Spent

I've used all I had

I don't know if I'll ever have it again

I'm so..

I can't say I know I've felt something

When it feels like every day is more nothing

I wish I had the strength to do more

But I'm so..

Like there's not a nickel left of me to go on

Like every dollar of my being is gone

Like everything I ever wanted could and did disappear

I'm so..

Like I'm grasping at threads I can't see

Like I'm broke and nothing in this world is free

Like I'm so far gone, nothing but the longest rope could pull me back in

I'm so.. Spent

My house and it's doors: A metaphor

My house has many, many front doors.

Each door I made specially for a person.

But sometimes people change, and feelings change, and things change

And so, you must take back your keys.

And lock the door.

For my ex-bestfriend, the door is closed and locked now.

For a bully I call "friend", the door is locked but is clear and made of glass.

For a platonic love, I have left it cracked open..

For a lover, my door is wide open with a welcoming sign.

For an ex, the door is closed but not locked.

For a friend that feels like family, this door too, is closed but not fastened shut.

For a daughter by heart not blood, her door has been opened wide and I wait at the door welcoming her with open arms.

For a terrible ex-bestfriend who I loved and still do, there is no door blocking his doorway, but every now and then I hang curtains over it to give myself the impression there is.

And for those who have done me no harm but I take little pleasure in knowing, I've built them no door, if they wish to visit the must borrow the door of someone who has one.

And for those who have done me harm and I had the courage to not speak to again, they have neither door nor invitation and they are banned from my domain.

And for all the people yet to come there are extra doors waiting to have their name on it.

And the secret no one knows? ...The back door is always open.

Mother not mother

I may not be her mother, but I am her mom.

And she may not be my seed, but I call her my child.

Because I AM her Mother not mother.

Welcome 

I opened my eyes. The words, "Welcome to the world,"

play in my mind.

I had been welcomed to the world many times before this,

and if fate deem me unlucky, many more times after.

And each time I blink, I leave

only to return to this nightmare.

I'll only be happy when finally-

finally

I open my eyes to a better existence

and hear the words, "Thank you for your stay."

Hope: A personal opinion

Hope for little, and expect less.

(It'll save you the heartache.)