Back Burner Lover

It doesn't hurt so bad anymore but I'm still sore. Even the dreams are few and far between. It doesn't matter to you but it matters to me. You changed something inside of me, made me different somehow and now I don't recognize myself; something you'll never know or understand. I like to pretend I've moved on from my feelings for you but then they resurface again and I'm back to missing you. I despise feeling like this knowing you feel nothing. I wish I knew a way to get you to admit I hadn't imagined it. Maybe then I wouldn't be so hung up on everything. I need to close the cover of this unread story book and place it back on the shelf to let it collect some dust. I don't enjoy reliving the past but it's hard to ignore you when you're right in front of my face. There is no solace in the distance between us. Especially not when I can reach out to you whenever I want. It's a comfort I don't want because it impairs my self control. When I do see you, you treat me like I'm poison and maybe that's exactly what I am though if that's the truth then, my love, so are you. My heart flip flops for you, one moment convinced I'd do anything for you and the next spent wishing I'd never met you. I've come to the realization that you're not good for me because of how easily you hurt me and how quickly you turned the other cheek. If you can inflict this much pain on someone you just met I can only imagine the damage you are capable of doing to the one who is closest to you. I find it hard to comprehend how you can allow me to take the fall for what happened and paint me as the villain as if I concocted this evil plan in some dingy basement on my own. If I am guilty of being the bad guy in all of this then, my friend, so are you. It took two for us to get here. I didn't create this mini series all by myself but I'm the only one recounting every line like I missed the plot. I'm tired love. I want to be done. I'm tired of thinking of you as a back burner love.

Molecular Structure

It seems as though only when I'm truly hurting do my creative juices get to flowing. As if some major trauma must happen before I can really sit down and put something in writing. My wiring is programmed to turn to pen and pad when I'm feeling sad. I have no other form of coping other than to turn my feelings into words that are free flowing. If I went to visit a therapist I'd likely ask for paper and a pen. If I had to share what was in my head I'd share this link instead. I have come to find that talking is no help when all of my seemingly organized thoughts come tumbling out all at once and spill out of me like a mess on the floor. I am a traumatized collage of jumbled thoughts that feed off of one another like starving parasites feed off of their host. I can't gather one thing from my own horrific life experience that symbolizes peace. My life has been one horrendous experience after the next. One situation after another to put my strength to the test. I have no recognizable boundaries or limits to speak of because they've all been obliterated by the unthinkable. Mommy and daddy couldn't make it work because daddy wanted to be a whore. Mommy sought comfort from a straw, a bottle, and nameless one after the others. I grew up way too quick, thinking I was slick until at 17 I became pregnant with my own mistake. Whoops, then we let it happen again at 19. What were we thinking? Next daddy takes the first flight to heaven and I am left to finish life one parent less. As if that wasn't crippling enough two years later I get a call that one of my best friends ends it all with a glock. The year after that I learn that my god sister is brutally murdered at age 23, same age as me, while I have yet another life growing inside. During all of this I am dealing with a monster creeping in and out of my life, getting me pregnant again and again just to leave us high and dry in the end. Now I have said good bye to my twenties, what was supposed to have been the best years of my life mostly spent drying my eyes. Now I have 5 creations I have to guide while trying to figure out my life and how to be a better parent than what I had. It's apparent by now that I have been dealt quite the hand. Somehow, I remain on my own two feet, in the back of my head and heart I know God and Jesus are with me. Fast forward to thirty something and I find myself worn paper thin. I moved to the middle of nowhere for no one and turned to sin. My life took a nosedive for the worst and I was hanging over bridge railings in an attempt to dull the hurt. I am too much of a coward to take my own life so that never came to pass but living the life I have been given sometimes feels like I am already dead. I've had to start over from scratch, time and time again. The clock and the calendar plotting their revenge. Now I am at a crossroad where time and sin have caught up to me and I am forced to choose which path to take and which new journey to begin. I am so strung out on depression that I am high on sin and the choice to be good has been overtaken by temptation again. There is a spiritual battle happening in the pit of my soul. My molecular structure has been compromised, in other words, I feel like I am falling apart. Nothing and no one has been harder on me than myself. God is constantly reaching for my hand trying to lift me up while Satan is constantly tugging at my heel trying to trip me up. I am to the point in life now where I can go up or go down from here. There is no in between left for me when I have been walking the tight rope between heaven and hell my entire life. I have been through enough pain to realize that I have something in common with Jesus Christ. I don't want to hurt anymore and I don't want my poor choices to stab Jesus anymore. What he did for me and for you cannot be topped and nothing you or I do can prevent his coming from being stopped. I want God to see me and I want my light to shine freely when the clock runs out and the calendar gives out. God knows my molecular structure is weak but he also knows the strength he gave to me. He won't allow me to fall apart as badly as I want to just give up and drown in a puddle of my own doubt. I suppose I am blessed to know that when I have given in and given up, his work begins and has begun.