Regret: A Poem

Hello, readers. I’ve been slacking. My goal was to write a poem everyday. So far, I’ve written five, I think. Last year I wrote four so I’ve upped the ante. But I’m not here to please you. The first line of this poem was to start an actual paragraph; a description. Instead, it started a poem. Enjoy.

I haven’t written in very long.

I’m a sad song

You listen to cry

But then forget

The promise you made

Fills a heart with regret

You listen

You yearn

You cry

You burn

Your deceit is gripping

On a love that’s slipping

Don’t fear what’s gone

Or what’s not been

Fear what’s here

For regret is a sin



It’s possible that the above title looks familiar. Perhaps it is something you have read this morning. You should know, I am part of a movement, and I too, will not be silenced. 

Written after reading the article in Time Magazine:

I read Time’s article this morning and became very proud of all the women who took the step forward to incite change. 

A movement I’ve been recalling in my head fo a very long time. We’ve been silenced enough. 

But through these trying months, it brings about all the times I’ve ever been sexually harassed and assaulted. It’s been openening a scab on the verge of healing. Or perhaps, it wasn’t that I was healed, it’s that I was numb. 

At work, a coworker, who’s thoughts should remain just that, produced into the vile protruding from his mouth. But not in a room where no one could hear, but in a room full of witnesses. After he felt he was done, after he laughed, after he walked away feeling a sense of accomplishment, and through what I felt was a sense of pride, I was left feeling disgusted and silenced. I didn’t know what to say and what I wanted to say would provoke more attention than I had desired. 

One coworker, a witness, a man, apologized for what he saw, saying I should never have to put up with that. Well, he’s right. I said, but I do because I’ve “put up with it” my entire life. At the risk of sounding conceited, I apologized, but felt the need to defend my words. So I said them in a stronger tone. I remembered the women taking steps forward so I didn’t have to take a step back. I do put up with it at the risk of losing it all, but I shouldn’t have to. I should be able to go to work and not have to deal with the likes of men who can’t find the decency to respect a woman. 

I remind myself of others. For it is through this movement, that women like myself can feel empowered to do what is right. 

“We can do it!”, rings in my ears. It means more than doing a job a man can do and even doing it better than a man, but that we too can have a voice, a box to speak, a mountain from which to yell, and a moon from which to scream – ME TOO!, and I (we) will no longer be silenced, shamed, ridiculed, or made to feel numb. We will no longer “put up with it”. 

I too will share and hope that my words, my inspiration will do more than spark a fire. I (we) hope it will fuel a raging inferno that burns until all the women find their voice. 

So yes, men, perhaps you should feel scared. Perhaps you should wonder about your actions, your words, your thoughts. Because as a woman, all that cocnsumes me are my thoughts, actions, words, and how they will make you react, and how I use less of them to draw away attention. The tables have turned and you should be afraid that I will never be silent again. 

It’s Time

I paused yesterday during my internal struggle for peace and realized I have been neglectful. 

I have been neglecting myself. I preach what should be done and when it comes to it, I fall short. 

It’s what happens, I suppose. We are supposed to learn, fail, and grow. 

I wonder when I’ll succeed. When I’ll stop falling short. But these questions I’m never suppose to know. That’s the complexity of life. We live, try our best, and share our wisdom. 

It’s a turbulent journey. 

When life becomes too much to bear, I have to pause and think about being grateful. It doesn’t come easy. I’ve come to realize, it never will. 

In the tradition of using Friday to think about what I’m grateful for, I’ll give you a list. 

It’s small, but it’s truth is real. 

  • In times where I feel alone, a friend shines through and reminds me they’ve always been there. For this, I am grateful for my friends. I have a handful that really know me, and I love them all. 
  • I am grateful for my parents. They do all they can for me, and I never say thank you enough. 
  • I am grateful I have a job. I often loathe it, but it’s still there as long as they find me worthy. 
  • My niece. She’s amazing, smart, funny, and when you’re sad she knows exactly what to do. She’s a true gift. 

