My Father's Philosophy

   Lately, I have been very content. I feel this calm is starting to fill me more than usual. I think a lot of it may be because I have let go of a few things that have been bothering me. In the end, things will not turn out like I want them to. There is no point in trying to change things I can not fix, right? It is just a waste of energy. Especially when dealing with people.

   I found the best method for finding peace in a situation that has dragged me down a long time is to literally let it go. This really works with people. As much as I care for the people in my life, it does not mean I want them in my life if they are hurting me more than helping. This applies to pretty much everyone, including my own family.

   I take this from my dads method of getting rid of "junk" in your life. Just toss it. If my dad is done with some one due to some problem, then he will make sure the item is destroyed or he will be sure that the person is never to see or make contact with him or any one he knows ever again. It sounds extreme, and it is. But it works. And those who claim my dad is an assshole for that have their opinion. But I agree.

    In fact, I understand him. My dad has a shit past, a verbally abusive mother, no family connection, very few friends, a temper. He is very emotional. Very angry. It is part of our family history on my dads side. My grandma has it, my grandfather, and their parents before that. Now I have a temper too. But living with my dad so long, I have managed to control it on some degree with my self therapy. I can still blow up, I don't deny that. But the person would have to be REALLY persistent to make me blow. I usually will take my leave in the middle of a growingly heated argument with some one, not because I am rude, but because if I don't my temper will burst. I get mean, I get violent, I break things..including their body. My dad when he snaps just mainly broke things and was verbally abusive. My mental trauma, and several confidence issues are from that. But he never hit me.

   In my case, I don't throw things. I am too cheap to want to break things. And I would never hurt an animal. But my past abuse and my sociopathic tendencies make me immune to human sympathy. So I can get abusive with people, even people I love, if I am not in control at all times. It is a pain to be on watch all the time. And it is probably best I get anger management therapy for it.

   So in my family and my own's past with anger and being overly emotional and just having a shitty childhood no matter what..my dad tosses things aside. And that is specifically why I understand and use this method. I would rather take some one who I can not forgive what they did, or some one who really has hurt me and even means it when they try to make it up to, and never see them again. In my own mind, I am saying "good riddens" to the whole problem.

    Now the difference between me and my dads method is how we do it. My dad at the first sign of a problem, most of them because of himself, will instantly blame the other person and throw them out of his life right away. His method is crude. And honestly, sometimes it is so quick that it is a shame. He could have fixed a lot of relationships he threw out of his life by simply TALKING about it and fixing it. But he can't do that. His anger is too strong for him.

    In my case..I give chances. I am very forgiving still. I will take the time for months and months to work with the person I am having issues with. Because in the end, I do care about their well being and know not to waste opportunities over stupid shit like anger. But if it comes to the point where I can no longer forgive some one, they have repeatedly made the same mistake, are liars, and other things that make "working it out" impossible, then I throw them out. Like my dad, but with consideration to the effort of trying to fix it first.

    And really, in the end, the most common reason as to why I have thrown most of friends out of my life is simply because they don't try.. If the person I try hard to fix the problem with is not doing anything to help or even trying to fix it with me then there is no point for me. They obviously don't care enough about me to try at all and I don't make excuses for that.

   Because I do respect myself enough to fight when I need to fight, but also let go when I am just being used.

   And right now, my peaceful heart has done that. I no longer call the person I have been having problems with a friend. They are a person, and nothing else. But it has really pushed me to that. I tried and tried to forgive. But in the end, I just can't. It has just kept happening. And if in my battle to fix it, I am the only person doing anything, then of course it isn't going to be fixed.

   I won't fight a battle with no fight in return. I will always in some way care for their well being, but I also wouldn't give a shit if they died tomorrow. That is just how it is for me. My top priority is always my own happiness. It is not selfish for me because it is healthy. It is unhealthy to spend your priorities trying to keep the priorities of others protected. My own happiness is really the one thing I always have to set my sights for.

