2.46. The Wounded Soul – My Proudest Failure

This post is not about the many known names who have died over the course of this year from apparent suicide. Their deaths are sad and a loss to the world but there is nothing that can be done for them.  Their chances have ended. It’s sad but what can you do about it now? This is not about the unknowns who are gone from this world. Their story is no different. This is about the ones we can save. 

When I was 26, after my son was born, I suffered from postpartum depression while simultaneously suffering from an infection, which caused me to lose part of my right breast. The fake glue that was holding my doomed marriage together melted away. My world crumbled very quickly. I recall sitting in a bathroom and penning a letter to my child in which I apologized for failing him, for not being strong enough to have the desire to continue. I remember calling a crisis hotline while sitting on the curb of a dark street and telling some stranger I was a horrible piece of shit because I had a child but I wanted to die. I remember going to a hospital and asking for an evaluation. I sat in a cold, bare room, and waited for someone to tell me I was insane. After talking with Tom, he informed me I was suffering from PTSD, from events earlier in my life,  and Postpartum. When I said I wanted to die, he explained, I was simply asking to sleep…for rest…escape from pain I could not seem to get away from. I was released and attempted to pull myself out of that darkness. 

When I was eighteen, after being caught in the act, I admitted to battling Bulimia. It was a slow way out but I often hoped I would just become extremely frail and collapse and that same sleep would come. My mother told me to get over it. 

When I was 13, my father found me in our trailer in Clintondale, New York. I’d swallowed a ton of his painkillers and anything else I could find in the medicine cabinet. I was ashamed of my life. I was scared of being a nothing. I wanted to quit. 

When I was 11, I was admitted to a mental health ward, against my will (and my parents) for a mere 16 hours (a lifetime to an 11 year old btw). I’d gone in after a referral from a childhood therapist. Because I wouldn’t discuss things that were happening but implicated myself in several acts of self-harm, I was held for evaluation. I can still remember the screams and belligerent rants of those held in rooms next to me. After those 16 hours, I conned my way out of that hospital, claiming it was all an act and absolutely nothing was wrong with my home life. I learned how to lie on that day. 

When I was 5, a sibling found me on the ledge of our apartment window. When asked why I was up there, I said I wanted to die. My mother beat the ever-living piss out of me and sent me to bed. 

I have tried to die, thought of dying, hoped for dying…TOO MANY times in my life. I’ve purposefully put myself in dangerous situations, in the hopes that I would find release. Through those years and failed attempts…I never found it. 

I’m not telling you this because I want pity. Because I want you to think I’m epic and strong for “surviving.” I don’t know why I wanted to die from such a young age. I don’t know why I wasn’t “built” to better deal with the hardships of life. I don’t know why the unknown seemed so much better. 

What I do know are two things. 

  1. I was already dead. My body didn’t have to perish. TRULY, I believe I was a walking tomb. My son gave me my soul. I still struggle. I still panic. I’m still a hot mess. But I have never hoped for another breath the way I do now…as I have my son in my life. 
  2. Someday, I will die. I will not try. It will be against my will. And I will not want it to happen. I will feel pain as it all slips away because I will not see the tomorrows of my child, his children, the life I will miss. Someday, I will not have a choice. 

All of that being said…

I AM NOT AN EXPERT but I know the helplessness. I know the desperation. I know that feelings of sad hope that the damn phone will ring and someone…ANYONE will pull me back from the ledge and say, “I care about you. Please don’t go.” We all want to know that someone wants us to stay. That someone NEEDS us to stay. That our fire lights another persons world. We all need a reason to have no desire to step on that ledge. It’s ALL about love. 

The trauma that happened in my life, very early on, stunted my growth in MANY ways (so the doctors say). There are many times that I am stuck back in that mind frame of a child and I am terrified. I am frail. I am lost. It’s a fight to not go back there. To train my brain that I’m not reliving those traumas. That things are not repeating themselves. That I am capable of dealing with it IF they are. 

