Wednesday, September 02, 2009

These precious things….


let them bleed
let them wash away
these precious things
let them break their hold over me…


I heard this song and was instantly reminded of hurts of not long ago… early nineties…I was young. A mixture of breaking from a fucked-me-up-for-life painful circumstance, into a few moments of happiness, and down the rollercoaster of life. Yes, a moment of happiness there, just like a moment when I was 16. I think it was the alcohol and drugs that made me happy and skinny. Anyways…

Life goes on somehow as you find yourself …….lost (pun intended)

I am sad right now. Yes, I typically only blog when I am really sad, angry, or devastated somehow. As if there is a package of hurt, like a bomb, which must be dumped as soon as possible, without damaging those nearby.

he said you're really an ugly girl
but i like the way you play


I am unemployed, without health insurance, and am going through the hoops and red tape of bullshit public aid programs. The only place where family handouts are considered income. Where the burden of proof of a lack of income….. lies with those without the means to fill them.

and i died
but i thanked him


I had to drive 20 miles to meet with someone at the county veteran’s office to get a piece of paper to prove I was not a vet. Shame. It is a long story, but I was kicked out of the army. Okay, not really kicked out, but sent away cause I was fat. Or a girl. I still remember the asshole that stood over me and told me I was good for nothing….. it wasn’t basic training, and it wasn’t a “therapeutic” drill session. Let’s go ahead and hike in the sand for an hour without water…Memories I don’t want to think about….

holding on to his picture
dressing up every day


So… I have no job, no health insurance, $4 to name…

i wanna smash the faces
of those beautiful BOYS


My dad gives me $500 a month, and now my food stamps will go down..cause I got an income you know.

those demigods
with their nine-inch nails


so my friend has brain and lung cancer, not a good prognosis

these precious things
let them bleed
let them wash away


D and M’s house burnt down their children’s room is gone…their kids have nothing.

these precious things
let them break
let them wash away


The vultures want my mother’s clothes

these precious things
let them bleed
let them wash away

~Tori Amos

1 Comments:

Blogger FooFoo5 said...

I have come to believe that what you are experiencing is the "paradox of helpers." You would imagine that "all good things" (& I don't mean "financial") would come to those dedicated to serving the sufferings of others; the paradox is that this a broken, fucked up world. And so it goes. I have learned to swallow my embarrassment (through colon cancer x2, traumatic head injury, meningitis, pneumonia) & do what I have to do to survive. It will work out. Trust me. It's just a period to look back on. AND I never listen to Tori Amos. Rage Against The Machine will change your life.

4:26 AM  

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