I break the ice So they don’t see my size And I have to be nice Or I’ll be the next punchline
I’m just the best friend in Hollywood movies Who only exist to continue the story The girl gets the guy while I’m standing off-screen So I’ll wait for my cue to be comedic relief
Can’t be too loud Can’t be too busy If I don’t answer now, are they still gonna need me? Can’t be too proud Can’t think I’m pretty Do they keep me around, so their flaws just seem silly?
I say I’m okay ‘Cause they wouldn’t care anyway And I could try to explain But my efforts in vain They can’t relate to how I’ve
Drawn out in Sharpie where I take the scissors If that’s what it took for me to look in the mirror I’ve done every diet to make me look thinner So why do I still feel so goddamn inferior?
Can’t be too loud And can’t be too busy If I don’t answer now, are they still gonna need me? Can’t be too proud and Can’t think I’m pretty Do they keep me around, so their flaws just seem silly?
Life of the fat, funny friend Life of the fat, funny friend
It’s funny when I think a guy likes me And it’s funny when I’m the one who says, “Let’s go to eat” It’s funny when I’m asked to go out on Halloween Dresses and thigh highs, while I hide my body
Can’t be too loud And can’t be too busy If I don’t answer now, are they still gonna miss me?
Can’t be too loud And can’t be too busy If I don’t answer now, are they still gonna need me? Can’t be too proud and Can’t think I’m pretty Do they keep me around, so their flaws just seem silly?
Life of the fat, funny friend Life of the fat, funny friend Life of the fat, funny friend Life of the fat, funny friend
I’ve drawn out in Sharpie where I take the scissors
My Two Cents- I have been fat almost all my life. I was tiny before I hit puberty…but I hit puberty…I got fat. or so I was told.
I was two in the picture above.
And here I was ten. Through most of my teen years my mother had me on every fad diet there was. She was certain I would die before I was 30 by heart attack. So certain that she had me convinced.
My senior year of high school…I was 200 lbs….
I ended up 450 lbs and unable to move…but hey…I survived 30…
I am down to 270. I am still the same girl. the teen that didn’t understand what was wrong with me. The person who never felt like she looked good enough to be counted as cute, much less pretty.
I got up early today and got in a big hurry… because I was scheduled to get the tires replaced on my jeep. So I am sitting in Walmart waiting for the mechanic. Now that is not worth writing about… even if it is an annoying thing for me. Though I suppose that anything can be a writing prompt at the right time… No, the reason why I decided to go into the writing mode… the email that reminded me of the appointment. It said that I was supposed to be on time – 7 am on a Sunday, and if I wasn’t there within 15 minutes then they would give my slot away. There was no one in the tire center until 12 after 7. So I am running around with anxiety…omg I will be late…of course I am 15 minutes early because I always am – thank you anxiety. Only to be made to wait wondering if anyone is going to be here for twelve extra minutes.
why do places do that? Doctors offices do it too. Don’t be late! Do they just like adding a layer of anxiety?
Some days it is harder than others to feel like I have a voice.
A lot of the reason I do the publishing thing is because I have had my voice stolen too often. I want to help others find their voice. Sounds kinda cheesy I realize…but it is the truth. I strive to make absolutely sure that when I edit I do so in a way that never changes the author’s voice…while still addressing readability and grammar. I realize that might not be important to some…but to me that voice is often what makes the story.
I know others feel like they are a burden, like I do. For me though it is harder to fight that because I spent much of my childhood not being heard. I have spent a good bit of my adult life the same way.
Let me explain.
Have you ever walked into a doctor’s office and told them your symptoms only to have them yell at you for not taking medicine for a disease you did not yet know you had? or have you gone in and said I am having trouble and get diagnosed with something with no test or diagnostic process simply because the doctor was overworked and you were in his office like the hundreds before you that day? Oh, and then there were the doctors who were quick to blame all of my issues on my size. Yeah. I have had really bad luck with doctors.
Perhaps that is why I avoid going until I have no choice.
