Marsha Lenihan once wrote, "People with BPD are like people with third degree burns all over their body, lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement. "
I used to cry when I said goodbye to my father after our weekly Tuesday night dinners I'd play out games of Go fish and Rummy like there was no winner, but I was victorious next To my daddy. His eyes still crinkle in the corners and his smell will always be long car rides with blankets, books on tape, and a wide range of conversations even though he was always late But I'd weep like he actually just dropped dead every Tuesday night because I was petrified
My small but portly frame would crumple and I would mumble the worries I was too scared to say I was afraid I'd see my daddy for the last time that day I thought I had asthma because I was always fat and sometimes choked on the air in my lungs as if it was strangling me but I had my first panic attack in grade three
I was sitting in Mrs. Arlotta's classroom ladida Just like any other story about a schoolday when I was punched in the stomach With a fist of "I miss my fucking dad" There was this bully beating the shit out of me with no prologues warning Just to remind me Despair Is not some abandoned pit people place their pity into Despair, can be like an earwig, you use hope like tissues to squash out intrusion But earwigs are smart, experts at delusion Earwigs know where to hide until you go to sleep
Every other weekend I used to sleep at my dads house with his british girlfriend And his lovely cats and soothing hot tub And his british girlfriend And the fireplaces and the tribal music And the british girlfriend And the beautiful homemade pond and the greenhouse And the british girlfriend
I liked roasting marshamallows until their crisp outer layer began to bubble but not for too long for if they fell in the fire there was trouble Bort are you seriously letting the girl eat sweets tonight, god knows she doesn't need them
I liked riding my bike through Elizabeth park their flower garden was absolutley breathtaking "you know Haley if you got off your ass more often moving your legs wouldn't be such a chore"
And I loved dinners with freshly picked herbs and seasonal tablecloths tucked in the curbs "go ahead, have another helping, you're just like your mother, disgusting"
Well Karen I hope I'm like her and I hope she's disgusting I hope she tasted disgusting on the leftover edges of my fathers lips When you two were thrusting, could you also taste the hasty goodbyes he tossed like Rubber ducks to a family Waiting in line for him to come home And waiting and waiting for him to never fucking come home
I loved my dad. Yes despair was everywhere but seeing my dad was like finding religion If a child could comprehend the task of going to church
Christine Ann Lawson once wrote, " The borderling queen expreiances what therapists call oral greediness. the desperate hunger of the borderline queen is a kin to the behavior of an infant who had gone too long between feedings. Starved, frustrated, and beyond the ability to calm or sooth herself, she grabs, flails, wails until the last nipple is planted securely and perhaps too deeply in her mouth. She coughs, gags, chokes, spits eyeing the elusive breast like a wolf guarding her food. Similarily, the queen holds onto what is hers taking more than she could use, in case it might be taken away prematurely. "
Did my eyes taste sour when you few times you kissed my lids goodnight maybe that's why there wasn't one fucking hour without a glass of wine, another beet, hide your shots of tequila behind the birthday cards I made you.
There was an ache of despair that you wouldn't always be there that when you decided you wanted to participate it was way past the expiration date I said goodbye to my dad after dinner last night without a second look back, I forgot he could be dead when I was blowing lines to stay alive
Experts say a key symptom of borderling is chronic emptiness Maybe if things had been different dad, I wouldn't be such a fucking mess And you would have to pay Connecticutcare less.
A White-Rumped Snowfinch (Montifringilla Taczanowskii to be precise) From a fat mother, From the peak of Beaver Lake's juniper tree, Where seeds arrive each night at supper (the depression never struck our nest! ) And from a fine education-- I've learned my ways around this town, I've learned the hedges where the crows cackle By the school, on the mountain roads.
I seek a regular, weekend fling, No titles, just feelings. Preferably females two years or older, Fellow finches or bluebirds will do.
Let us dine on seasoned larva, Sunflowers from the Biltmore fields. I will peck your cheek, You shall return the favor gratefully. Let us seize breeding season Before the flocks flock southward.
He drew the drab curtains In that cheap hotel room, Shutting out the street
Lamps and nosey people Across the street. Come To bed, you said, I'm all
Ready for you, and he looked At you laying on the bed Older than he was, yet still Quite young, at least you
Were still up for it. You need To undress, you said, you Aren't shy are you? No, just
Getting ready, he said, and Began to take off his jumper (ex-army), then the blue jeans,
And you lay there expectantly, Hands linked behind your head. The lady said the bath taps
Work opposite, you said, the hot Is cold and the cold is hot. He was down to his underwear And stood there gazing at you.
What would your husband say If he could see us now? he said. He would say: never thought
You'd find a fool to take you To bed instead of me, you said. He slipped off the undewear
And climbed into the bed. You Switched off the light and you Hugged close. Don't worry your
Sweet head about him, you said. But it seemed kind of odd, as if He was being spied on by God.
weekend.
Author: Terry Collett
0
Date: 15/02/2020
№ 1150367
Waiting for the Weekend
In the dusk of war Of my own personal battles That seethed and wailed, Uprooted from the ground Like weeds beneath the shallow mulch Did my own fears come to fruition, Seeds nestled between memories Suckling on life as soon as it enters me. Joy, Though rare and bleeding Did spill into my life At the same moment more people arrived - Those who would do the cleaning "Oh, come now, " they said For I'd been mulling about in My own person, Not as much as I'd been swimming in A glass of Merlot and cherry wine; For I'd drowned in a solution so pure before - All besides the sting and reverberating warmth of The lord in my glass Would be toxic for me.