   And if that means hurting many people in the process of doing so, then I will. I will make the hurt as painless as possible, but there will always be pain in the road of happiness. I accept that.

About A Boy

It has been 4 years. 4 very long years that my emotional wounds have healed over and been taken care of. I lost my nephew and never got to say goodbye. He was told that we were evil, menaces, and horrible people. That will always be his very last thought till he becomes an old man and we can do nothing about it. And I have accepted this.

But there are the memories that still manage to linger. I practically raised the boy. He was like my son, and we had these little things that when I listen to a certain song, see a small blue eyed blonde boy laughing in the grocery store, they all manage to crack my strength.

And last year when we managed to run into him and his mother, I managed to hold in the blow to my heart. It had felt like some darkness pulled my heart out and threw me around like a rag doll. And his aged face, now about 8, was so beautiful. But his eyes had lost his light. He was heavily medicated, staring into space, like he didn't know who we were. His pale hand was tightly holding onto his fathers. And his father told him to say hello, and when that boy looked at me I saw an empty soul. They had corrupted his bright bubbly personality into a shell. And he was just a boy.

And when they left I broke. I stood in the middle of the crowded theater hall, fell to the floor and I began to cry so hard. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see. All I could feel was my heart being torn into pieces. This wasn't my lover telling me it was over, this wasn't losing my best friend. Those feelings seemed so easy compared to this. I had grown so strong thinking of the memories of this boy, and seeing the reality just broke my entire mind. I had to be picked up by Uncle and dragged to the bathroom. And I fell against his chest and just screamed.

It was the absolute worst feeling. And I suddenly knew the pain of a parent losing her child. Why they never talk about it, and yet hold onto their useless toys and old blankets like they have so much meaning. Because their smell eventually fades, as does their presence in your own heart. And you feel like you have an empty hole in your heart. And no matter how much your heart heals those wounds, their is still these jaded scars and they will never leave.

And all this comes from a song. One song I happen to be listening to that reminds me of this boy that made me feel like I was worth something. And I realize I am not stronger than the day he left. I am only dealing with it and realizing I will never fully regain my heart back.

That was taken so long ago. The day I stopped being able to hold that sweet boy in my arms at night is the night I lost my faith.

And I will never get it back.

Letting My Dreams Lead the Way

I had a dream last night, and it left me waking up groggy and full of anxiety.

I was marrying Channing Tatum(I don't even know why), and I was different. I was tall and skinny, like a super model. Long hair, blonde, and this idea of utter perfection. And yet I found myself looking at this dream and finding I had turned ugly. I didn't like the fact that I had no figure to look at.

We invited my family, and the children of my Uncles family, and the friends I used to have back before I moved out of town. The photographer asked me how I wanted the big wedding photo done, and I realized I hadn't made any plans. I did not have any brides maids or grooms men assigned and no one was even dressed fancy. It was chaotic.

So they all just started going into the bleacher and setting up, and the photographer just started handing out the kids these huge body pillows. And suddenly this big white projector screen was slid down at the top of the bleachers. A black and white video began of the children and they were playing together. The lights were dimmed..a light purple hue covered the room, and these blinking white stars filled the sky.

I stood there, watching this chaotic display and was awed by the beauty of this sleep over atmosphere. Like an outdoor movie night full of hundreds of people. This made me think that this is what weddings should be celebrated like. Full of joy, and not worrying about how fancy you look or how well you can impress a room with your smile, dancing, and all these factors that in the end, are meaningless.

And then I awoke. And I discovered I felt anxious. This dream ended like a fairy tale, and it was perfect. But yet I didn't like the outcome. I always have this idea that dreams tell me what my worries and undecisive thoughts obsess over. They give me answers that I can never fully realize alone. And this dream showed me things, that after thinking over, help me make those decisions with ease.

I was questioning my idea on marriage a lot recently. Because I enjoy weddings. They make me excited and I love the idea of dressing up and getting to eat food and socialize. But I do not want to get married. I relish my freedom, my queer life, and my beautiful body as it remains now.

