No Knights, White Satin or otherwise.

Oh honey, I know that truth too well. There are no knights in shining armor, dirty leather or white satin. No one is riding to my rescue, ain’t nobody gonna save the day.

And in the end, they all leave, it’s just a question of how and when.

I abide, just more long dark nights and day light comes and I am still here. No matter how long , the sun still comes up the next morning. Whether or not I’m alone in my bed, in my head or in my dreams.

I heard a snippet of a song while driving, she said ” I’m living in midnight and you’ll never know the places I go when I’m alone”. *

He told me I was cocaine. But I’m the one addicted. I’m the one begging for a fix. Plot twist, for me at least, I’m almost positive he saw it coming.

There is fuckery afoot, most heinous boys and girls.

I have to save myself, no damsel in distress here, well I’m distressed but no one gives a damn.

Big girl panties, ass kicking boots and halo straight. Gonna loose a lot of people but I’m can’t keep feeding the masses parts and pieces of me. There is little left of substance. Swiss cheese soul. It makes people mad, when you stop your bleeding heart from making a puddle at their feet. Suckle on nothing, the teat on this bitch hath run dry.

I deserve to be loved “well and often” Our Lady.

Loved well is the key. Loved like I am important, like I am cherished, not just fucked, literally, figuratively, and poetically.

* Lianne La Havas, Midnight

Me Vs You

Everyone has a story, their own personal treck through hell and salvation.

For all the hell that he caused, I’ve seen, raised, and walked through. Watching him lay dying, having the doctors tell me to call everyone to say goodbye. I can’t explain how it hurt.

And yes, I know that he did it to himself. And yes, I know we have argued, cojoled, begged and given ultimatums for him to change. And he never has.

“What we’ve got here is failure to communicate. Some men you just can’t reach. So you get what we had here last week which is the way he wants it well he gets it I don’t like it any more than you men.” The Captain, Cool Hand Luke, 1967.

Doesn’t change that I love him. Doesn’t mean I have ever given up a little girls hope.

We are all self destructive. His TnT that he burns his bridges with is just laced with alcohol and cocaine.

If the drugs, the violence, the fear, didn’t make me hate the man, why would the alcohol? The alchemy he practiced for longer than any of us existed in his life.

He has pride, he worked for it. He came up out of the projects, quit school and become something. All the women want him and all the men want to be him…

Sure part of that hustle was being the coke man. But he also worked a dawn till dusk job when it was needed. With all the adornment fitting to firm middle class.

And then the facade fell down.

I’ve never loved anyone for what they could do for me. I don’t work that way. It’s never mattered what someone has in their pockets or in their name.

My heart doesn’t even have normal prerequisites it seems I’m conditioned to love no matter how bad you treat me.

I spoke to Obi Wan, told him “Duty and responsibility doesn’t end because someone is an asshole.”

He said “neither does compassion. ”

Maybe that’s the difference between us? Compassion for the human existence. For anyone’s plight besides my own.

If I apply that lens to my whole life? To everyone and every interaction I have. I see the pattern. I take it on, because no one else will.

And that I think is the key, To me Vs you, I’ve always stepped up, and just done the damned thing. And you, always knew I would, so…

I am not going to drown saving you anymore. You are capable and strong enough. It’s going to hurt watching you flounder. But it’s still the best last gift I can give.

Get Up

We kneel in prayer, we kneel in awe. We drop, break and let pain take us to our knees. Bent and scraped and bloody. Like monks, baseball players and strippers, our knees, calloused from years of overtime and punishment.

We fall off wagons, pedestals, and high horses. I have crawled up and out of the same hells that I slipped into voluntarily.

So, here I am.

Pivotal moment. New Year… By what calendar? Anyway.

The thing is, every day in your life is pivotal.

I have fallen.

Hell, I am pretty sure I stumbled around like a drunk most of the past year. Holding the shiny things and talismans and my heart in my hands thinking that this one is going to help the pain.

Just more dents, dings, scratches and bruises.

Every time I stand up again, it’s pivotal. Every day, when I don’t give up, It’s a win, even the tiniest of victories, sometimes, that’s all I can get.

I got back up when I didn’t know that I wanted to. I stood up and kept going.

That is what I am best at. I keep going. I figured out, either way I can’t effect it.

Your choice. You told me, “you will learn.”

I always do. Sometimes fast, mostly slow and always the Hardest way.

Heartache is a cruel teacher.

Another lesson learned.

What do the boxing announcers say?

(Do the voice in your head) “She’s up, on instinct, out on her feet!! Does she even know where she is? ”

No, no I don’t. But I will make it back out. I will get up again and again.

Because, fuck you.