Tag: wombman

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July 18, 2018

I am grateful to wake up. I am grateful for this watermelon. I am grateful for a toilet and clean water.

I am miserable. I want space from everyone. I’m tired of this life. How can I start over, how can I erase all that is. I’m sick of my lover. I’m tired of shitty; empty, fake ass people betraying myself and second chances. Let me not attract anyone. Let me say forget the world, I don’t want to share it with anyone.

I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t want to get to know anyone. I don’t want to make friends. I don’t want to be around anyone. I don’t want to.

Poor baby.

I’m sorry I’ve failed you.

I’m sorry I don’t really want you

not like I thought I did

most times not at all.

I have no one to talk to.

No one to hold me.

No one to understand or be here.

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July 1, 2022

Her sun rolled his bouncy ball into a stream on purpose.
Mama goes after ball as her sun cries insistently for his bouncy ball’s return.
In the midst of the haste Mama takes stroller down into stream with her.
Mama and the stroller are in the stream.
All of mama’s stuff gets soaked; her phone, keys, purse…everything.
She grabs the ball and throws it up the little hill.
Her sun grabs it and throws it back in. This happens twice before she’s had enough.
Her sun thinks it’s a game and jumps in too.
She attempts to salvage everything.
Her sun now cries insistently because he notices his waterbottle is floating down stream.
Mama says forget that water bottle.
She regrounds.
She rescues all her belongings.
She takes a deep breath, and sternly tells her sun “get it together”
Then,
She walks down stream and retrieves her sun’s waterbottle.

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October 15, 2018

I pray this is the last time I have to break my mothers heart… I can’t think of anything… What is the way? I’m trying to make a relationship work, everything in me tells me it’s wrong, but something is telling me not to give up.

The most difficult part of healing is the era right before the climax when the voices begin to sound the same and you must learn discernment. It becomes a strain to hear the truth; to know right from wrong.

This baby inside me is right, right?

What am I going to do?

Prepare for either and decide later I suppose.

I really need to show up for myself now. I have to prove to myself that I can do it, that I will be a successful mother. That I can be me. Whoever that is.

I pray to find myself.

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Woman body

Woman body don’t give a fuck about that shit

Young self holds the messenger

Hidden burdens are turned to birds and

We learn to hold our sticks and stones and

We fold to break our own arms leading the way to pave

Make ends meet with woman’s meat

What a dog that eats dog girls

Woman’s bodies don’t give a fuck about rocking a foreign world

Key whispers from chosen Gods in dress

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Text:

The heavens of womanhood.

Revelations of my souls essence.

Emerging ashes saturated in a deliciously delicate black hole of grit.

You know, the usual.

And you?

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June 20th, 2021

Summer solstice

Depressive episode to balance the happy. Wishing to crawl back under my polished rock; or to be less dramatic, meet new people. People who look like me. Compliment me… Observe then indulge. Today I feel hopeless with human connection. Even X & X are not on the flow I can truly connect to. I just desire to be around people that are into authenticity, growth, and building, creating and making the world a better place. Trailblazers. Shadow workers who aim their arrow at the target. Same old complaint…

…My dreams have been violent. I’ve been mauled, attacked, chased. I’ve had to kill and watch love ones suffer. And my mood… Familiar faces all over this dream realm. Be conscious, keep caution. Pause. Observe. Trust my intuition…

…But I want to honor my feelings, put integration first. Suppression is a heavy betrayal. I called X to ask for advice. I received comfort in honoring myself. So I’m going to not betray myself while navigating my relationships with the ghosts of my past. I am a shadow worker, not moving out of pain but instead integrity, awareness and self respect.

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The wild

Laughing hyenas
Misunderstanding particular landings
As the way that I move
It’s too smooth you say
Much to runny
Masked in funny
A recipe for disaster
Their hidden laughter wades  through vicious Canines and many wishes
They beg forgiveness
To cleanse their sins
Praying with Earths lense