Automatic Writing.


The static’s clinging to those little corners of my mind again. It could be from the hefty, energetic upswing in expression and the Rollercoaster I got on, riding his waves ’til the very end; yet, there is no end in sight as I wait for the zero hour to spring forth and maybe someone to knock sense on his door where I’ll stand firm.

There’s a haunted helium balloon dancing round the room in tune with the air that freezess my mind in paralysis, mocking me – Happy Birthday!!! It shouts like a toddler in hyper-neon flashing lights, reminding me that this year was supposed to be the beginning of a new decade, just shy of 40, with hell behind; yet, he didn’t come to see me.

Instead, this week was a curse, flashing heart beats that were tinged in this deep ache I have only felt a few times before. I couldn’t pinpoint it, yet I knew I needed to cry and still the tears don’t fall. I heard from him yesterday and now know he’s landed right-side-up on iffy ground. Yet, I pound and my joints hurt and my tears burn inside. The story isn’t complete. There is something missing.

I feel unloved by few, but it is enough. I am untouched. I am forgotten. I am taken advantage of and mistreated and scorned and accused and poked and prodded and belittled. I am made to feel as if I am batshit crazy when the lives of our so-called ‘enemies’, who made themselves so, fucking dry rot with ingredients they use to stay sane, stable and serene. Resentment reigns and I yawn with tears. Have they no life left in their bones? No fever or chills? Have they no spitfire or umph to muster up? The shit that drives their lil’ ones wild with cheer?! It’s no wonder we always took the jobs.

I have not painted in a week because I am too weighted with those things much too heavy of a burden to bear. I spoil my life rotten with shitty food and drink in hopes to Kickstart some semblance of life in a week, but in turn, I become lethargic and turn in at all hours. Mama said there’d be nights like this. I escape into dreams and I hang on every word of those friends I’ve recently met who have become my tribe, who know me as if we agreed to walk this line together.

I hang on their words, their wisdom, the hearts and I steady myself on their brows and warm up beneath the fires within their welcoming embrace. The static seems to render imagery of an elusive place called home, one of which I am reminded. I stay near their calling as it firmly plants me in the ground and lifts my head like a seed through the noise, into thin air, where clarity reigns.

Yet he didn’t come to see me.

And he didn’t ask me how it went.

He barely uttered Merry Unbirthday, ending the 7-year Curse, but wanted to take my hand.

As the cursor jogs my memory – a man I still love, who once swore to stand by me, puts me in a space where I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.

I don’t.

I do.



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