I am telling you all of this because we all know someone who struggles. Who is fighting. Who may be too quiet. May say the wrong things. May lash out at the smallest occurrence. May come off so angry. May push people away. May be an emotional punching bag. May live a lifestyle that is reckless. May be unaware that they are begging for help. May be pleading for rescue in their eyes but not their words. 

If you are that person…tell someone. ANYONE. Talk until your blue in the face. But keep talking. If you’re talking…you aren’t dead. AND THAT IS BEAUTIFUL. If you know someone like that…listen. Listen and really hear. You don’t need to fix it all. Just listen. Sometimes, that is all a wounded soul needs. 

Dear Suicide – I am proud to have failed you. 

Sincerely not yours…this girl. 


1.196 – For Your Cuntsumption

I want sex
Without the skin
Ten thousand brush strokes
when fingertips
become pens
gracing the pages of your…

Ten thousand
musical notes
flowing from lips
in baratone moans
strumming at the strings of my…

Ten thousand ways to say
those words of longing
in deafoning silence
with eyes clenched shut
and thighs pried open
I am braille
you are blind
Read me…

Ten thousand
layers of icing
decadent and sweet
because I love the taste of your…

Ten thousand ways to
deeper still
into untouched waves
crashing on the shore
that is my…

Ten thousand hues
to explore
through bites and scratches
smacks of the perfect measure
the prettiest ruptures of skin
I am your canvas
you hold the brush
paint me…

I want the sex
without the skin
above me
below me
within me
as I touch…
those words come

endless convulsions
spastic explosions
admiring you from every angle
as I watch…
those words come

Sweat and saliva
covering us like silk sheets
As I inhale…
those words come

Everything you want
sent to me on petals
of grunts and moans
through clenched teeth
travelling on orgasmic whimpers
As I listen…
those words come

Licking my lips
through each smirk
insatiable thirst intensifies
because of your…
As I taste…
the words come

Ten thousand triggers
to the senses
As tongues embrace and bodies

Ten thousand
words against your skin
chapter upon chapter
of gasps and heaves
panting through perpetual
bliss in every stroke…
of a tongue

Ten thousand
droplets…of rain
immerse me
and I am humbled
feeling ecstasy cum
through and through and through

Ten thousand
flavors for your
layers of buttery velvet streaming
like music

Ten thousand
screaming banshees
consumed by the need
to return the savagery

Ten thousand
oceanic waves
surging over the course of my…

As I slip into
and we soar intertwined

Ten thousand
ways to call your name silently
to watch you shake uncontrollably
as brick turns to
clay in your hands

Ten thousand
burning embers
as I am your…
and you are my…
and the words come…

I want sex
without the skin

1.195 – When She Has You

~Your hand tightens in her hair, almost jerking her head to the side, but she grasps at your arm before she will give you such control. Because it isnt your turn…not tonight.

~Sweet nothings shared like music as she becomes like putty in your hands, almost losing focus of where she wanted to take you, her delicate frail form becoming apparent now. How could she resist? Instead, she thrusts her body tight against you, her breasts becoming one with your chest, her tongue lathering yours in her much needed attempt to stay in control. She could ask herself, where are we, outside or in, near or far but it mattered not for our bodies could be anywhere so long as we are one…

“We are are everywhere yet nowhere all at once.”

~A giggle strokes her, trickling over every aroused sense, like waterfalls against her skinless, limitless force, like prayer for a soul. She is soothed. And she wonders of you so occupying her mouth, unable momentarily to explain, to continue but she knows that she doesnt even really have to. As no one would get it but you. How she wants it, likes it so, needs it all the more. Because she wants it all and then some. Because the body can only fuck for so long. And she is, in this paused climactic moment, one of her own doing, yet knowing you have driven her to this said place of nonexistant yet perpetual bliss, she is your damsel, whisked away in your arms from strikes of tyranny.

