Is This Purgatory?

if you could read my mind

Okay, I’ll admit it, I’ve been having some bad days.  Days where I have been wondering what purpose my life holds besides the pain that seems to constantly be given to me.  As I have said before, I am not perfect.  I am human and I have flaws.  But even through the storm I find myself in, I will not let the enemy succeed in convincing me that God has forgotten me because I know that He hasn’t.  I know that my suffering is for my own good — even if I don’t like it.


I am lost
I know that because my soul floats outside of this body
Of mine
Searching for a way back in
I am empty
A shell incompatible with fillings
I am desolate — a testament to the deepest sadness as a survivor
Of the trials by fire
I used to think that my life
Was a physical manifestation of hell
But now the idea of purgatory makes more sense
I mean, the episodes of my life are so ridiculously tragic
That one would think
I’ve made it up out of a sincere love for fiction
Maybe I’ve been watching too many of the movies
With a similar theme
One of those times that I came close to death maybe
I really did die
The significance is significant
And the best explanation of why
My accomplishments seem meaningless
Achievements feel like they live less than that of a half life
If this is purgatory indeed
The bright side is that I died in grace
This purge will cleanse all remaining bad deeds.
In the meantime, my insides burn
Leaving my optimism charred beyond recognition
I’m hoping this is another work of fiction
That I will rise, sweating profusely
Panting, mumbling incoherently
In the comfort and sanctuary of my bed.
And I will step onto the floor of a better reality
Where each day is not another battle
Because God, I am so weary.
I pray for death each day
Because this world that I am in is so unbearable
That it makes the idea of the cessation of breathing
That much more attractive
I search for daily reminders of reasons to continue living
I call friends to remind me of what point my existence makes
I pray unceasingly to the Lord above to end my suffering
But then if the measurement of penance in purgatory
Is based on
The amount of suffering on Earth
And this is not purgatory
Then I suppose I shall pray for more suffering.

© Miss Lady

Glacial Bitch

inner bitch

Now before some of you get all preachy on me, I need to remind you that

     God is still working on me, He’s not through with me yet!

I make no efforts to pretend that I do not have moments where thoughts of revenge against those who have wronged me.  I offer no pretense about the fact that I am human, mortal, and as a result — flawed.  I write alot of material, some of which is autobiographical and some that is pure and unadulterated fiction.  There are plenty of my pieces that refer to wishful thinking or dreams.  This piece was written and put me in the right frame of mind — self preservation and an appreciation for the strength that I was able to draw from my situation.  Oddly enough, I do not support the movement of calling oneself a “bitch.”  I understand that there are many empowering ways of putting the word, but I do not participate.  This piece represents a new way of writing for me and I am pretty proud of it regardless.  I proudly present:

Glacial Bitch

If you thought I was cold before — picture me now
Heart transformed into a crystalized structure
Impenetrable with its encasing of
Aggregate diamond nanorod
Covering it — all in an effort to forget
The frigid chill you feel in nearest distance to it
Mirrors the summits
Found on the coldest side of the East Antarctic Plateau
But you don’t hear me though.
I read your emails and texts with the gelid detachment
Of someone who has heard it all before
Didn’t you hear that last piece I did?
Blame displacement is not a good trick
Weakend my defenses made me weak enough to slip
Now, out of the ashes in a stance of recovery
Stands in front of you — this glacial bitch.
And witness this one finger being held up
As you protest quietly
No, I was never one to refer to myself so ineloquently
I was never the one to grab hold of those letters
But back then, I wasn’t transformed into your creation
And having just lost the love in my heart
Who could expect any better?
Copy, No Transfer, No Modify
You’re stuck with the creation you made from your lack
Of the right words
You’re stuck with me.
The previous version was found to be outdated
Sadly in time it was a decision that came belated
But we all have to dust ourselves off and try again, right?
You made my walls crumble with your manipulative games
I used to cling to the hope that someday you would change
You previously succeeded
In recapturing my frozen icicle of a heart
You nurtured it and reduced its temperature
To that of a Libyan El Aziza
You rapped good fiction disguised as a nonfiction reading
And I believed ya
Then you left me drowning in a sea of my own tears
Created from loving you
So, do you not speak good english?
What part of til death did you misconstrue?
But not to worry
Apparently, there was a glitch in the matrix
And now, standing in front of you is this glacial bitch
The very air that surrounds me is crisp, chilling to the bone
You were supposed to be the Prince I had long awaited
Sworn to protect and give my love a home
You made me believe again
You were the one I was to spend the rest of my days with
My lover, confidant, my husband
I have wept unwelcomed tears over your abandonment
I have pleaded with my Maker for release
I have cursed my feelings and myself for having them
There was no acceptable escape from my grief.
But that was a week ago.
Now, when you speak to me
I want your core body temperature to drop beyond the
Optimal threshold for metabolic and bodily functions
I want there to be a sympathetic nervous system excitation
I want chills to become violent shivering
I want there to be a contraction in surface blood vessels
Until your lips become as pale as my heart
I want to be the reason for the shutdown
Of your cellular metabolic processes
When it comes to the pain I felt
I want you to no longer have to guess
My heart shows signs of blemishes, my ability to love
Subsequently injured
And no chance in hell of a repair
My empathic abilities are on the fritz
So as I spread my arms wide and grant you a wintry smile
I hope you are proud of your creation
Of this certifiable
Glacial bitch.

Have You Ever?

As per my usual, writing sometimes helps the pain.  However, even during the times when it does not, it still serves as a testament to that feeling.  It is very hard to recapture certain emotions, and I find that writing always tells a story — whether it is yours or someone elses.  This time, it is mine.

Have You Ever

Have you ever cried yourself out?
Like literally drowned your insides with your own tears?
Cried so much that just reactionary blinking
Caused enough ache to mirror the pain reflected
From your soul?
Poured your agony out into turned up palms of sadness and
Tried to smother the wound left by love?
Have you ever rethought and regret every single move
You’ve ever made in your life
In milliseconds…
Sat on the razor edge of a panic attack
While your chest heaved and
Your body convulsed in kind
Ruminated on every word
You said to each other
And while standing firm on your beliefs
Wondering if something could have been done differently
Knowing inherently that nothing could have changed
The wave of events and subsequent anguish felt
Swearing on the last tear that becomes the tear
Before the last
Before the last before the last…
Feeling like you are free falling in space with no landing point
No surface strong enough to hold your pain
Memories crash-landing on your psyche
Pinning and crushing
Until a paralysis of your common sense occurs and…
You want them back.
Back to ease the pain they caused
Back to dry the tears they brought
Back to make it all go away
Until the next fight, next argument 
Next un-meeting of the minds.
Have you ever?

© Miss Lady