i’ve been looking for inspiration
all these long days weeks months;
i’ve been waiting for an idea
for an urge, an impetus.
a year gone by and i’ve nothing to show,
my life a nightmare of the dreams i had.
and now i find my muse again
lost in the cavernous claustrophobia
of my reality as terror forces me awake.
i’ve never had an ache like this
this hollow empty pulsing pain.

i’m an orphan in my father’s home
like a lost soul trapped in heaven
or a saint somehow in hell.
i’m tired in my bones and weary in my soul
but i keep waking frightened and sweaty
aware that my nightmares are reality
and there is no one close to help me.

In my last post I wrote about finding courage in leaving an abusive relationship from having watched another young woman reach for help and leave.  Here’s a poem from shortly after I left.

Why doesn’t she leave him?  Well, too often, even after she does it is really really hard to stay strong.  My little brother was my hero in those days.  He was the one who helped me pack and move.  I don’t think I would have made it out alive without him.  It was helpful that he was 18 and, while not a fighter, had the build of a teenage boy who built things for fun.

Then there were the nights.  I was miserable pregnant, sick all the time and awake too much of most nights.  When I wasn’t sick I was scared.  And when I wasn’t scared I was sick.  And at night it was just me and two restless kittens.  Night was when I needed someone close, someone to talk to.

Somehow I made it through.  Somehow I didn’t go back.  I found temp jobs and a trailer to rent.  I got a restraining order and a cell phone.  I moved away and went back to school.  It’s been a long road.  Those dreams little me had before getting involved with the psycho-stalker still haunt me, a small piece of me still longs for those dreams while I know they can never be now.  The nightmares are gone, I haven’t had one (knock on wood) for many years now.


About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
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