Dancing Days

Let me speak to you of my hope
in terrible poetry
The words spring from this old tongue
and bounce across the screen
I’m old but i’m young, too
New and fresh and filled with vigor
Keen to be up before sunrise
and curious about the day
Walking the dogs with dance steps
Thirstily drinking the view
Breathing in the smell of the grass
like pure oxygen, giddy
Mooing playfully at the cattle
Prancing about in tree cotton
It covers the ground like snow
and makes me itch
I giggle and chatter at my doggos
and answer back in silly dog-voices
Breezing through the front door
i pant much like my mates
Sweaty and hungry
i put together a plate
Eating robustly while connecting online
i still feel the promise of the day
It courses through me like a rainbow, sparkling
It spills into my heart and pours out my eyes
It fills my words with music
and i sing into the air
The music dances, too

~ Mine
June 19, 2020

Message In A Bottle

The only thing i can speak with any authority on, is what it’s like to be me.
I don’t know how to save you, although i assure you that i wish i could.
Far more profound words have been spoken by far greater minds with far larger hearts, and yet it still hasn’t been enough to save some of us.

What i have for you, is knowing who i am, and where i came from and why i am this way and how i work and how i’m a better person than i should have been.
I don’t know why i’ve survived things that have felled other humans.
I have no religion, no god.
I’m barely educated.
I’m not special, or rather, no more special than anyone else.
All i know is that i’ve done it. I’m here. I survived horrific abuse.
Okay, maybe barely, by some standards.
There are more than a few ways in which i’m not terribly functional and not very grown up.
I haven’t accomplished much beyond surviving.

But the surviving part is not a small thing.

I found some friends online, who helped me set up a blog where i spilled some of my story, and i found the right therapist (after HOLY SHIT years!) and somehow it all helped me find my voice. Not just my writer’s voice, but my take-your-fucking-hands-off-me, and my get-the-fuck-outta-my-life voice. I write on this blog like i talk in real life, except i say things that i don’t chat about with just anybody. Heh.

My voice, here, on this blog, is all i have to give. And i feel very strongly that i must give it. Even if no one ever reads a word. (Oh wow, that’s dumb and kind of needy, because clearly some people are reading my words, but cut me some slack cuz i’m going through some shit right now, okay?)
My voice is for me (so there, heh), first and foremost. It clears my mind and helps me sort things out and helps me access feelings that i was never allowed to feel. Say things that, until i was free of my abusers, it never even occurred to me to say.

But if anyone ever does stumble across this place, someone hurting, someone drowning in despair, someone feeling utterly beaten, someone who feels like they have nothing left.
I do this too, for them.
If that is you, i’m doing this for you.

Not so that you can do what i did. As far as i’ve been able to suss, there is no formula. No religion, no god, no guru, no teacher, no parent, no spouse – no one has the answer for everyone. In fact, i have one bald assertion: and that is that no one has the formula but you.
I did it a bit this way, and a bit that way, and when something didn’t work, well, sometimes it was an outrageous failure that i paid for dearly, and sometimes i just shrugged and tried something else.

My point is (if there is one, here, late at night, with me unable to sleep because of pain and worry), that i’m fucking here. And if you don’t believe anything else i write, believe me when i tell you that that should not be. I’m not who i was created to be.
I am my own beautiful, broken, fucked up, ridiculous creation, and i am alive and I DID THAT.

I want people like me, who stumble across this histrionic mess, to find hope. Hope that maybe they can save their own lives and create themselves in an image that pleases them.

Maybe that’s you.
If it is, just know i want you to make it.
The fact that i’ve made it this far is all i have to offer you.
Maybe i can play a teeny tiny little part in helping you save yourself.
I would love that.

Try to hang in there.
I am. I will.

Love and Peace,
~H~

Moments

There is life in the small moments.
I try not to use up my allotment of breath and heartbeat before another one comes.
I pace it out, put the softest parts in secret pockets.
Slow. Sloooow.
Diminishing, starving, thirsty. Getting smaller and drying up like an autumn leaf.

Then it comes. It’s a small thing, probably unremarkable.
It fills me up, it restores me. Pumps my blood. Softens my skin. Lights my eyes.
I see that i am not dying so much as i am living, and i wash myself in it. I take out my tender bits and put them back where they’re supposed to be.

And i tell myself. This. Now. Remember.
Another now will come. It will.
I promise.