2020

So here we are, 2020. 2019 was pure shit for just about everyone I know. The only thing I will say about politics, is that I refuse to discuss. I will say one thing though and others should try to have the same mindset. Whoever wins, that makes him/her my president. I love my country no matter how fucked up it is.

I am not going to list any positive affirmations. People need to create their own. What I do know is that I am going to fight like hell to get my mind, body, and soul back in a positive place. I hate all the hatred. You can feel the tension in the air sometimes and it drives me insane. So I am going to try to put myself out there and do one good deed a day. It doesn’t matter if it is big or small. I want somebody’s day to be better. Sometimes it only takes a smile on the street.

I challenge you all to do the same. It is not going to be easy. Right now, nothing is easy in this world. But if we can pull together our love and strength together, we can make a difference.

Please feel free to share your thoughts and ideas. I would love to hear what all the beautiful people are thinking. Feel free to share this. Let’s rock 2020.

As always please feel free to share comment. Big hugs to you all.

When I Die

When I die, please dispose of me wisely.

Give my feet to the weary traveler seeking peace and purpose

Give my extremities to the mutilated affected in ridiculous civil wars

Give my eyes to those that need to see realistically

Give my voice to the volumes of people who have none

Give my heart to someone that needs its strength

My soul is black and bloodied…kill it once and for all

My mind need not go to anyone…its broken and cannot recover

Take these things while I lay resting

Just let me go in peace…it would be the greatest gift the universe could give

Purpose

What is purpose? Most of have had or currently have purpose; at least we thought we did. The Oxford dictionary defines purpose as “the reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists.” I translate created to mean “born to be…”. In my opinion, created to be and are in existence are the true meanings of purpose. For example, Abraham Lincoln was born to legally end slavery. Did he not immediately get assassinated? People are born and die as the universe sees fit. That my friends is a scary thought.

In my younger years, I had no purpose, nor did I give a shit. Without spouting out a long story, I got pregnant, had a baby. It was then I knew my purpose. I devoted myself to him like no other. There I was holding unconditional love in my arms. I swore off so much for twenty years. Then I wake up one day and realized my purpose was over. I did my job as a parent. I waited for the ax to fall and it did not. Thoughts of purpose have been overwhelming my mind. But to my dismay, I crashed my car in a big way. No one should have walked away from that crash. So why the fuck am I here? The question is killing my brain. I really have no need to get out of bed, unless you count bathroom breaks and feeding my fish Gilbert VI.

I always thought I was meant to leave my mark on the global stage. When I was eight or nine I wanted to be a congressional lawyer. I wanted to make change. Before I could mature, the world turned to shit. I mean the fucking world is on fire. It is so close you can fell it. The planet is doomed, why should I have purpose?

As always read, like, share.

…Rose Colored Glasses

Image result for broken rose colored glasses

I’m living in a pit of endless shit

You call me “mate” but you give me hate

When you need a dollar, you give me a holla

When you don’t need jack, stab me in the back

I once knew a man who meant what he said

But the assholes beat him and now he’s dead

What’s the goddamn use when the world’s gone mad

When you trust a friend but you’ve just been had

When the shit-heads far outnumber the wise

When a man can’t look you square in the eyes

I bought a pair of rose colored glasses

But all I saw were rose colored asses

The thing that really gives me the blues

Is scraping bullshit off my shoes

There’s no nice ending to this rhyme

I can’t find one, and I’m out of time

This little ditty is a collaboration from a poet friend and I.

Today Is Shit

Image result for fucked up day

So really when one looks at it, everyday is a fucked up day for someone. Sometimes the universe decides to give you a day off; though you are in so much shock that your day was not going to be fucked up, that of course you fuck it somehow, as if your subconscious is having a little fun with you. Screw you subconscious! The subconscious has always been an evil and mischievous place for me.

So I knew immediately today should be an easy day. I checked all social media, washed dishes, ran errands and them bad, it hits, today sucks ass! Now ladies and germs, nothing had gone wrong but by noon, yet I knew this day was going to be hell to pay for. I could take my time explaining the finer inter works that went into it, but I dare not bore you. I will allow you this briefly: It is only a little after 6PM, and I need to meditate and work through all of the nothingness that occurred today.

A Few of My Favorite Things

Image result for passion

Satin and perfume

And men in black leather

Tongues dancing over me

Light as a feather

Tenderness, passion and

Tattoos and rings,

These are a few of my favorite things.

Sitting in solitude

High on a mountain

Naked and pissing

Into the town fountain

Whiskey and men

and Gypsy earrings

These are a few of my favorite things.

When I’m pissed off

By some jerk-off

When I’m feeling sad

I simply remember my favorite things

And then, I don’t feel so bad.

Bag Of Tricks…A Poem

Bag of Tricks

I stepped out of bed this morning

half awake, half baked from the night before

I stumbled on something cold on the floor

it was my bag of tricks, my strokes and licks,

the things that bring a string of dicks

to my bed, inside my head, a way to shed

the memory of love lost and the fucked up,

strung out emotional cost of being rejected;

I stood there dejected, my mind infected

with the disease of waste, and the total,

irretrievable loss of taste for the finer facets

of a man’s heart, the healing warmth

of his tender embrace, the notion that

love doesn’t tear women apart.

I look in the mirror and vomit my sorrow

paying homage to another empty tomorrow

I wipe the vomit from my face and I pace

and I pace until there’s a trace of blood

leaving footprints there on the rug and

I shrug, feeling smug in the fantasy world

I’ve invented: the poor, drunken

soul tormented, demented, playing the part of the

broken hearted, bit by a bitch who

wisely departed; call me sick, call me

slick, it’s just a damned trick that fell

out of the bag of a stag feeling stung

by a bad whiskey jag

I fall back in bed, is this all in my head,

or has every damned ounce of my dignity fled?