Tired of making things sound pretty

I get crazed sometimes, this pinball machine shitstorm in my head. Yes, I need time to myself, I should start recognizing that I have to build that into my day every single day somehow, not leave it to chance and especially not wait for something to trigger me, tripwire me into solitude. No more disappearing, hiding, running away, beating myself up. I searched and searched for the answer and it’s as simple as sitting here in a cafe, writing. And now the searching is a habit I don’t need anymore but that’s so familiar, a ragged security blanket.

I have so much anger. Vitriol. I could be mean, nasty, let these things roar out of me after so much holding. Maybe it’s why I like such dark movies, feel an affinity with violence, American History X. I feel like I’ve spent my whole life not quite belonging. Most Likely to Make You Look and Wonder. Is that why I get so angry? Is it any wonder we can clash like titans, such alchemy between us, feeling and seeing things so clearly, so internally vividly deeply that we rage or get depressed when we can’t communicate or transmit that vision, all that pure emotion? Life is a movie, life is the book I’m writing, with a perfect soundtrack no one else can hear.

So of course I feel alone and it all just keeps pouring out of me and I wonder if it will ever stop, or is this just who I am? And what if it is? Coming out isn’t everything, or it isn’t just one thing. It is so much bigger and sometimes I don’t know if I can handle my whole self. I’m tired of trying to make things sound pretty.

Where is the glare, the flare, the slide guitar? I am still in darkness. So tired of darkness, so tired of searching. Begin, dive in, she sang. Heaven’s within. But I’m still trapped in my head sometimes, my chest bursting, throat aching, body throbbing, voices screaming, and no wonder I feel crazy. It’s PMS fuck you, doing my best fuck you, my kids aren’t with me, did I walk away have to move through the guilt the loss the sadness the faith the relief the rattle and hum of wanting her inside of me.

I am a mouth, a source of destruction and a source of creation, a light that will blind you and a darkness that obliterates everything, a plague. I’m an old scroll, the words faded, rubbed out, you can only guess what it said once so light a fire and throw me in it, light a fire and burn me down to what I really am–a heap of embers whose glow may burst up into flame or crumble to cold ash.

I am glaring, eyes squinting, fucking private dancer hips circling vagina pulsing music moving me moving you, I am glare white light causing traffic accidents and blackouts, my legs a vice grip around my prey, I am not your captive or your slave.

Fuck captivity, fuck slavery, fuck societal norms and conventions, fuck the rules and the projections and anyone who says it can’t be done, fuck the naysayers and the fear-mongerers and the bra-wearers and the cock-slingers even though I don’t know what a cock-slinger is and fuck paying our dues, the morning news, fuck unrealistic, fuck the odds, fuck the likelihood and unlikelihood, fuck the diagnoses and fuck the neoroses, fuck the change of plans, fuck the take-off and the landing, fuck the crashing and the burning and the big life that surrounds me, fuck blindness and fuck settling.

I’m sitting on so much power and so much pain, so much resistance to doing anything I don’t want to do. I have surrendered so fucking fully and will continue to do so, to throw myself on the tracks across the altar of the god who grabbed my shoulders. That is what I am and that is what I do and that is all there is and sometimes I wonder if the world is big enough to hold me, sometimes I need the whole night sky to spread out against saying yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

11 thoughts on “Tired of making things sound pretty

  1. skippyjonjones says:

    Wow. Wow. Wow.

    Your words jumped right off the screen at me!

    I *see* you and *so* honor your courageous, angry spirit.

    (I cannot even imagine touching the same truth and power within myself.)

    I am glad you found this moment to write yourself free.


  2. gailnhb says:

    I echo the words of all the sister-souls before me: let it all out.

    During a hard time in my life, one friend said to me: “Let the fucks roll.” Once I let a few fucks fly, I felt a lot better.

    I hope you too are able to find power and strength and relief in releasing this fury and this suppressed angst. Let it rip.

    You are woman, all woman.
    And we hear you roar, dear Jena.
    We hear you roar!


  3. choosehope2015 says:

    Holy.Shit. Just rolled across this post for the first time, and I think I need to just soak in it for an hour or a month. There are literally not.enough.words for what you speak to me in this, on this day of all days. A thousand and more thank yous. And more.

    Liked by 1 person


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