Warning

I’ve come farther in my behaviour than most could even wrap their mind around.

It doesn’t excuse my current fireworks when they happen

but I used to be a walking talking minefield.

I realized this when recently picking up one of my poetry books.

I thought Nagh girl you ain’t crazy.

Now that kid you were…that kid was a wreck🤣

 It helps to read old journals to realize how far one has truly grown. 

I don’t say this to sidestep or disown the damage I cause others in my journey.

I own that shit

and come wrapped in crime tape and warning stickers.

Im an introvert for others protection

just as much for my own. 

 Sometimes damage just happens

as much as I try to prevent it though.

Every week brings new growth. 

I think we do a dis service to ourselves and those we’ve hurt

if we don’t inspect the rubble afterwards

for signs of what caused the explosion

or implosion

and how to avoid such in the future. 

FLamable

Tears sit at the diving board of my irises wanting

no,

needing

to jump.

A scream has been in my throat for days.

It swells

consuming me.

I’ll burst into flames any minute.

I get up and move away  from others

so they don’t burn.

Yusuf

excuses

I’d love to crawl out of this Well but I can’t get a grip on the wall.

It’s exhausting frustrating embarrassing.

I’m the Strong one with an iron will

but I seem to be one with the floor.

What the fuck.

I’m not even sad.

Am I?

I don’t feel sad.

I don’t feel anything.

That’s a lie

I feel shame at my inability to get a grip

I feel fear that I’ll go even deeper into debt because I’ve faked my 20th excuse to why I can’t be at work tomorrow when the truth is I can’t begin to fathom how to wash this body

dress it

and find the doorknob to exit the house.

I’m crippled with stiff joints

but I’m familiar enough with this bullshit to know it’s psychosomatic.

Our mind plays tricks on the body we can’t begin to understand. 

I had the worst back ache for two days but as soon as I called out the backache eased and with it a wash of relief that I don’t have to be around people.

I wouldn’t mind a body to hold cuddle and love (not a typo) I just don’t want it to talk.

They say it’s ok to not be ok but they don’t pay my bills.

Damnit

I’d love to crawl up out of this well

I just can’t get a grip on the wall

I pray

Astagfurallah 

Alhamdulillah 

Allahu Akbar

If I die before I wake

Please let me respond

Allah

Muhammad

Islam

When Munkar and Nakir ask Who is your lord? Who is your prophet? What is your religion?

My body betrays me every day. I hope my lips do not betray me on that, of all days.

I’m an evil person

I know where I’m probably going

But Im also an optimist and have childish hope that my faith outweighs my black heart

David was a lustful murderer and the Messiah was chosen to descend from his bloodline

I remind myself that more often than most would find comforting.

It’s sometimes my only thread of sanity.

Astagfurallah

 Alhamdulillah

  Allahu Akbar

Forgive me 

It is all in your will 

you are all powerful and great.

I am nothing

I can’t even crawl out of a well.

“Then Allah revealed to Joseph that he was safe and should not fear, for he would meet them again some day to remind them of what they had done.”

I look in the mirror. You.

You know what you have done.

is this even mine?

What happens now?

Where do I go from here?

The silence rings in my ears.

Inside my head a drumbeat echos

shooting about with the electric current of the memory of your voice vibrating against my cheek.

It is finished.

Where did I get this

did I write this?

Google didn’t offer any results

Metal Embrace

There are no arms safe to cry in. If you want comfort the only safe place is your car.  Instead of investing in arms that will won’t hold you when you need them, invest in a vehicle that will envelop you in it’s protective chamber.  You can scream to the top of your lungs while the metal enfolds you in it’s silent embrace. Lock the doors. Put the seatbelt on. It’s got you. Let go. 

The Struggles of being a Host Body

The host is losing sleep. We sleep a few hours and wake up taking turns. 

why can’t I communicate with the host I don’t feel her anywhere

We work tomorrow I hope she shows up

I looked in Netflix to see what all we are watching it looks like it’s been mostly you tube and a ballet show on Netflix 

I like the Weekends music so much

His voice is fire

When I catch her reflection in the mirror I get angry

I’m 20 she’s fucking old and ugly 

We all can’t get laid because all she does is eat and lay around and worry about going to hell if she dates. Her shit is broken man no cap. 

I run on the treadmill and get hurt. 

This body is trash

Perfume makes me sneeze and cough

I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to it. 

Someone has like dozens of bottles of it in this room.

My room mates are nice but I don’t talk long

I had to go see Kaitlyn to bring her the mail that’s piling up.

She mentioned all her clothes are dirty.

The host would have went inside and got the laundry. Not today girlfriend 😆

She’s strung out it’s very obvious but it’s not my problem honestly

she’s older than me it’s pathetic she keeps falling in the same hole 😆

I think I could be really good friends with her

she’s funny as fuck

but the host gets backlash when I get along with people who do dope and then she’s in control

I think I switched while writing this I’m wide awake whenever I think too hard on Katy any emotion gets shut down

I look forward to getting out of the house tomorrow. 

I’d rather it not be work related but it is what it is. 

You know it’s fucked up when you smell rice cooking and hear the timer pop and are not the one who made rice. 

Kinda like waking up with a nose piercing or having no idea where one of me put my vibrators. Like all of them are missing.   like dude wtf

Fuck it

Let’s eat

BPD bitching

I remember being so upset when I got my period again after 2 years.

That fear and dread has nothing on the looming realization that I’m rapid switching.

My money is gone.

There is food containers in my car and I gained an obscene amount of weight and frankly it’s not fair I don’t get to be present to enjoy the food.

I’m fairly certain we’ve all integrated sans one but suddenly one of them has decided to take the wheel again.

It’s Ramadan.

Deep inside the Muslim is angry at the rest of us because we’re not fasting, were not refraining from gossip or Only Fans content. Islam seems so distant, yet I dream in Arabic and wake at night calling out to Allah to save me when it feels like my heart has stopped. 

I’m so old. When will this end. 

  Thank God all (most?) Of us know how to groom. 

No one believes in this condition except the ones who have it.

Even friends who claim to understand will still insist I should remember a movie or an incident. Clients say “you should remember me I’ve been here so many times,” its humiliating and further triggers me because now I’m ashamed. 

My kids are not mine. My job is not mine. My religion is not mine. Hell my body isn’t even mine. One of us either threw away the vibrators or hid them so well I can’t find them.

  The mirror reflects a sagging wrinkled stranger when inside I’m an African

Muslim,

Korean

bohemian traveling gypsy

loud overly affectionate child,

a suicidal emo goth teenage poet,

  a chronically sick lazy sloppy person,

the extroverted flirtatious Dominatrix,  

and one who spends my money and binge eats but I don’t know a thing about her.

That’s the only one I haven’t integrated with. I think. 

I’m so tired. Fat and tired. My stomach hurts and my teeth are trashed from gnashing them.

Mostly I’m exhausted from fighting to stay awake because I never know if I’ll be the one that wakes up tomorrow.

Memory Lane

This is one of those Candace word vomit posts. 

I had a crazy day.

Found a bath tub chair for mom

Visited my dad’s grave.

Tried to groom Tammy’s elderly dogs. 

One of them had an attack of some sort, rolling biting and his nose started bleeding,  which is what happened to her when she tried grooming him… I was already a nervous wreck when I started. Driving to Covington is like driving through a childrens popup book of my past. 

 Seen a big picture on the wall of somone that I once loved that died suddenly… beneath it was this huge gorgeous battle ax.

I was suddenly flooded with memories and struggled to hold it together.

The emotionally unavailable brother of my best friend.   From the age of 12 to 17 I thought I’d marry him and be a “real” part of the family but he couldn’t stand me. I married his friend Ed and suffered everyone’s disapproval for years. Now they’re both dead.

It’s an odd thing outliving everyone. Wishing they’d lived to see me finally turn out to be a decent human being worthy of a good marriage.

Despite being worthy I’m still alone. Alhamdulillah 

 I drove past the house I grew up in

and also  the two houses I owned and sold.

Seen the “grandchildren” of banana trees I propagated.

Thats an emotional thing!

I dug up that banana tree and drug it with me through three moves until I decided just because I wont form roots  doesn’t mean I should continuously uproot its attempts. 

  Dove past my Dads old place.

The gates were open and his business sign is still standing as though he just left and forgot to close to close  the gates.

They sold it.

I wondered what happened to the bulldozers he spent a Half a century on?

One would think after selling a few bulldozers my stepmom could afford a few bags of gravel or a flower urn for his lackluster gravesite. 

  Last but not least I drove past the home where I was arrested.

Its huge and beautiful as always.

Lake glittering in the front,

I bet they got a great $ deal when they bought it.

I wondered if the owners know a pedophiles blood stains the boards in the bedroom floor and that hole in the front is from a teenager’s bullet?

All houses will be haunted in one way or another eventually. 

Some more than others.  

This type of day is why I can never stay long in this state.

Its heavy, like the humid air.

The further away I am the humidity and the memories thin away to a tolerable barely noticeable level.

I like Suwannee though. 

It’s no where near Covington.

All the Korean billboards, doctors and stores trick one into believing they live in another country.

Its tolerable here.

My room mate seems to understand my introverted  quiet ways.

I never feel like I have to fill the empty space up with words. 

Anyway ..I seen my dads grave.

I don’t think I’ll be going back to that city again if I can help it.

Pea Gravel

Emotional day from the time I woke up till I came home to even a cat that doesn’t want to be around me.

If it weren’t so cold I would have stayed much longer among the fake flowers and pea gravel.

It’s so beautiful and quiet there.

I miss my grandma every year at this time.

When January (the month Ed died plus other ridiculous dramatic events that typically only happen in movies but unfortunately happen to me for real ) rolled around I could go to her house.

She’d shove a bowl of something in my hands to peel, snap or shell, and we’d sit silently in the kitchen.

She didn’t babble, my grandma.

She was a woman of few words.

Sometimes loving, sometimes hateful, but you could always bet it was honest.

I yearn for her silent comfort right now.

Sometimes silent gravestones in January make more sense than anything else.

My daughter was stabbed

Profound Sorrows rain down on me when I’m in the shower on mornings like this…

Mornings when people you love are teetering between life and death and you find yourself bargaining with the creator asking him to let you go first.

You know without a shadow of a doubt that you mean less to them than they mean to you.

it would just be easier on you if you go first.

There should be a profound sadness…and there is! But there’s also a relief in this selfish martyrdom.

Is that a word? It should be. 

You think to yourself…” My God I’m 51 and if I’m lucky I’ll only live a few more years and can ironically escape all this Death and pain…but there’s a possibility that I could live a whole nother lifetime.”

These Sorrows multiply with the decades.

 I do not know who called them the golden years unless the golden resembles the color of piss.

 Lord take me instead.

That’s all a selfish martyr can think while showering…such a normal human thing to do while some ridiculous crazy ass shit has gone down and those you love are dying.