And this big focus on kids really hit me. They were the main attraction on that big screen. And it made my heart melt to see all their smiles and their playful nature. I love kids. But I felt like the dream was saying my future meant having all these babies. But I don't want to have babies, and I certainly cherish my animals like they are my own much more.

So in ways this dream helped me settle the dispute within the thin walls of my brain. The decisions of doing what every one is expecting me to do versus what I really want to do is still a struggle right now. It is all if's and maybes and I have never really tried enough of what I think will make me happy to really know. Life is becoming one big giant "what if" and the only thing I can do is let my dreams tell me the way.

Hearts Beat As One

You ask me how it feels

to see the world in dark variation

where the bright blue sky makes me want cry

for it is too bright for my bitter heart

And I answer you

that there is no feeling

not like when you are layed down

under the stars gaze

and the scratches along your skin

are from my own bloody hands

You ask me why I need to see your tears

as they flow over your supple cheeks

and into your smiling mouth

because you know why

and I need only to lean down

to whisper, "Your mine"

You ask me what I want

as you flip me over

where the floor is cold from the night sky

and chills run up my body

And I answer you

that I want everything

and nothing

because you are an empty being

as empty as me

who craves something to ease the hatred

that oozes out of our words

to stain innocents hearts

And this

this is why I ask you

when I flip you back around

and I lean my grin close to your chest

and whisper, "Let me in"

Will you let me in?

So that I can dig deep inside whatever tomb lay hidden

beneath your skin and your bruises

to reach that inner roar you hold

Because my final question could never be spoken

for it is air itself that we breath

that answers it for us

And when my hands wrapped your neck

it was never meant for harm

but to show my deepest regret

because I am so ashamed to love you

Letters for Wounds

See me at my worst.
I am broken. A disaster.
There are days, I admit, that my hair gets a little greasy. I eat enough so that the idea that I'm a monster isn't real any longer. The 40 pounds I'd gained weren't to throw at you like it was your doing. I swear it.
The doctor said I have problems. He said I don't react well to problems, and the only way to fix that was to take some medicine. Little pills that are supposed to fix how I treat you.
My father told me I wasn't worth his sperm today. My mother seemed like a kind woman, and died one too, I'd like to hope. Everyone says I have her smile. I could never find out because every time I try to smile my teeth get in the way.
Remember when you cut your finger? I do. It was with that sharp knife used for some bread. It was too hard too cut anyway, so I don't blame you. You sure yell a lot when your pinky bleeds. Blood looks like the paint you gave me for christmas. Could I borrow your blood for one of my sketches one time? That would be the best present ever.
I'm supposed to see a doctor for more of these little pills. Their green, like the lakes you took me to feed the ducks once. The memory of it always helps me swallow it more. Like I'm swallowing some of you. One of the effects is supposed to be sleepiness. So far, all I do is lay in my bed thinking of you. Is that what sleepiness is? I sure don't like it. 

Rape Is Not Funny

So I came across this silly and very rude question today. Not many questions people ask offend me, but lets be honest, there are a lot of idiots in the world. A couple questions that come from mindless idiots are bound to rustle your feathers some day.

And today I got mine. The question this lady asked was,

"If you had to pick your rapist, who would you pick?"

Now, a few questions popped in my head. First, what in the hell was this person thinking? You don't ask who people would want to be raped by. That is very inconsiderate on a lot of levels. And this is coming from my biastophiliac mouth no less. No one chooses to be raped, nor is it something you treat as a light experience. It is traumatic and not to be used for any purpose to be silly whatsoever.

Another question that came to mind was that if you CHOOSE your rapist, then it would no longer be rape. Because you would be most likely choosing some one you find attractive. Therefore at that point it would be consentual role play. Which is completely healthy in any sexual relationships if its done right and they use a safe word correctly.

So I said this to the asker, and they basically told me that it would still be rape even if we chose and I was wrong. So this person is even bullying all the people who don't give the answers they like. Maybe they're trying to be a little out of the box, but this is way beyond even my moral hating mind.

