Months of silence

Yet my heart beats at the sight of you

So badly I beg myself to talk to you

I try and smile at you but just stare

So badly I try and let go

Why can't I let you go?

It can't be love. We ended so terribly.

Come back to me

Just to hear you say my name

One last time.

Strangers again

Yet I know so much about you

Don't you know I miss you

I shouldn't.

Just to feel your arms around me

One last time.

We don't become who we want to be 

We become who we aim to be 

We don't reach were we want to go 

We reach were we push our selves

We don't see what we want to see 

We see what we open our eyes to 

We don't fall in love with who we want to love 

We  love who ever our heart opens for 

Dear Mom,

Let me first start by saying that there's not a day that has gone by in these last 20 years that I haven't thought of you. In the last few months leading up to today, I've spent a lot of time thinking about how your death has shaped me into who I am. I like to think that the best in me comes from you and the profound impact you have on my life. Your death has taught me more about myself and life than the 11 years we spent together. It has taught me how to truly live, love, learn, lead, and laugh. I saw the best in you when you were here, even in your last days, and I continue to see it in parts of me, Victor and in your granddaughters all this time later.

There's so much that has happened in my life that I wish you had been a part of. There's all the big occasions like graduation, my wedding, the birth of my children but the ones that I feel I've missed out on most were the smaller events. Breakups, fights with friends, the drama and everyday struggle. How wonderful would life be had I been able to pick up the phone or drive over for a glass of wine and a chat/cackle? Well, that's not my reality but I'm not mad about it anymore. There was a very long time where I was pissed off at the world and I rebelled but I later found out that it was all time and energy wasted. I stopped throwing a temper tantrum and decided that these are the cards that life has dealt me, lets make the most of it. That's when the best part of my life started happening.

Now that I am in my thirties I have a better understanding of the events that took place but it mostly leads me to think about the heartache that you must have gone through preparing for your own death. I have no doubt that you spent a lot of time trying to work out the details of what would happen to Victor and I after your passing and as a mother, I can honestly say, that would be the HARDEST thing to do. We saw things that no kids should see. The daily shots, the chemo side effects, the rapid weight loss, the casket. My perspective on your death completely flipped after having the girls. I look at them and can only imagine that's how you looked at us and it makes me hug them a little longer and a little tighter. It's gut wrenching to think about leaving my girls the way you had to leave us. I break down every time I think about it.

On a more positive note, those little faces bring so much joy and laughter to my life, it's kind of gross. They seem to have a lovable, energetic, and playful humor and I know some of that comes from you in a way. Marley loves to hear stories about you and and from when I was a little girl. I know you show yourself in little ways to my girls and I don't think they mind.

There's been many times when you've shown yourself to me. Whether it was calling my name, touching my shoulder, shadows around the corner, I know it is you. I like to believe that you are here with me, it makes things a little easier. You're in the passenger seat when I'm jamming out to Shania Twain's Who's Bed Have Your Boots Been Under and Garth Brooks Friends in Low Places. There is a VERY distinct vibe in the room when you walk in. It's comforting but at the same time, it's unsettling in a way.

I guess what I want you to know most is that although I miss you terribly, I have been blessed by your death. I don't mean that I am glad it happened but I would not be the same person had you survived. Please know that I will continue to live my life in a manner that honors you and your memory. I love you dearly my sweet mother. Only time keeps us apart.

Love Always,

Messy Jessi

Mixer in the afternoon

alright, on my third

but outside the Sun is frying

everything in its touch

everything regarding the city suffers

a famous, commercial writer once said

never place your desk in front of a window

sitting here now in the early afternoon

frontal lobe joggled just enough

head change

ice at the bottom of a glass

sings as sweetly as Simone with

the right timing

watching the tip of the mountain

burn from my window while I write

take advice from no one

if it goes against your gut

ignore and avoid kept men

with soft hands

in weak imitation of the greats

ignore their cries for attention

and self-promotion

while they use age as a gauge for

wisdom while their

wives fold their clothes for them

in the next room

which overlooks a tiled den

and a gorgeous yard

ignore the bullshit

to simply survive is not enough

while outside the mountain burns

and your words hit the page

with force

the reward is doing it

the reward is in the lift of heart

those of us who have made a living off

the writing will tell you it’s

a long and brutal fucker of a climb

but a climb with each second worth

more than a life

avoid the circles of trash, stench, and low-flying resilience

aspire to money for contentment

but be driven by neither

accept to banish

abolish to embrace

don’t place faith in

the existence of things you

cannot see

but place it in things

you know must be there

laugh at the sorrow

while the sorrow eats you

and outside the mountain burns

and sheds rocks like tears

the Sun disfigures dream

the life of us gripped

in the fist

of our own surrender

of fear

but spiked with moments

of unfathomable joy

of moments combined

in memory

that becomes our fortress and gate

our Mars and Pompeii

our sunlight, Liszt, and metal

our poets, singers, thespians, and

criminals of war

all the love inside

trapped but burning

beneath all the anger, waiting

beneath the unfathomed greatness

built in

moment to moment

the buzz gripping the mind

the time running out in this poem

before I start sounding like one of them

and feeling the oddly warm comfort

when you become what you despise

sitting here in the early afternoon

the dead men on my shelves

the dead women on my shelves

the dead-eye stare of a mountain

on fire

weeping across the desert west to

California

where I know beauty

must be waiting

while I sit here writing

ugly in desert

officially drunk

while the mountain burns

and laughs

at my stupid

fucking

face.

Tired of trying to see through this wool

I'm the only one noticing the gaslight dim

Begging for explanation; met with argument

So very alone

Against a barren wall in a barren room

Thoughts are my enemy

I wish upon myself what I would never on someone else... An End.

I wish to be stricken ill so I don't have to do anything to myself; except give up.

I'm dying inside.

Grief hits me by surprise

Dragging me, drowning me like the ocean's tide

It hurts so much that I can't even cry.

I've tried

So hard for so long to fly

Or at least keep my head afloat, but why

Why can't I seem to find

The will to survive

Or a way to revive

And can't even summon the strength to say 

Goodbye.

"When you give away your heart,

You give away your existence

And perish in the callous infernos of love..."

Why does this ensue,

When love overpowers you?

You are bound to find out,

In this ominous tale of love~

An unsung tale of a young lad

Who fell in love with a maiden once

A maiden whose splendour was cherished

And beauty that was known afar

Such cliched tale of love it was....

She became his ardour

She was the reason of his fervour

When he gazed at her mesmeric face

He forgot the qualms of this dismal place

He thought not about his childishness though

He knew not about his delusion, oh!

For mistaking the sand for water

And forgot about the penalty it holds

The penalty of this unrequited love...

Alas! As warned before

The striking maiden whom he ached for

Had someone else her thoughts

In this tale of wrecked dreams

But what the maiden knew naught

She had fallen for was a being, loathsome

Who had concealed death like a hawk

Within his sinister, noxious wings

Such a fateful tale it was....

Why does not the evil realise?

Shrouded will never be such a misdeed

And the smear of that ruthless sin

Stays internally in the hands of that heinous being

As soon as the maiden was about to be slain

Someone had already reached there

Alas! He could save her naught

And even the heavens cried on the death of those souls

Such a crestfallen tale it was....

However, evil prevails not for long

The lad who knew the evil one

Knew his guilt and his despicable crime

Had returned for vengeance of his love

The death bells began to knoll soon enough

For the time of the villain had reached its end

When smoke of death hovered over him

As he met the same fate as the lovers did

Such was the tale of love and hate....

Though being with her was never written in his fate...