“Open your eyes Love, see it all with me. Swallow me in the structure of your build, as I am safe right here with you, trust in your intentions. Because you didnt know Papi…yet you still wanted to. Could you possibly comprehend what you mean to me, what you do to the most forbidden parts of me? I would say you have no idea. And I want to ravish you right in this moment, to take what is mine, all mine, to show you just how you make volcanos erupt and falcons soar and suns rise..but that would ruin the structure we’ve made here tonight. Savour it love, anticipate, wait for it.”

~She removes any garments so standing in her way, just the right motion, in just the right direction and bliss would be present, orgasmic transactions, to give, to take, to take some more and then give ten fold. She reads your body again and again, the best kept secret, the scribe that should have been read, she raises herself onto her knees, her bosom heaving just inches from your face, she looks down into your eyes, the flicker making her want to drop her hips down against you all the more, to fulfill and be filled in one greedy stroke. But patience is a virtue and her certainty of how far and wide you will go cannot be overshadowed by her lust.

1.190 – Quality vs. Quantity

“If you can’t handle me at my worst…

…You don’t deserve me at my best”

The clouds have rolled in and the storm is set to begin. The forecast is calling for guaranteed thunder, lightening, tornadoes, tsunami’s, and typhoons. The damage will probably be irreparable and the casualties of family bonds and friendships will be countless.

Fair-Weather Friend: A friend who is only a friend when circumstances are pleasant or profitable.

Fair-Weather Family: Someone who is family or acts like family when it’s easy for them to be, them change on you when it’s through thick and thin.

I could cry over what I feel my son and I have lost. Instead, I want to really focus on the people who HAVE been invested in the calm before the storm, the upcoming mayhem, and the potential rebuild that awaits.

 I want to say thank you to the friends and family who don’t depend on Facebook to be real friends and real family. The people who call to ask how Hunter is doing. The people who have set aside time in their busy lives to reach out and stay in touch. The people who have reached out more so when the clouds have set in INSTEAD of playing the vanishing act. The people who don’t just say “I love you,” “I care about you,” “I hope to see you soon,” but actually show that as fact.

I want to say thank you to the people who believe in me as a person. The people who don’t focus on my past and every mistake that I’ve ever made in my entire life. The people who appreciate me for the person I am striving to be. The people who have taken the genuine time to see beyond the hype. The people who have supported me as a dreamer and have motivated me to be a doer.

I want to say thank you to the people who have shown my son UNCONDITIONAL love. The people who have PROVEN that they love my son. The people who do not allow trivial adult nonsense to prevent them from reaching out and engaging with my son. The people who have opened their hearts, homes, and ears to my son. The people who have put forth effort to include my son in the happiness of their own lives.

I want to thank the people who have not shunned my son for the simple fact that he came out of my vagina. The people who do not put my son so far out of sight that he will inevitably end up out of mind.

In April 2012, my son and I enjoyed an amazing trip to Disney. It was the most wonderful trip of my life. Watching my son show such excitement to see all of his favorite characters, to play with his cousins, to laugh hysterically…it was magic. But the moment that stuck with me the most was seeing my sixteen year old nephew sit on the balcony and watch his brother and my son play. My nephew reached out to me and gave me a hug. He refused to let go. He cried. He held me tight and let the tears flow. He cannot speak. He has Cerebral Palsy and has never been able to say “I love you, titi.” But he told me. In that moment. Just as clearly as my son tells his tia that he loves her every time she calls.

These children are beating the adults. They are the real inspiration. The real conveyors of what it means to love unconditionally.

Thank you to those who have given me strength and hope. We’ve done the good. We’ve done the bad. The ugly is on its way. We may not have the masses supporting us but what we’ve got is real and will be there long after the storm passes.

1.160 – Stelle (Stars)

If you don’t know Vincent Van Gogh’s “Starry Night,” you’ve been living under a rock.  Needless to say, it’s one of my all time favorite paintings; it’s one of the first I can recall that really stayed with me. For whatever reason, it was the image I always went back to when I thought of what was beautiful.

At some point in my life, I started counting the stars (eleven and one moon). Those stars meant something to me. In the beginning, I wasn’t sure exactly what. Over the years, the meaning of those stars has shown it’s enchanting face.