I can talk about a lot of things. Some of it may seem cruel, and some of it may seem down right illegal. But I would never use any harmful event lke rape and turn it into a fun question.

Rape is a traumatic experience PERIOD. And there is no excuses for that kind of behavior.

My Family Battle with Gender

   Me and my Uncle fight often. Far too often for me not to take notice of the roots of our problems that I only seem to see. In another argument that me and him had today, it all started because I mentioned knowing a transman. Now, my uncle is quite conservative and traditional, and for him gender and sex are one of the same. I had just woken up, and wasn’t thinking right. So I just started off by saying he was a transman and he gets bullied a lot. And my uncle decided that instead of actually following what I was saying, to say, “Wait, is it a boy or a girl?”

   I replied to him saying he identified as a boy. And uncle got further confused. So I explained to him that sex and gender are two different concepts. Sex being what your born with and gender being a society norm for what we label with sex. And that gender is a wide spectrum, from cis to bigendered to genderqueer, etc. This only made him say that he already had a head ache. Yeah, obviously not the best way to prove he’s listening to me at all.

    His excuse was that he was raised thinking that boys have penises and girls have vaginas, and that I should consider my audience so he doesn’t have to ask. He further said that I shouldn’t assume he knows. Now, I wasn’t assuming anything. I had just woken up and wasn’t really considering whether I needed to explain it all at that moment. Not only am I getting lectured based on his views, but now also how I don’t “consider my audience”. I’m getting frustrated now.

   So he takes that and asks me, “If I meet some transsexual who identifies as something else in the work place, how would I know?”

   And right as I am about to answer, he cuts me off and says that how you talk to coworkers depends on their gender. And I immediately said, no it does not. It depends on the personality more than their sex organ. He agreed on that, but further said that him talking to a woman is different than talking to a man. He said because if he says. “Go fuck yourself!” to man, they don’t go to the boss, but he does that to a woman, and they would want him fired. (sexist, much?)

    And this is where I said, yes, but the simple solution would be to not say, go fuck yourself. That’s rude anyways. And he got made at me saying I wasn’t listening and forcing my own ideas on this. How the hell else do we have a conversation otherwise, agree with everything you say? Not going to happen. We are HUMAN, not robots who all think the same. And I then calmly made another point saying that I happen to be a woman and me talking to women at the workplace is different because you aren’t one and I am.

   He then said, “but I’m talking about men and woman only”.

   So I went ahead and said straight out that he was talking to me like he expected me to understand(which I did) that the work place is different than most social conversation AND that I had to agree with him on everything. And I further said that the work place or not, it is a social construct, like shopping or a party. The way we interact may be different but its social all the same. And social knowledge is something we develop as young as children.

   And this is what got me mad. He then said to me, “This is why I don’t talk to you about this. You starting spewing bullshit when we talk.” Hell no. Don’t tell me my ideas are BULLSHIT and your ideas are god damn genious. That is plain rude. I told him, I understood but the way he socializes and the way I socialize is completely different, therefore makes the socializing at work a completely different situation also.

At this point I was really upset he called my whole ideas on life, just cause their different, bullshit. And I walked away saying he was too arrogant.

   He replied back as I was walking away, “Because you know I’m right!”, like the hypocrite he can be.

I know the reason we fight is because my whole life view is based on a nonjudgemental, sociology point of view. It involves no moral standard or society view. Uncles is based on tradition and narrow view so he can generalize to make it easier. This makes it impossible under any circumstance for us to get along with out a big heated argument. I don’t mind disagreeing, but I do mind some one saying I don’t know anything because I haven’t worked before. Whether I worked before or not does not mean I’m wrong. It’s not about where you work, its about how the individual takes social situations.

   Uncle looks for infinite answers. And when it comes to greeting some one who is not cis(identifies with biological sex and has same gender to fit), there is no infinite answer. It all is a very fluid greet that you must ALWAYS take under caution. He doesn’t like the answer, fine. But for him to say I didn’t answer his question. That is false. I answered it. It is just not the way he wants me to answer, and that angers him more than anything.

