Final Reflection

From my poetry notebook….This Ain’t Shakespeare.

final reflection

The darkened window, lit only from behind.

Shows a sharp-angled face, etched with anguish-filled lines.

 

As she stares, long suffocated tears begin to flow.

A life built on trust has been crushed in a single, selfish blow.

 

How did she let this happen? Allow her family to be snatched away?

Now all is gone. Even hope that fate would return them one day.

 

She stands, looking unseeingly at the face reflected back.

Her mind sees a young woman whose life was on the right track.

 

The man of her dreams had swept her off her feet.

Promising to love, honor and cherish til’ death they do meet.

 

A child was born, a sweet little boy.

Endless smiles and bliss at this wonderful joy.

 

A home was provided through a business that soared.

A husband who loved her, a child she adored.

 

Another arrived, from out of the blue.

Claiming friendship that was accepted as true.

 

Manipulating and coveting what belonged to another.

That the bond being built was simply a cover.

 

The true motivation was meant to seduce.

Not caring that lives would be shattered, and true love reduced.

 

The other used emotions to bait its catch.

Listening and offering kindness through a rough patch.

 

The catch had been easily tricked by the bait.

More stroking of an ego made it worth the wait.

 

Reeled and then eaten by a prey too fierce.

Unconcerned how the wounds would hurt and pierce.

 

Guilt overcomes, and a confession needs to be made.

Begging forgiveness, making promises, in order to stay.

 

Eyes blink and she sees once again.

The reflection of a woman cast aside for her sins.

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Portrait of Lies

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare.

portrait of lies

Your eyes see a picture of perfection

But buried beneath the beautiful package

Is something outside the truth

 

Secrets, lies and deception

All tumble over one another

In a wildly beating heart

 

A heart panicked

At the thought of discovery

And the inevitable destination

Of a loss of a life

Carefully crafted

 

A smile tricked out at the corners

Speaks of a lover kept secret

 

Eyes gazing into a memory of

Citrusy rooms and paisley bedspreads

Where two bodies writhe in desperate abandon

 

Chasing away lost hopes and daily drudgery

Looking to find a past youth

And forgotten excitement

 

But ends up with guilt weighing heavily

As true love smiles tenderly

From a portrait of perfection

 

Lost / The Bottle

Excerpt from my book…I Heard You

Like I said…nobody gets out of this life unscathed.

drug addiction

http://www.artnet.com/artists/hu-jundi/

 

Lost

“C’mon Dad, let’s go! I’m gonna be late if you don’t get it in gear!” Kyle yells at his father.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Just one sip of this coffee and I’ll be ready.”

“There’s no time. I gotta be at the school at nine sharp. The coach will kick me off the team if I’m late by a minute.” Kyle says.

“Fine, fine. Let’s go then. Get your gear and go get in the car.”

“My gear is already in the car. I’ve just been waiting on you,” Kyle casts a scowl in his father’s direction and slams the door of the house on his way out.

Chris mumbles to himself, “jeez-us H Christ, that kid is always in a frigging hurry.”

He gulps down the last of his coffee, burning his tongue in the process.  “Goddamnit.”

He kicks off his slippers and bends to tie up his sneakers. He shrugs on his Red Sox hoodie and then pulls on his Patriots cap in order to cover his unruly hair. He snatches his car keys off the key holder beside the door. Within minutes they’re speeding down the road to the high school.

Kyle is still visibly upset. “Oh my gawd, Dad, you always do this. You frig and fart around each time there’s a game and we always have to rush around. I hate that! I can’t wait to get my license and my own car, then I won’t have to wait for you to drive me around!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I thought we had plenty of time.”

“You waited until the last minute again to even get going. I told you I had to be there by nine. Now we’ve only got ten minutes to get there! The bus is going to leave without me!”

“The bus isn’t going to leave without you, you’re the quarterback. Can’t have a game without the quarterback.”

Kyle crosses his arms and they ride the rest of the way to the school in silence.

Chris can feel his son’s anger hanging in the air between them.“C’mon, Kyle. Don’t be like that. A pissy attitude isn’t going to help you guys win this game. And you need this win, right?”

Kyle looks at his father and breaks his stony silence. “You know we do. We have to win in order to get to the playoffs.”

“You know I wanted to come to this game didn’t you?”

“But you’re not, ” Kyle says.

“I can’t,” his father hangs his head.

“So you say,” Kyle turns his head away from his father.

Chris glances in his son’s direction. “I’ve got to be at the hospital.”

Kyle snaps his head in his father’s direction. “I don’t even know why you still bother. She put herself there. She’s the one who put herself in a coma. She didn’t think about anybody else but herself when she took that shit and decided it was a good idea to go for a drive. All she’s ever thought about is herself. She can rot away in that hospital bed for all I care!”

Chris lays his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Kyle, don’t. You know that’s not true. She loved you. Still loves you and you’ll see that when she wakes up.”

Kyle shrugs off his father’s hand. “Give it up Dad, the doctor’s said she’s not going to wake up. She fried her brains and the car crash scrambled them even more. She can’t even breathe without the machines. She’s not coming back! I lost my mother a long time ago.”

Kyle feels the tears start to well up again, but bats them away with his fist.

Chris knows there’s no trying to explain things to his son. He’s been trying and trying to make him understand for the past month, but his son can’t see beyond his own anger. And Chris doesn’t blame him. He’s angry as well. At himself, for not seeing how far gone Mary was. He blames himself for not being more insistent, for accepting her excuses, for believing in her when she told him she was going to get better. He loved her too damn much to believe otherwise.

They pull into the school and Chris parks behind the bus. Kyle bursts out of the car and then opens the back door to grab his gear. He slams the back door shut and ignores his father’s shout of, “good luck!”