In this life, we are lucky if we meet just one person that truly changes our world. We’re lucky if we meet a couple, a handful…eleven. I’m not going to pretend I’ve met my eleven stars. Up until this point, I’ve met a few. I’m not going to divulge who those people are or how many I’ve met. What I can and will divulge is that my son is not a star. He is the moon that brightens the sky beyond compare. (My son is my moon…kinda funny). Apples and oranges. Nonetheless, this is more of a tessellation of cosmic influence. Although they could never compare, the stars are important to the darkened town below. The placement of each intricate piece is fundamental to the growth and happiness of the town. That town is me and each star is a light in my life; someone who has changed me, influenced me, inspired me, encouraged me…to be greater than I was yesterday…in unison with the moon and the beams of light it effortlessly projects.

I have a new star. Someone who is my polar opposite. Someone who really can’t fathom how influential they are. Someone who compels me to soul-search. Someone who inspires me to look beyond what I normally focus on. A person who feeds a part of me that hasn’t been fed since my best friend left this life. A person who reminds me of my best friend in so many ways and in one that I have yet to reveal. Maybe someday I will.

It’s actually a lot harder to explain than I thought. But my stars mean something to me. My stars give me something that cannot be explained. My stars are not flawless. They are not diamonds in the sky. They are so much greater than that BECAUSE they are all flawed. When I told by best friend that he was a star, he laughed. “Me?” Yes you, dork. “Why,” he asked. Because I said so.

To the average individual, to care about a star in such a way would inevitably lead to a desire to reach into the heavens and pluck such purity from it’s place and get lost in possibility. Surprisingly enough, this star does not compel me to yearn for something which is not mine to be had. This star does not induce such feelings that would have previously haunted me in dreams. Don’t get me wrong, this star is absolutely alluring. Without a doubt, there is an enticing and pure aura that would drop any right-minded person to their knees…that was not a sexual innuendo, by the way. Simply a visual of what such light can do to one with weak bones and common sense. To best explain how I can be in the presence of such an appealing entity without temptation, I’ll ask you this: have you ever seen something so beautiful you stand back in admiration because you don’t want to get too close and possibly fuck it up? Such is the case with this star.

There is nothing to say that a star will shine forever. Sometimes, you are blessed with such entities and sometimes…as I have experienced…those stars fade and lose their glimmer. The sky is absent of their presence but their essence lives on. The spirit of their very being lingers throughout the universe and the world and all of its inhabitants are epically altered. Even by influencing just one.

I don’t know how long this light will shine. Nothing is guaranteed. Yes, the pessimist in me says this star will fade out much quicker than the others. However, there is no part of me that allows such a thought to hesitate in naming this individual a star in my sky. Perhaps, it will not be there tomorrow. Or some tomorrow. But for today,this light, along with the others, has shone me a path I would have otherwise missed in the darkness of my existence. For that alone, the memory of those moments will forever change who I am as a person. A true work-in-progress…this girls walks along the trail of tears with secure footing…in knowing I have not traveled through this life alone. I cannot reach out and hold those that have given…so much. But I will always care. No matter how far apart we are.

“Man awaits jewels in a crown. I admire the glittering light set forth from the unforgettable. The untouchable. The unmistakable. These precious gems in the sky. The stars are a gift from God. Love letters sent to remind us of what remains to be seen.” ~Euphoric Damnation

1.144 – Heavenly Earth

Sitting on my lunch break, I read an article by Jon Meacham entitled Heaven Can’t Wait – Why rethinking the hereafter could make the world a better place and it got me thinking. So much so that I had to reread it. And then I had to read it again, only this time, with a highlighter in hand. And then I had to give a copy of it to someone I know…because I had to share this…whatever this was.

Meacham starts his article with a synopsis of Heaven Is For Real by Lynn Vincent…a book I’ve never read. He quotes John Blanchard, founder of Planet Rock Youth Ministries…a ministry I know nothing about. He talks about N.T. Wright,  Billy Graham, and Stephen Hawking…people I know nothing about. Realistically, this article…in a magazine I’ve never read…should be of no significance or interest to my silly little mind. However, this article…in a magazine that I’ve never read yells at me. Forces me to think.