Take some time to pause and be grateful. It can be difficult, but it gives new perspective and sometimes that’s all we need to silence the mind. 

He’s pausing, but it’s possible he’s thinking about cookies. 


Time is relevant,

So they say

Quickly it goes,

Quickly it stays

Passing slowly,

Passing through

Time for you,

Time against you

I’ll wait decades

I’ll wait minutes,

Each day passing,

Is hell without you in it.

I’ll see you here,

I’ll see you there.

You are everywhere

Time is a curse

Time is a blessing

Time is death

Time is life

Time is a dream

Time is a fiend

Please come back

I’ll do what it takes

Don’t leave me here

Don’t let my heart break

Time is relevant

So they say

Time will heal

Time steals pain

Time is not

What I thought it was

Keeping me addicted

Like a drug

Finding Time

So I open up my account and see it is my three-year anniversary. That’s a long time, in my opinion, to keep writing. I know for certain I am not dedicated enough to this blog, but I certainly have followers that are dedicated to me, and for that, I thank you.

It is a new year. I have found myself in a world where new years and holidays, do not hold as much meaning to me as they have years before. I am not sure if it is because of where I am in my life, or if it is a simple reason like having to work on the holidays. Whatever the reason, my life has become an unorganized mess. I am forgetting things, and losing the will to accomplish things that are important. I hope to dislodge my head from my ass soon, but it can be a complicated process.

I look forward to new year, and anything it brings me, but I wish it didn’t feel like I have to sacrifice my down time in order to feel accomplished. I am in Florida now. I should be tan. My hair should be a light blonde from the amount of sun consumed, and I should be happier. For some reason, it seems, I am in a funk. Someone help me out of it because I am too tired to do it myself.

I’m bitching, and I appreciate you letting me gripe. Not that you actually have a choice.

Life will get better, the days will get longer, and maybe I will find the will and make the time to become a happier me.

Live well my faithful followers. May your Sunday be filled with fun. May your heart be filled with joy and hopefully you find a dog who loves to kiss the blues away.


Oh Friday….

As I lay in bed last night with a concussion, (don’t ask), my brain wouldn’t shut-up, probably because I was slightly delusional. However, I thought about Friday and what it used to mean to me, and then what it used to mean to me. Here’s what I mean. I used to love Friday. I couldn’t wait until I could sleep for two days and do absolutely nothing. Then I got that job on the weekends, and Friday could go fuck itself. Seriously, people. Friday was absolutely horrible and I counted every hour until work. Then I dealt with screaming, pooping, food throwing people for 36 hours. Now it wasn’t their fault, it was Friday’s fault for even existing and for people making sure everyone knew it was the best day of the entire week. I know, I know, I am part of the problem. I glamorized Friday, and I still do, and I made it seem if Friday didn’t come soon, life wasn’t worth living because we all need reasons to get smashed and make bad decisions and justify how hard we work. So don’t get me wrong, I am not making myself to be some sort of victim or trying to chastise anyone, I am mainly pointing myself out and letting myself know that I suck sometimes and also letting myself know that I can be heartless and cruel to all the people who read this blog and have to work on a weekend. Shame, Shame on me.


So Friday is a day I look forward to, but now I see it as any other day and to also make use of the time I am given. So you should too. Here are a list of rules or guidelines, if you will because nobody really likes being told what to do.

1 – Don’t be lazy. You have to work in two days and the work week is sometimes not pretty.

2 – If you have to work weekends, I feel for you. It isn’t really fair.

I think I have a point here, but I lost it. Let me see…

You know what, I don’t feel sorry for you.

1 – It is your job, you chose it.

2 – Yes, better and cooler things happen on the weekend, but if you get a Tuesday and Wednesday off, than you have a weekend and sometimes that is better because more establishments are open and you can actually get shit done.

3 – If you are a girl, you get to take advantage of a ladies night somewhere and not have to worry about dragging ass the next day at work because, WOOHOO! it’s Tuesday and it is like your Saturday because time is relative and doesn’t really matter!

4 – If you’re a guy, you get to take advantage of lady’s night.


