writingtokeepmesane

[writingtokeepmesane]

Edinburgh

Coming back to Yankee lands

Well nothings more depressing,

No castles old, nor cobblestones,

To keep your eyes interested.

And though I love a Jersey man,

I know that he’d agree,

Nowhere I’d rather be,

Than drinking with Fern from Edinburgh.

Walking down the royal mile

I cannot help but grin.

The scent of food and whiskey

S’nuff to make yah sin.

So I’ll go round to the Scotsman,

Cause I know that she’ll be there,

And there’s Nowhere I’d rather be dancing

Than with Fern from Edinburgh.

I swear this is not a love song

To just one women Fern,

It’s a love for the whole city,

That inside of her burns,

A pride for all she gives me,

And I can’t wait to return,

For another night in Edinburgh,

In Edinburgh with Fern.

[writingtokeepmesane]

Dublin Coddle

Such a tender thing

To offer sausage and cabbages

Cabbage leaves soft and sausage with snapping skin.

Magical hours of work it takes

To make things fork tender.

For sausage fat to render,

To the sizzling sausages you surrender,

Aromatics and the simplest of dishes.

Dublin Coddle - a sound so comforting

They rhymed it with cuddle,

To point out the joy it brings.

Warm belly’s sound sleeps and signs of spring.

[writingtokeepmesane]

Nola

Believe it or not I have happy thoughts too.

Purple and Orange and yellow and blue

Richer and deeper than I ever knew

Kisses stop time you know

Soft lips kiss like dew

Seeping in deeper the more that we move.

Dance me round again as the saxophone groves.

Bursting from instruments,

As if smoke from lit incense,

Now watch closely as it twists,

Green smoke, purple haze and yellow mist.

[writingtokeepmesane]

Growing Pains

There’s a very specific kind of sadness that you feel right in the center of your chest. It’s an ache like someone’s taking the end of a 5lb dumbbell and pressing it into your sternum. Not everyone can make you feel this way. This is a kind of pain that is reserved for those who are closest to you. The ones that say things like “she’s crazy,” when you’re just trying to explain how you’re feeling. They make you want to immediately retreat from them, yet at the same time want their approval. It’s a sick and twisted feeling. It’s a well shaken cocktail of despair that you’ll never live up to their impossible standards and deep-seated anger that you ever allowed them to make you feel that way in the first place. They don’t need more than a disapproving facial expression to make you feel less than or doubt yourself. I understand it’s not healthy to live in the past, but when you’re around these particular people it’s impossible not to revert back to the most vulnerable version of yourself. The version of you they had the most power over, because there was nowhere else to go, no way to make your voice heard without it being immediately brushed off and disregarded. No ability to say “you hurt me!” Because that would require them to take accountability. There’s just “she’s crazy.” There is never going to be an apology because there is no apology where there is no acknowledgment. Growing up in a home with a narcissist means never getting that apology that the vulnerable version of you always desperately needed, and that’s the deepest pain of all.

[writingtokeepmesane]

Thanksgiving

There’s nothing like reliving old memories during the holidays to make you feel like you have a pit in your stomach. My cousin was sharing a story about moving and having to relocate young so naturally I bring up when my mother decided to move my sister and I into our step dads house 30 minutes away months before the start of my senior year of high school. I mentioned how it was rough since I’d been in the same house and school district since I was 4 and of course my mothers response is to immediately get defensive and say well you got a brand new car and it was a thirty minute drive… it was her used PT cruiser that she basically had no choice but to let me use, as it was either that or drive me to school herself - which let’s be real she would never do. After trying to explain to the brick wall that it was difficult for me her nose crinkled up like she had dog shit on her upper lip and said “you’re still bitter about that?” Was I still “bitter?” The only thing bitter at the table was the taste that her comment left in my mouth. After turning away from her I could see her face perfectly reflected in the mirror just behind my cousins head at the exact moment for me to clearly see her mouth the words “she’s crazy,” to my stepdad. There’s few things as upsetting as knowing that not only does your mom not give a shit about your feelings, she thinks you’re crazy for having them. Maybe if I just shove all these feelings down forever I’ll make more room for stuffing.

[writingtokeepmesane]

Remote Controlled

I don’t remember how young I was at the time- maybe 11 or 12- but it’s almost 9pm so a little past my bedtime. The house is quiet and I’m close to falling asleep but I have the TV on past when I’m supposed to. Then all of a sudden I hear it. The sound that makes me hide under the covers- footsteps pounding down the carpeted hallway with the minor shaking sound of the metal spindles that line the stairs. Mom’s awake and she saw the light on, on my tv. So what does she do? What any mother would do in that situation of course- flip the switch on the wall so the power to the television instantaneously cuts off. Followed by screaming at me for watching tv past my bedtime and then taking the very large and heavy remote control and throwing it hard right at me under the covers. What she didn’t know was that the remote hit me in the face close to my eye. What she didn’t see was that instead of falling asleep to the television, I cried myself to sleep that night. What she didn’t know is that I don’t think I’ve ever trusted her again after that day. What she doesn’t know today is that while it’s a memory she’s likely long forgotten it’s one that haunts me even now. The sound of loud footsteps still makes me want to reach for the covers.

[writingtokeepmesane]

Does anyone else feel like putting your art out for anyone to see is so fucking scary it hurts?

[writingtokeepmesane]

The School Musical

I finally landed a lead role in the musical my senior year. Months of practice, memorizing lines, dance rehearsals, singing, and acting the thing I loved most. It was the last time I’d ever be performing on stage. After what I felt like was an amazing performance and wrapping up the show, I walked over to where all the families and audience members were waiting outside the theater in the atrium. Before finding my family I bumped into a couple of complete strangers- students from a nearby high school- that came up to me and complimented me on the show, I never forgot it. After finding my family the first words out of my mother’s mouth? “That was boring.” I never forgot that either.

[writingtokeepmesane]

Write like you’re not silently judging yourself with every word you jot down.

[writingtokeepmesane]

Merry Christmas

Is it crazy that despite how much my mother has made me cry or angry, despite how she was the first to point out my flaws I’d never even noticed, that if and when she leaves this world it will be a loss so devastating that it crushes me? Partly from feeling like I never truly achieved her impossible to earn respect and partly because she brought me into this world.

Is every happy memory I’ve ever had with her still relevant and notable when it’s been so heavily overshadowed in my brain by bad memories? Does her always thinking of the little things that she enjoyed doing- staying up till 3 AM wrapping Christmas presents and making the perfect setup for Christmas morning- really ruined by the fact that she would openly mock “tease” me with every gift I opened? I would love to talk about each of the presents I opened with enthusiasm and was always met with, “Oh here she goes.” Her eyes would crinkle up with a smile because I loved my gift but the only thing I really remember was her comments that I would always have to “tell a whole story” every time I opened a present getting my siblings in on it as well. By the way I don’t do that around her anymore. The joy of opening presents is now reserved only for my husband and his family. After years of the comments I resorted to just quickly ripping open gifts and moving on. Does going out of her way to provide the thoughtful gifts negated by her ability to take the joy out of opening them?

[writingtokeepmesane]

[writingtokeepmesane]

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything but god does it feel good to even jot a sentence down.

How does one combat writers block when the block comes from fear of failure?