Lifeless Pictures

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Someone recently asked why I didn’t ever smile in pictures and told me I always looked lifeless. I was taken aback by this statement. I thought I did smile. Now looking at my pictures I suppose I don’t smile ear to ear but there is some effort to turn the corners of my lips up isn’t there?

Than I began to wonder. Am I lifeless…all the time? Even when I think I am happy? Even when I think I am smiling? Maybe I am lifeless and I trick myself into thinking there is a smile, a real  laugh, a moment of true joy coming from my soul when really there is just lifelessness still. Maybe the picture just freezes the moment of time and emphasizes the lack of life in my womanly shell trying to turn my lips to the sky in an effort to blend in. To not let others know that I died years ago.

Now, I put on makeup and walk around amongst the living but I am just a lifeless zombie, taking pharmaceuticals that make me think I am still alive. That make me think I am smiling in my pictures. When really, others just look at my pictures and wonder why does that girl not smile in her photographs?

I am the dark side of such an evolved gift of science. The one no one wants to think about. The side that when someone dies. Someone who desires and knows it is best to die does die and then is brought back by the miracles of science…I am the zombie that remains. The one no one knows what to do with. The one that science doesn’t know yet how to cure just how to let linger. I guess how to let be the one who thinks she smiles in pictures but is lifeless. Strange. I am living yet lifeless. I am happy yet no one knows when I am…not even myself. I was dead…yet now I live not knowing how to live. So here I sit. Perched. Waiting. For what I do not know. Maybe until science figures out how to truly bring me back to life fully. How to fix the lifeless part in my pictures. How to let me know when I am smiling.

Because somehow, since I died, I’ve been stuck in the middle. Only, the ironic part is I am as far from balanced as possible. Not fully alive. Not fully dead. Only able to live in extremes. Only able to long for what I remember of death. Only able to remember how much I loved you the day after you have slipped away. My laugh rarely escaping my lips any longer. Stuck in the silence of lifelessness too. Where there is no time. My emotions are trapped in timelessness. And my pictures are full of lifelessness.

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Missing you

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We are moving today. As much as I’m looking forward to moving I’m going to miss our home. I’m going to miss waking up in our bed and looking over at your side of the bed and imagining you still there. It is the last place we made love together and sometimes when I lay here it is like I can still imagine you here. I’ll miss that. I’ll miss making breakfast for children every morning in our kitchen and wishing you would walk in behind me and hug me while I cook your breakfast too. I’ll miss sitting in “your spot” on the couch just to feel closer to you. I’ll miss thinking about you counting the stairs every time I go up them just because you always did. I’ll miss closing the front door as I walk by and thinking about how you would be irritated that the kids hadn’t closed it all the way as they ran out to play. I’ll miss hearing the garage door open and wishing it was you coming home. I’ll miss all of the pictures of you around the house. I’ll miss your bathroom stuff in our bathroom and your “man” stuff in the garage and all your stuff throughout our house just where you left it. Just seeing it makes me think  you are coming home. I’ll miss everybody still calling it “Daddy’s spot” when someone sits in your chair at the dinner table. I’ll miss the kids wrestling on the rug and wishing u were wrestling with them too. I’ll miss the kids asking why I’m driving daddy’s car when I drive the BMW. I’ll miss being grateful for you every time I remember to go check the mail or take out the trash since you always did it. I’ll miss showering with your body wash sometimes just because I miss your scent. I’ll miss your boots on the shoe rack. And your uniform hanging up on the rack by the door. Seeing it starched perfectly like you are still here about to give me a kiss at any turn around a corner. I’ll miss filling the car with gas at the shoppette and thinking about how you would drop everything and run to get me candy or ice cream or whatever I was craving, at whatever time of night it might be. I’ll miss everything that reminds me of you here and how much I love you. Thank you for being you babe. Thank you for being my best friend and my soul. I love you. No matter where we are. We are one soul. I miss those parts of my soul.

There is only me…sorry

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Sometimes there is no light at the end of the tunnel.

Sometimes there is just me.

I tried to warn you of the battle.

No one ever believes me.

Now it is too late.

Everything is in shambles.

I bleed, full of self hate.

You, still looking for light at the end of the tunnels.

I am sorry.