I need therapy and this post is worthless just like the days of the week and Fridays.

Happy F@#$ing Friday.

Let’s Go Back To Sleep

If this time change and Monday nonsense has you longing for the bedroom, you aren’t the only one. Here is a little poem to make it justifiable when you call your boss and tell him/her your deathly ill.

The Pillow

Head on the pillow to take a rest.
Unlike any other, it is the best.
Firm, good smelling, and very cool.
It would make a hard man drool.
Unlikely to leave when alarm sounds.
Back to the pillow, in dreams to drown.

Posted from WordPress for Windows Phone

I’ll Just Do It Tomorrow

There are many phrases that give people excuses as to why they couldn’t finish projects, write that paper, commit to the exercise class, or call a loved one.

Time. I ran out. Here’s the truth. I let time control me. This sentence can be read and interpreted in many ways. Read it how you will. I let time dictate me. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage my time. I could have been more proactive in my daily schedule, but I chose to let time slip by and after the hours slithered away, I went back to bed. I told myself I would try again tomorrow. That day became yesterday and the projects, the papers, the classes, and my life became stacked piles of unfinished work. It’s not appealing. I even loathe the fact that I could let myself become so involved with absolutely nothing. However, as my husband would say, it is in the past – you must look at what is in front of you.

Ok, I will. In front of me is a pile of junk to deal with. I shall handle it slowly; one problem, then the next.

To be continued….

Therapy Time

“I can’t even fathom trying to describe what happened.”

“Just try and let your thoughts flow. If you can tell someone, it will help you heal.”

“I’ve heard this before, and I have to tell you, you are wrong; so wrong.” The look on her face made my skin crawl with anger. As if she knew how I felt or how I was going to feel. Sure, she’s a therapist, but I guarantee she has never felt real pain; the type of pain that wakes you in the night, the type of pain that enables you to form a decent relationship. I lived it once, why should I have to do it again. She was waiting for me to respond. Her look gave reference to everything I hated. The way her eyes looked blank. I really think she could care less what happened to me. She just wanted the day to be over so she could go home to her pathetic life. She glanced at the clock. The pressure was on. I looked at the clock too and decided I had enough. I got out of my seat. She stared at me and casually asked where I was going.

“I don’t have to be here. You can’t make me stay.”

“You’re right, I can’t’ make you do anything, but you do have to be here. The court has ordered you to take 4 months of counseling. One hour a week won’t kill you.”

“It might kill you.” I sneered a little.

“Do you think that’s funny; threatening someone’s life?”

“What do you care? I’m going to prison!”

“Not if you start talking. Please, just tell me what happened.”

“Never. We can sit here for a whole hour staring at each other. I could care less.”

“Well, you are only hurting yourself.”

“Sure I am.” Her rash comments irritated me. My head started hurting. I rubbed my eye. The pain was growing.

“You’re not helping yourself by not talking. You can sit here, say nothing, and go to prison, or you can talk and free yourself.” She gave me a stern look. It reminded me of my mother. I hated her and this therapist. I wanted to slit her throat. I imagined doing it. I smiled.

“Is something funny?” I said nothing. I wanted to leave, but she was right. I wouldn’t make it in prison. I like space. The clock let us know there was only five minutes left. I had successfully wasted her time. She was truly annoyed. Her eyes rolled every time she looked at the clock. “We haven’t much time.”

“I know.” Did she not see me looking at the clock too? The anger in me started to rise. I scanned the room for something that would kill her. There was nothing. It was a safe room. My eyes came to the door. The chaperone was waiting. His white uniform aggravated me even more. I tossed the nearest table and began screaming. He burst open the door and tackled me to the ground. I violently tried to get away. He was much too strong. I thought of prison again and I knew I’d be dead in the first week. The therapist shook her head.

“Three more months. Let’s hope the next session is more productive.” I screamed again. I only saw her lifeless body oozing blood; staining the freshly vacuumed carpet. I felt a needle pierce my skin and my body fell limp. I was going back to my room. Why wouldn’t they just keep me in there? This was getting annoying.