Still it is not just doctors that it feels like I am ignored by. Though I understand that I am not the only person in anyone’s life…there are days when I will speak and get the response of *Sigh* What? – Which makes me want to pull away. Because that response only hurts. I understand if you are busy. Say…Hey I am busy, can I get back to you? And I will get it. But to say it like that…
It silences me. And makes my inner voice into a scream.
I feel like eventually I will never speak again, but that voice…the one inside that never shuts up…the one that says how horrible I am and that no one likes me…That will be so loud that everyone outside will hear it.
Then who will I be?
So, today….I am going to be quiet, because that voice is too loud and my voice is too small. I hope that none of you ever are hushed.
I am five poems away from finishing The volume Handprints on my soul…and I am struggling with my writing…Not because I am unable – obviously. I just have too many topics and too many thoughts… so many that I have been fighting Insomnia. The end of a volume is always an anxious time for me. It is when I question my writing. It is when I question my motives. It is when I question my value…
Yesterday I answered a poem with a poem. The first poem was written by someone I love very much. A child I had given up at birth because I felt myself in a poor position to care for them. The child is now grown and I am amazed by the similarity they have to me. Also a talented poet, they posted one to their Facebook page. I have in the past found it fun to respond to poets with poetry…A slightly odd behavior perhaps but I find it a fun challenge. (I have been specifically responding to haikus written by my friend, on his Facebook feed In haiku because I find the syllable count to be challenging.) So I did not think twice to do the same with my child. Their reaction surprised me.
They said that they would never be as good as I am. I responded that they already were. In some ways that is such a lie. I see their poetry as better than my own. I see everyone who writes as better than my own. I am incredibly biased. I will never stop seeing the flaws in what I write. Though I imagine that most authors do the same. The problem is though I have some days where my writing is brilliance…I also have the days where putting more than one word on paper feels impossible.
I have days that I feel like I am too insane to be allowed to speak – much less use my voice to put something into this world that will be around for an indeterminate amount of time. (That is what writing is you realize? Passing your thoughts into the hazy future for the random person to read.) And I end up feeding the darkness of those days with my own self doubt and anxiety. That is why I refuse to be jealous of other writers or artists. Why I just judge my work and no one elses (unless I am editing their work which is when I am trying to help them get it to a state of technical perfection…) I shy away from people who cannot understand that I do not require judgement or want to be around jealousy. Those things make me harder on me. Instead I need honesty and just simply to be accepted for who I am.
Today I am a poet. I am strange and I am quiet. I am introvert. I am a writer. I am an explorer. Who are you?
Ps I also seem to update the blog more at the end of a volume…mostly because as I stated…This is when I am questioning myself more so I end up coming here with the random thoughts of am I good enough…knowing that I will never hear the answer I am needing to here.
Dreaming comes so easily ‘Cause it’s all that I’ve known True love is a fairy tale I’m damaged, so how would I know
I’m scared and I’m alone I’m ashamed And I need for you to know
I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away ‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me
I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away ‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me
Healing comes so painfully And it chills to the bone Will anyone get close to me? I’m damaged, as I’m sure you know
I’m scared and I’m alone I’m ashamed And I need for you to know
I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away ‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me
I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away ‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me
There’s mending for my soul An ending to this fear Forgiveness for a man who was stronger I was just a little girl, but I can’t go back
I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away ‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me
I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away ‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me
Can’t go back
I can’t go back I must go on
My Two Cents- I feel like the lyrics speak for me. Some days surviving is harder than others. Somedays the voices of the past are louder than they should be. I am looking at an MRI for the migraines on the 19th…The problem is I am petrified of closed in places. I was abused by someone I should have been able to trust. When I was 9 years old I finally got the courage up to tell him I would scream if he came near me again. He locked me in the trunk of his car. He said that I would die there and made me believe that He intended to kill me. Though I am nearly 40 years older than that scared little girl….I still can’t handle closed in spaces. So I am having serious issues with the upcoming test. The man who abused me killed himself a few years ago. The last time I saw him I was still a child. He is still powerful, and I am somehow powerless. Some things the mind refuses to accept. Logically, I am no longer able to be hurt by a dead man…but since when is the brain logical?