Another stormy day

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The wind is ferocious today. I lie in bed with a smile on my face but it makes me want to run away. Behind the smile I think to myself, ” I AM NO ONE’S AND NO ONE IS MINE”. My heart has been glued in so many places where once broken, but he can smash it with one single whip of his tongue. I hate this power I’ve given him. I am not one to give so much of myself to another. I am the one with the power. I have the power of the storm and that is why we move together. I am always just a step ahead of it. Leading it. It follows me. Not the other way around.  The storm grows into a rage outside and I realize that lately he is not the man I used to know. That is what hurts the most. I take responsibility for this change. Although, I do allow some of the blame to go where it should. It freezes my heart faster than the wind as I step outside. I wonder if I jump how far this wind could take me. I wonder if I could just evaporate into it completely and fly with it until we dissipate free. But then I know the gravity and weight of my life will bring me back down no matter how fast the wind, no matter how high I jump.

I am utterly alone. As is everyone in this storm. We can try to hold on. We can try to freeze our hands together to hold on longer but eventually it will thaw. Or we can have our hearts turn to stone to try and anchor ourselves but we find we are still alone in the cold. I have never been good at weathering a storm. I get cold easily. I don’t like being cold. I like the warmth and comfort of understanding wrapped around me. Once I’m cold, I run. I need a new blanket. I need to find the sun for new life. Once in the sun’s warmth, I know another storm is on its way but in the meantime my heart is satisfied feeling its rays.

I don’t feel that now. All I feel is the wind wrapping around my feet. Pulling me toward the sunny beaches where new blankets await. Where I feel beautiful and seen as such. Where I am found in the sand as a treasure instead of a cold stoned heart weighed down in the storm. But I’ve never weathered the storm. I don’t know what it looks like once the storm passes. I’ve never seen a true rainbow or even know if they truly exist. So how do I know which is best? Do I fight for my life through a storm in which I don’t know my heart will survive all for a dream of fairytails? Or do I run with the wind? Laugh and play in the sun
and sand? Then do it all again once the next storm arrives? Tell me. How does one survive?

Puppet Master

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I am controlled by the Puppet Master.

The puppeteer, the bipolar,

The strings, the mood disorder.

Today I am not a cheater,

But there’s always tomorrows plans of the puppeteer.

You look into my big blue eyes,

Say I Love You as I act surprised

I always do, they always do.

On the outside I am everyone’s dream.

They fall, so deep in love with my mystery.

For the puppeteer does not show my strings.

I move when he moves my dreams and things.

One moment I am here

Then, I am no longer there.

At first this seems, to you, magical.

You find the elusive dream of me beautiful,

Perfection in moving in unison in our embrace.

But now, now a single tear rolls down my face.

You puzzled. But I know it is already too late.

For the puppeteer has sealed your fate.

Entangled in my strings and on his stage,

You trapped now in the reality of my cage.

The strings now force you to see too the other side,

Only the lucky escape with their lives.

However, the Puppet Master embraces the lucky’s hearts for all eternity,

And evilly replaces only the beauty of me in it’s memory.

I beg, denied,

Why. Why the Puppet Master hides.

This nightmare continues,

And I am repeatedly abused.

My rage begins to grow larger while internally I quietly fray.

I pray, plead, pleasure at the thought of death no matter the way.

The puppeteer now lures one in who,

I see differently and look at confused.

I pull at my strings desperately,

But to no avail, I cannot become free.

The same story only the puppeteer knows.

He sees how my heart for this one grows.

Once in my strings, we marry.

My tears cannot relieve the guilt I carry.

Everyone, even I, mistake my tears for tragedies upon me inflicted.

Instead, I weep for my husband who is now in bed with the wicked.

My internal rage is too much to bare,

For forcing this upon those souls who care.

I explode and implode all at once.

Still, still no one understands my plunge.

Covered in splintered tears,

Ravaged by my darkest fears,

Upon a broken stage apologizing for my failures,

Unable to defeat the Puppet Master’

I hear a soft whisper.

Turn my head slightly to see my Master,

Glaring, familiar, staring back at me,

Is my invisible disease.

I whisper in the dark Where do I go from here?

And it replies in my soft whisper that I cannot hear.