“Heaven isn’t just a place you go-heaven is how you live your life.”

“…people who are motivated by heaven are also people motivated to make a positive difference in the world.”

“”Seeing heaven as the world beyond this one can offer powerful comfort, particularly in life’s most dire circumstances.”

“Gods love…should inspire the religious to open their arms more often than they point fingers. Heaven thus becomes, for now, the reality one creates in the service of the poor, the sick, the enslaved, the oppressed.”

“Our entrance into heaven has nothing to do with how good we are; what matters is how good Jesus is, and what He did for us.”

I’m just a girl. A girl from the Bronx. A girl who’s gone through her struggles and in turn…sits in front of this keyboard with one million questions and zero answers. I’m just a girl who hopes to be better and doesn’t know how. I’m just a lost soul dreaming of something beautiful…hoping it’s attainable for someone like me.

After reading this article, I asked myself…what is heaven? Where is heaven? I will not consider what the world tells me. I will not consider the images painted upon walls and on the pages of old books. What is heaven? Where is heaven?

Heaven is seeing that glimmer in my sons eyes. Heaven is laughter. Heaven is a warm hug. Heaven is feeling loved. Heaven is feeling understood. Heaven is music, art, spoken word. Heaven is understanding. Heaven is giving. Heaven is the unconditional. It is what we search for every single day…in everything that we do…in every encounter we have.

I want heaven. For myself. For my son. For my best friend. For my father. I want heaven for people I don’t even know. But how do you reach something that defies all sense of logic? Religion makes no sense to me. There was a phone call between God and I at some point in my life but the call got disconnected.

He may…in some way…be trying to call me back. But I don’t know if I’m willing to answer that call.

I don’t know if God exists. Without a shadow of a doubt…no, I can’t say that I know. But do I know heaven exists? Yes, I do. It’s not a crown of jewels and a palace made of gold. It’s in our works. How we nurture our fellow man. How we inspire our kin. This is heaven. This is where I want to be.

1.138 – Butterflies Die

Thanks for that lesson but no thanks at all

Keep the goods you’re selling for the next one

The next naive soul captivated by who you proclaim to be

But not exactly who you are

Shouldn’t have said a word

…And spare the trouble

Work on saving


Now it’s time

For me to say goodbye

Wanted to be friends

But even butterflies die.

1.136 – He Lives On Paper

I’ll write him into life – I’ve said so before

Since nothing I see is picturesque.

He’ll have the swagger of ten thousand kings

Compacted into a bravado of tenderness.

He will be my juxtaposition, somewhere left of a Viking and write like a poet.

Integrity matched only by compassion

His voice will be like thunder, his words…like rain.

I’ll be his Nefertiti

Fed and drowned in the flow of his fruits

And he’ll be everywhere, in the eyes of everyman.

His presence will command attention

Strong hands but soft to the touch

His body will spit poetry with every stride he takes

And his feet will create symphonies over concrete.

He’ll be my Shakespeare – inspiring me to make up words

Cuz what I want to say about him doesn’t even have a definition yet.

His skin will be tanned, pale, and dark semi-sweet chocolate, yellow, olive, and red like fire.

Piercing eyes will scale the rainbow and make Crayola get to work on new names and new shades.

He’ll be all about art and beauty and he’ll climb a mountain to get just the right shadow effect over my lips.

He’ll wrap the towel around his waist and let the rest of his body air dry – because he’s that giving.

He’ll find reasons to smile even when the downpour turns to hail.

And all the while, he’ll walk on the outside.

My 21st century knight. He’ll swivel me like a red and chill me like a white, drink me like I’m some rare type and admire how I age.

And with each passing moment, he’ll tattoo my heart with love and love and love and love…

He’ll lick the rain from my fingertips and splash in puddles because clean is never good enough

And he’ll step into a shower with his clothes on, giving me a reason to peel them away.