I have always loved the written word. So much of my childhood was spent in the idea that I would be a writer. I had a best friend, Lucretia Fisher. (only one of a handful of friends I had) She lived near my grandmother. She and I would talk about being famous writers some day. We would argue about which of us would be published first.
When I was not writing I was devouring books. I read at a college level in 4th grade…And now I find that I am having trouble finding the time…last year right about this time I decided that I missed it…between October and December I read nearly 60 books…
I think I will likely do it again…but I am trying to get a habit with my writing. And I find that I am having trouble getting motivated. I always have 500 million other things that I have on my to do list. I wonder if Lucretia managed to get her books published. She was such an amazing writer.
The to-do list never goes away. I am fighting to help authors get heard. I am fighting my own demons to see what I write as being worthy of the world. And sometimes I am just hurting my own feelings. So, if I seem to be a little bit more in self-doubt please realize that I am still fighting.
Handprints on my soul is 10 poems away from being done. I am hoping that I can get it done in time to publish by the beginning of November. However, I don’t want to promise that or start the promotion of it until I get the last poem written. Because I somedays lose that fight.
Oh! And I will be releasing a new kids’ book in December. Not Another Danny is going to be released December 2nd during Fae Corps Kid’s Week ! I will try to get the cover reveal up later this week .
I’ve been dreaming of friendly faces I’ve got so much time to kill Just imagine people laughing I know someday we will And even if it’s far away Get me through another day Cover me in sunshine Shower me with good times Tell me that the world’s been spinning since the beginning And everything will be alright Cover me in sunshine From a distance all these mountains Are just some tiny hills Wildflowers, they keep living While they’re just standing still I’ve been missing yesterday But what if there’s a better place? Cover me in sunshine Shower me with good times Tell me that the world’s been spinning since the beginning And everything will be alright Cover me in sunshine Shower me with good times Tell me that the world’s been spinning since the beginning And everything will be alright Cover me in sunshine Cover me in sunshine Shower me with good times Tell me that the world’s been spinning since the beginning And everything will be alright Cover me in sunshine
My Two Cents- Due to personal reasons this has been a bad week. Today is not Tuesday…but I needed Music and I wanted to do some posting. So though it be Thursday…Here is some shared sunshine.
I’m Not a person I am a tiny little rat I’m Not usually formal but sometimes I wear a hat I like simple things like boggling and getting belly pats Cause I’m not a person I am a tiny little rat
I’m not a person I’m a couple of raccoons We’re all dressed up in Pj’s tho we know it’s well past noon You can say we’re trash pandas you can say we’re buffoons I don’t care I’m not a person I’m a couple of raccoons
I’m not a person I’m three possums in a coat We like to claim it’s Gucci, but we got it from a goat Say it’s vintage or it’s Avant guard whatever boats your float, I don’t care I’m not a person, I’m three possums in a coat.
I’m not a person I am four opossums stacked Dressed up in a fancy robe I’ll tell you that’s a fact we may look a little bigger that’s cause all the stacks are packed I am not a person I am four opossums stacked
I am not a person I am like 27 frogs we like poetry and moonlight and we like yelling in a bog and we are not even a hive mind we just mostly get along I am not a person I am like 27 frogs
My Two Cents- I usually do Youtube for the video, Today this song is from TikTok. (Second week in a row) This song is catchy and just bloody cute. I have decided I am not a person, I am 3 possums in a coat. There are other varieties of this one, but so far this is my favorite.
I am not my mother’s Pious Daughter I am one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones I am not my mother’s righteous daughter I will tattoo my skin I will not lower my voice She birthed a witch when she wanted a lady She prayed for a child who would walk with the lord But I watch the stars and I live by the planets I cut her dreams short with the edge of my sword We’re not our mother’s saintly daughters We forge our own paths, we sing our own tune We’ll make our own family and walk with our ancestors One day we’ll meet them with a song and a broom.
My Two Cents- I usually do Youtube for the video, Today this song is from TikTok. It is a reimagination of I am my Mother’s Savage Daughter. I truly love this. I am not the daughter my mother wanted…and that does not make me less. I am me, and I think I need to remember what that really means.
Pattimouse 