Responsiblility

When people look at me, they see my height. My weight. My frown. They think that I'm some young teen with the practice of typical angst against my "miserable life". But there is another side to me.

This side is the one far too mature because she had to be. Some one who has had to grow up too fast because thats simply what life gave her. And although my past has left me, there are some things that never left.

I am a parent of sorts. First to a child dropped at our door, and then taken away years later. And now to the very women who raised both that child, his mother, and me. This women looks old and sick, and can barely wake up an hour without taking 10 different pills to feel better. But she never used to be.

She was an independent women with a heart too loving for this world. And it ate her heart out till she needed an escape. First with alcohol, an addiction that grew till her own husband forced her to see the divorce papers he'd already signed. And then with shopping, a compulsive disease that left me a side line watcher and my uncle unaware for years. That is until her "hidden" credit cards all maxed and they had to file bankrupt. Then her depression finally hit her, and she was in car accidents and bruised up all the time, and whether it was truly her carelessness or she wanted to really end it will always be a mystery. And these accidents led to a simple sprain of her foot.

This sprain is this huge fall down. She quit her job as a succesful nurse and took pills to ease the pain. And the pain, she concluded, could also ease within her heart. And the psych medicine came in and then her diabetes medicine, and any excuse she could use to possibly get high off of something other than reality.

And now, years later, she's only 54 and looks like a withered old lady ready to die. I love her, because when I love you can do so many bad things and I will always respect you and give you all my heart. That will not change.

But when you give me the decision to be made where I have to take away my giving heart and become a cold hearted parent, then I will. It is BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, that I would risk your hatred to save your life.

So next time some one thinks I have done nothing, and my age and my permanent cynicism are my immaturity, I can never believe it.

Because today I had to make a decision, like I do most days. To risk my own future and my own time to be a "teen" and have fun while I can, to be a parent to a woman who raised me when I was a child. Because she gave me life, and I owe it to her to believe in her too.

And when she found the pills my Uncle hid from her that was was taking too much of today, I was right behind her. I saw her grab them and sit there and ponder what to do. And when I asked her if they were Aderal, the ones she promised she wouldn't take anymore, she said she'd take "only one". And she gave me a look that said she had power over me. And I had to look at her back, and hide the breaking of my heart to see her so desperate for medicine that fucked her up, and demand she give them to me.

Like a mother telling her teen child to give her the alcohol or the drugs they have hidden in the sock drawer. I may be only 17, and not much life experience, but I have had enough experience to understand that my life is not wasted. And my importance is that this woman, when she is clinging to pills she knows she's not supposed to take, is in my care. And I will do what I can to make sure she is alive and well.

I am not a waste. I have an importanc to behave and be very serious. Because if I even take one day to relax and have fun to be the teen I am, this woman could be again trying to steal pills from her own home and ready to die at any instance.

And that is my existence. I am here to help whomever needs it. And right now, the woman who raised me needs me. And I am willing to grow up and risk my own future if thats what she needs. Because I know she needs me. Because no matter what her family says, they would not risk their own lives to help her if she really needed it. Not like me or my Uncle would do, and certainly at the lengths me and him have gone through for her.

I may be young, but I am NOT a waste. I am not an idiot. And I am certainly not immature.

Especially when the pills in my hand are the ones I had to confinscate from the one women who raised me because that is my job. I may not get paid, but hell its more work than any job I could ever get paid for.

Try and judge me now. Just try me.

Becoming A Monster

I truly have this sickness. It tears me apart, and makes me feel like I am the monster they warn children about. It is an obsession of mine that I have tried and tried, till I'm on my knees and looking like death itself ate my heart right out, to walk away from.

It started when I was so young. These fantasies that would haunt me at night. They'd hover over my thoughts to the point that I was desperate to feel them out till they left my presence. I never knew what it meant, and I didn't know that the denial of its existence would make me become this desperate trash that I feel like tonight.

Tonight..it just went from something so minimal to something that made me want to not exist. To forget that I ever was alive on this planet, and simply be forgotten. Because I am a bad bug, a viral disease that should have never been planted in the hearts of the good.

I am almost ashamed to be speaking in such vague terms over what line I may have crossed tonight. If I even spoke of it in such detail that made some understanding I would be hated. Judged. And misinerpreted in the worst possible way.

I will say this..I am no monster by choice. I don't know why I am the way I am, and know nothing of why it started. But I am a biastophiliac. A sick fuck who gets theirs kicks off of others pain and tears and trauma.

I am willing to say that I am wrong. I will be condemned by the few who refuse to understand where I'm coming from, and I will openly accept responsibilty of this. And I know I need some help. I'm fucked up. My mind is a little tipsy, a little irregular. But right now I have nowhere to go and nowhere to turn to. I am alone right now.

And possibly the worst feeling for me is knowing that I am so terrified of myself and no one cares to see me. They don't want to help. Because they don't want to believe it, and it hurts the worst. To know I am this way and I can do nothing to stop it.

I just want to be saved. For gods sake, just punish me from this guilt. This extreme regret that is pulling me apart right now.

Limb by limb..piece by piece..

I am no longer holding myself right. I am just a monster.

A monster who deserves to be slayed in the worst possible way.

Perfectionist Problems

So today in art I am, once again, behind. While everyone has started theirs, I still have a drawing and no color. I asked for some help and was practicing some painting with the teacher so I wouldn't mess up my sketch. My sketch of this photograph is like..PERFECT, right?

And right as I get the hang of painting with water colors down(which is a bitch to do), I wash the paint off the table and am careful to not get anything on my sketched paper. I slowly mix just the right amount of color, check the time to see if I can finish it. Timing is perfect! So I literally pick up the brush to begin..and this girl beside me knocks my water color dish a little bit.

Blue paint went all over my god damn sketch. After I spent so much careful time trying to not mess the thing up. I was a little upset, and just put my paint away because I was paranoid. And decide to sketch another one that isn't as good.

Now what really made me angry was not that she did it. I understand it was an accident. It was the fact that she just sat their staring at me and said nothing. NOTHING! Not even a fucking apology.

And the entire time as I'm re-sketching this drawing and not saying what I want to say to her face, she completely forgets the incident and just continues talking about some date with her boyfriend.

If I had been an uncontrollable person I would have punched her right then and there. But instead I re-drew it and simply decided my ruined one can be practice for my painting that's getting graded on. Turning a bad situation into something that won't make me want to give up completely.

Why am I so frustrated? Well, I am an extreme perfectionist. If I like something it is probably in its most perfect state. And if that thing gets ruined..well it is trash to me. Absolute trash.

And so, my day has been officially..

FUCKED.

Thanks, rude bitch who can't even apologize.

Confidence

It seems I have taken some time to re-read all my old poetry on and I've grown a new found confidence over my writing. I can see all these slight changes in my writing and I can physically see how much easier it is to write. I love being able to notice how much I've grown as a writer. And that's saying a lot.

Although, considering the only one who ever reads my poetry is me, I could just be living off some hope that I even have talent. (Yes, I am admitting that no one gives a shit what I write about). I am not afraid to say that I happen to be one of millions of poets who want to have any other name but amateur for their writing. That's life, I guess.

The point of this all is that I am in love with my poetry right now. This confidence will not last long though. Give me a month and I will go back to hating it and not wanting to ever see it again.

No matter what, it holds an important purpose. It helped me survive all the terrifying years of my childhood and the deathly silence my world was. Without it, I would have never been able to move on with my life. Even now, not writing when I'm anxious would be so unnatural to me.

My poetry is my entire mind. It's my being and my soul put into some form. I may never be honest when some one asks me how I am, but when I write something it comes from this raw part of me. I'm not looking for some critic to say its not good enough to be published. Because it's all for my own self healing, and I never intended it to be work for me. There'd be no passion if I did it on a timed limit.