He’ll be kind to those struggling and drop a ten into a poor mans cup when he could have opted for change.

He’ll know the flavor of soda that reminds me of my father and the one good memory I have of my mother.

He’ll know the name of the one who didn’t make it and who Joshua was.

He’ll listen when it matters and even when it doesn’t.

My heating blanket in a night of cold sweats…my personal lullaby.

He’ll get why unicorns make me cry and why clowns are not just some childhood phobia.

Dressed to impress but not some label whore

And he’ll give me his earring like in The Breakfast Club except there won’t be any breast to lip liner action.

He’ll jam out when the old school shit comes on, never letting fear hold him back from a laugh.

We’ll dance when our song plays and I’ll giggle when he says, “you tell anyone about this and I’ll…”

The life of the party without drowning in a pool of people

He’ll shine even when it’s dark in a room.

The scars on his body will tell stories words cannot dictate.

He’ll know how many beauty marks I have by heart and be able to draw my birth mark from memory

Because he pays attention to more than tits and ass.

He’ll teach me something and feed a hunger I never knew existed.

He’ll wow me over a seven course meal he attempted and failed at

Better yet, he’ll order out and try to pass it off like he’s a master chef.

He’ll search for a signed copy of my favorite book And know the significance of the fire escape and those cookies…My king, my love, I have yet to write you into life, to inject the first signs of air into breathless lungs.

But I will…And he will leave me wanting more

Eager to know his favorites, his dislikes, his aspirations

And how many times he changed his career as a six year old, coloring outside of the lines.

I’ll set my alarm because I want to be awake at 2:37am on a Thursday morning just so I know that face he makes when he’s dreaming. Wanting the lights on always, so I can bask in it.

Wanting the lights off always, so I can see him solely with my fingertips. I’ll try to memorize the thesaurus so I know thirteen different ways to say “happy””

And then I’ll add on seven more. I’ll wanna scream because he makes me laugh so hard I can’t ever stay mad

And I’ll melt like butter because he sent flowers again with those four words that shatter anyone else’s sad dozen red roses with a cookie cutter “I Love You.”

Lost somewhere between wanting to keep my eyes open while we kiss so I can watch heaven or close them and go there

We’ll stare at a painting and look at it from every angle until closing time and walk out of there saying…”I don’t get it,”

Ask “what do you think,” and care if I answer.

Until he exists, I’ll write him into life

And inject air into breathless lungs.

And when we cross paths

He’ll know my words to be true…

“I loved you before I knew you.”

1.128 – Temptation

I am tempted to recall your recorded words…to hit replay and rewind, to live in a moment of rapture when oxygen filled your lungs and love was true. I am tempted to say I miss being understood by a chaotic soul filled with divine, unprecedented beauty. I am tempted to cower under auburn sheets…whispering silly jokes only you would understand. I am tempted to laugh when I fall because I know you would. I am tempted to speak in a language that is not my own because you would speak it fluently with me. I am tempted to cry rivers and oceans and tear down mountains with the anguish of a broken heart. I am tempted to call out to you in songs only we can identify. I am tempted to talk you on the wind of a melody…codes embedded in the strum of a guitar and the voice of a dead artist. I am tempted to sleep an eternal slumber, so we can swim in a fountain and lay on the sands of our island. I am tempted to swear off what I do not have because I know what I had…what my heart dreams about. I am tempted to whimper like the lost girl that I am…what I wouldn’t give to hear you say “hello.” I am tempted to read the words you penned for me…those words being the only words worth knowing for a lifetime. I am tempted to say no one will ever match the magic that radiated from the fibers of your soul. I am tempted to say I will die alone so I can return to you and keep my oath of loyalty. I am tempted to wither away and die…a thousand deaths… painful… agonizing… torturous…to see you for the first time…a thousand times. I am tempted to live on…to live for the both of us. I am tempted to be your tongue…delivering truth. I am tempted to be the woman you saw me as.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow