of the people in charge,

The mother, the daughter, who really care less,

The mother has been here for sixteen years, a program manager

Her success is just to be admired.

Her daughter working on the floor, on her phone,

talking to residents like they are nothing,

like they are lower than low.

But no one can say anything because of the fear of being kicked out.

Because she tells her mommy and guess what?

You are the one in the wrong.

But what can we, the poor do.

For they say they were once in our shoes.

Does that give them the right to treat us like poo.

Who to go to, what to do?

Who can I talk to when the system is against you?

The horror of Saint Vincent de Paul

Is not the place at all

It’s the people who run who treat you like shit.

And want you to say nothing

with your bugs your mice and your fleas.

TO BE A LOWER ONE

Thanks to my stay at the San Diego Rescue Mission I was inspired by this lovely piece.

You walk around barking orders at women from the moment you walk into the door.

You stand there pointing your finger over and over again.

Kids run around screaming their heads off.

Moms sit and stare, some on their phones, some puffing on their cigarettes.

Me, sitting waiting for the day just to be over.

Wondering how and what I was doing there.

What is wrong with me, how could I do this to my kids.

Resignated and defeated I make the one call that I have dreaded all my life.

To their father. The one who has never been there.

And to my surprise he laughs and tells them that he can not help.

We walk downstairs to the room of death.

A morgue for the dead now converted for the living and in despair.

It’s gloomy and loud. for the children have not settled.

Five minute showers that’s all that is allowed.

While she walks out and yells to the kids to keep it down.

A feeling of depression overwhelms me then I hear her speak.

The devil in disguise. Welferas. People of the system.

She is spitting out words that roll of her tounge about how we have to get out of the system.

She then tries to smooth out her prejudice by saying,

“I once was there.”

But I ask myself where?

I have worked almost all my life since I was fourteen.

Making 8, 9 dollars an hour can not pay for 1200 dollars of rent.

The face that she makes is of disgust.

Then she bows down her head and says “let’s pray.”

The lower ones.

We are underground and not allowed to speak to the ones that live above us.

The lower ones.

The ones without a roof above our heads.

The lower ones.

At 7 am is the dismissal so you can return at 5.

Carrying your belongings all day long.

The lower ones.

You cant brush your hair because 4 more women are in the only bathroom.

I am thankful. Do not get me wrong. There is a roof on my head and food on my plate.

But this feels like the system.

I feel like if I was being punished and doing time for being poor and broke.

My health seems to get worst.

Then the devil return with a grim in her face and looks at me and says,

“You don’t look disabled.”

Wow I shake my head. I did not know or was I aware that one had to look disabled to be disabled.

The lower one.

In a dungeon of grim and the sad.

Where the food looks like slops.

The hot dogs are green and recycled chicken is every 3 days.

The lower ones.

But I am thankful. I have a roof on my head and food on my plate.

I want to cry and scream I do not want to be a lower one.

I want to work and have my own roof and cook my own food.

But I can’t afford it. Our health seems to be deteriorating.

But you know what.

Come to think about it.

I am not ashamed to be a lower one.

I am just one of many that has been lowered due to all this political greed.

I am one of many that have tried and somehow missed that step to greatness.

I am a lower, a lower who will rise from that dungeon of sadness,

And I will live to see many brighter days.

So you call yourself my mother.

So call yourself my mother.

But you can not really be my mother.

Years passed without you.

Yet you expect for one to pounce at the sight of you.

Out of all things, i learned respect,

because you are my “mother”.

But are you my mother.

You walked away from my life, blaming others.

You blame me for being like my dad.

How was I suppose to be like you if you were not there.

Your drugs were more important than your kids.

But somehow you manage to help others.

I see my friends mothers,

they act different than you. 

They love their kids and boast about their kids;

and you;

you can’t wait to talk shit about your kids.

There is always something wrong with us,

we pay no mind to you.

But where were you when we needed you.

I tried, i honestly tried but I can not call you mother.

A person who talks shit about their grandkids but praise other kids

can not carry the title of a mother.

Than you cry because you feel alone,

I wonder why?

You talk about the hurt that is being done to you,

but yet you hurt the ones that you are suppose to love and love you.

Yeah keep calling yourself a mother.

If that is what is going to make you happy,

But get one thing straight you have never been my mother.

Is Blood Thicker than Water?

I know that I am not the only one that has gotten mad with a family member or several.

What amazes me is how ignorant some family members can be.

I wondered for a while if I was wrong. 

Like they say sometimes we can only see the bad in others but not in ourselves or in our actions.

But for one. When they don’t have money they have come to me.

Two, when they did not have food they came to me.

Three, when they didn’t have a place to stay at they came to me.

I always received them with open arms and of course the house rules.

Which they broke every chance that they got.

I never had the heart to push them away because they are blood or family. 

But then situation would arise when I was struggling yet I could never see the lights of them.

They never asked if I needed anything come to think about it they never helped me out.

Have in mind I never asked for anything in return and could care less if they were there or not.

But I guess what blew the cork off the bottle was that once again I open my house and home

and they steal from me. Literally took money out of my wallet.

Then I ask to myself. Is blood thicker than water. Is family number one.

Then I have that one family member who disses her own father then tells him,

“you don’t love me because you pay more attention to my sister.”

Yet when he tries to hug her or give her a kiss she pulls away and screams “leave me alone”

Take in mind this is the one who he spoiled rotten.

Damn, I get confused at times.

But today i strongly disagree. I don’t actually no longer believe blood is thicker that water.

I think blood is too thick to travel like water and at time it turns hard and lumpy and can even kill you.