The broken is so deep that the pieces can’t even be picked up; ground into stardust and flittered away on the wind. There’s a small measure of comfort in knowing that things will never be the same. Irrevocably altered beyond the healing of the alter on which it was swore there would be none other.

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Sunday Morning

There is nothing left inside. Hollowed out with greed and left as a vessel for the hate you feed inside your mind and spill into me. There’s nothing I can do but light a cigarette and wait for the rush to combat the sea before I drown. There is nothing else for it.

You who took my heart with both hands and twisted, tangled, mangled, contorted, distorted so as to fill the hole within yourself have left me with this empty shell.

Breathe.

Mel, it’s ok.

It’s going to be ok.

It’s going to be ok.

There is nothing that calms the ache left in the wake of burdens you picked up but couldn’t take. And if you reach out your hand it won’t find mine to hold. The cold is getting colder and the excuses are getting older. Nothing lasts forever, save for the demons who have been there since the day I came alive. They have held me in the dark when the world was too full to let me in. They have dragged my weakness into light when trust became my sin. They have held my hand when I could not stand on my own and gagged me into silence when I couldn’t stop the words from flowing. And now they rock me into serenity and whisper softly of all the things I’m stronger now for knowing.

The Waiting

via Daily Prompt: Anticipation

The waiting kills me. The final hours before payday are the most painful, particularly this time of year. There are so many needs that trump the wants that the wants aren’t even thought of these days. These days are all about survival. Indeed, we work too hard to be this poor.

Simplify. Reduce, recycle, reuse. Stop, drop, and roll for all the good it does me.

The waiting to be more than I have become is the most taunting. The remnants of opportunity now unreachable flail in the wind filled with hissing, red-eyed snakes.

The waiting for it to be better, easier, simplier is laughable at best and heartbreaking more often than I can tolerate. Eventually, there will be a breaking of me and I will no longer be waiting.

Til that day comes, I count pennies to fill my gas tank.

And wait.

The Cost of Having Not

I just don’t understand this culture that encourages so many people to live in poverty. Even the  people with “good money” live foolishly and end up poor. Meanwhile, the genuinely poor are looked down on rather than assisted or even emotionally cared for. There is no compassion. This wide-spread practice in turn makes people with money so desperate to spend to show their status to avoid the stigma of “being poor”.

I don’t understand why its instinctive to live in such a way that you become a prisoner to your own choices. We create the chains ourselves. So why is it so hard to just say NO and simply STOP living that way? Americans spend themselves into bankruptcy just to impress their Twitter followers.

Personally, I’ve been trying so hard to make the money stretch.  I’ve stopped spending on needless things,  but there simply is not enough to go around.   I use a pre-paid “burner” phone. I wear clothes from the thrift store. I buy store-band groceries. These small sacrifices do not bother me. What bothers me is that, despite the corners I cut in our spending, there simply is not enough left to pay the bills. Life should not be this way.

I’m married. We have children to raise. I did a year of college, and maintained a 4.0 GPA.  Medical reasons forced me to take a break in school, and then life forced that break to go on too long. Now, it’s not possible for me to return to school. My family needs me to work full time. If I were to return to school, I’d sacrifice the little time I have to see my kids. I’d love to go back to school, but that is not a price I’m willing to pay.

So, for all intents and purposes, I am a slave to my choice to have kids before finishing my degree. The result: I am officially uneducated and worth too-few- dollars to an employer, despite my experience.

The stigma of poor equaling “less than” at the human level triggers a fear response that causes  us to live beyond our means simply to save face.

We must let go of the thinking that  wealth signifies significance.

America was built on the backs of the poor. The laborers. The ones in the trenches. The mothers and fathers and the children they worked hard to raise.

So I keep going. I keep working for less than I’m worth because my family needs my pride to stay in check. My family needs that steady income. All the while I feel powerless; because despite the hours and effort, it’s simply not enough.

My choices have become, 1) Be actively involved in raising my children or 2) Have an education and career that will  allow me to provide them with IPhones and Jordans.

This society teaches our children that the latest tech and fashions equal importance and signify love. How could I sleep at night if I did not do everything in my power to teach them this is not true?

 

 

She is.

Carefree- writing prompt

 

She is blue eyes and blonde curls

with flushed cheeks and pink lips

that smile when she runs away.

She is giggles that will not be contained

and raspberries that must be blown

lest she burst.

She is laughter and light

that will never die.

Photo May 30, 4 08 05 PM

 

Meanwhile, in search of hope

Writing Prompt: False

It’s not like I was asking for a BIG miracle; just a small one would be plenty.

Just enough to take the edge off the waiting.

I hate waiting. –> Such a funny statement that is. Seriously, who enjoys waiting? Is there anyone who doesn’t hate waiting? 

“I enjoy long walks, waiting for the end of time, and Rocky Road ice cream.” –> you won’t find that profile on OKCupid.  *Pro Tip: If you do, ABORT, because that has to be one crazy Mother…*

Just a little miracle I insist, like a bum begging for a cigarette at the bus stop. My paper bag canteen has run dry and the reality is sobering.

Defeated, I fold up my cardboard sign and walk away, middle finger to the sky and eyes searching the ground.