Chris watches Kyle get on the bus, high-fiving his buddies as he passes by them. He sees Kyle laugh at something one of his teammates say and then watches as Kyle places himself in one of the high-backed bus seats.Chris waves even though Kyle refuses to look at him through the window.

Chris watches the school bus leave the driveway and head down the road.After the bus is long gone, Chris puts his car in gear and sighs. He begins his journey to the hospital where his wife lies in a coma. A coma that was induced by the car crash his wife was in while she was high.Chris feels dread and hope at the same time. Dread that his wife hasn’t come out of her coma and the decision he may have to make on whether or not to take her off life support. And hope that she has awakened and they can begin the process of healing.

But then dread fills him once again, because if she has awakened and survived this latest ordeal, he worries that her addiction will consume her yet again and he and Kyle will again suffer through the pain of seeing a loved one battle a drug addiction that they have no control over.Chris sighs again, there is no happy ending for him or his son.

Either way Mary is lost to them..

****

The Bottle

The distance grows
The time apart seems like death

Knowing that the space will spread
Until the gap becomes a black hole

Feeling as though the tunnel is too long
Too far
To reach you

Yelling out your name
An echo my only answer
Throwing out a lifeline
Filled only with love
And hope

Begging you to grab it
In order to save you from
Your lonely solitude of depression and despair

​But the bottle
Battles me each day
Taking you further and further into the blackness

I don’t know how long I can hold on
Without eventually following you into the abyss
In order to be with you
If it’s the only way to hold you

That’s Not Me

depression

I rarely write in depth about my personal life. What I have to say is generally through the words of a poem and the meaning is fairly obvious to those who read it. I don’t mince words and I don’t beat around the bush…I say what the hell is on my mind and the consequences be damn. But I have been struggling for years with a sort of depression that comes from things not having worked out the way I had envisioned. And I know I’m not alone in these kinds of feelings. I truly believe, everyone, at one point or another has suffered through these kinds of feelings. It’s how we deal with them that makes the difference.

When I divorced my second husband, I had in mind that my life would somehow be different, that I would be better off on my own. I didn’t want or need anyone telling me how I should or shouldn’t live my life…to insinuate that my thoughts and feelings were secondary to his. At age 46, I had had enough of that and after fifteen years of marriage to this man, I left my marriage.

I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do, how I would afford to take care of myself or if love would ever find me again. I fell into what the doctor’s told me was “low-grade” depression. I was prescribed anti-depressants and although they may have worked, I was uncomfortable taking drugs, so I stopped…which probably wasn’t the smartest move because whatever depression I had been feeling quickly escalated. I moped around, felt like a sloth, drank way too much wine and slept and slept and slept. I was motivated only to go to work (bills still had to paid) and would put on my happy face for my children when they visited (can’t let the kids know what a basket-case Mom was).

stronger

This went on for over two years. Even though I began dating again, I wasn’t able to give myself to the notion of a “true romance.” I fought it and felt undeserving of any sort of kindness he showed me. We never became the sort of relationship I felt I was meant for and we soon broke things off. I fell into an even deeper depression and found myself almost unable to climb out of it. I had failed at my marriage, failed at a potential relationship, I was unable to keep my finances in order, I had cut off most of my family,  and my children  were getting older and didn’t need to rely on me. Who was I, if I wasn’t a mother? A wife? Not even a girlfriend? I was nobody.

I turned inward. I filled journal after journal with crazy scribblings, rants, injustices done to me. Page after page of anger, resentment, built-up words that had gone unsaid. It poured out of me like a mad, raging thunderstorm. Cutting and slicing, the rain beating me down into a drenched mess of emotion.

And it was weird, but writing, for me, was the answer. To write the words, that had for years rolled around inside my head, seemed to give me a sense of relief, of freedom.

I never shared any of this with anyone. Those journals were for me and me only. In fact, I no longer even have them, they were ripped up and thrown into the trash years ago. I no longer needed them, I had said what I needed. Nobody else needed to read it. I doubt they would even understand the torture of feeling useless, unworthy and unneeded.

Depression is real, it makes us forget everything that’s good and beautiful in our lives. It weighs so heavily that at times we feel as though we are being smothered by the sheer enormity of it. Thoughts of suicide constantly flicker and seems like the only answer to find the relief from the black and dark places that fill our minds. It is a heavy weight that begs us to follow it into a murky cesspool.

I cannot say that my dark thoughts have disappeared, they have not, it’s not that simple. What keeps me in the light, is my children and my grandson. How completely selfish would it be of me to forget what I mean to THEM? What kind of suffering would they go through because I had decided that ending my life was the only possible solution?

But, No! I am stronger than that! I want to see my son fall in love and give his heart to another! I want to see my daughter and son-in-law, grow old together! I want to see my grandson grow into a man! These are the things that life is about.

So, I pull myself out of the cesspool and just get on with things.

happyagain

Your Love

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare.

when i think of you

Artwork by Tatyana Ilieva 

You’re the medley of every slow song,

That sings to my soul.

 

You’re the breeze as it moves silently through the trees,

Whispering into my ears.

 

You’re the waves of the ocean as they crash over my body,

Leaving me tingling as they slide back to regain momentum.

 

You touch me on so many different levels.

Your presence soothes me.

Your arms calm me as they hold me close.

 

Knowing you are near, whether in the same room,

Or just outside the door,

Comforts and eases my mind.

 

Your smile of happiness, your eyes filled with love,

Tell me what I need to hear.

 

Your heart beating into my ear, as I lie against your chest,

Speaks to my own heart.

 

Burying my face into your pillow,

After you’ve left.

Your warmth still lingers,

Bringing a smile to my face.

 

If this day were to be my last

I’d be thankful that you had shared your love with me.