My Prose of Explanation, and Poem of Disillusion. This Is My Journey.

Missy is a unique writer who enjoys inviting her readers into her thoughts through her poetry and other topics of discussion.  

A Setback In My Progress Has Occurred

Blink, blink, blink…I’ve been staring pretty hard at the blinking cursor on the blank page for a while now. When I finished my last hub about time travel, I thought it would be easy to grab another great subject of inspiration and start writing right away, and I did find a subject I really wanted to write about. However, a personal thing happened to me after that, and it tore open some old wounds. It reminded me of a depressing life instead of that happy, elated feeling I have had lately from writing about things that interest me. Another of my sad realities now drowns out that feeling of vibrancy. I will not discuss it, for it doesn’t matter what it is. The only thing of any matter is that it has brought the darkness back into my light. Therefore, I must face it head-on and tackle it with my usual way of doing that, through thoughts on paper.

So again, without really throwing all my issues out there, I want to write them down so that I will understand them to find that release to help myself. The readers may make their own conclusions about what may be going on with my life now, but please enjoy the mystery of it instead of actually discussing it with me or feeling bad about it. These things are a constant now in my life. That much I have learned to accept.

A Conversation To Find Reason

I was having a conversation the other day with an aunt of mine, and we talked about how certain ways of life that others seem to achieve pretty easily will not happen for some of us. For whatever reason, we aren’t supposed to be settled or content in our lives. My aunt seems to think it is how we make choices through our own journey here, and I think that is true to an extent.

I have not been perfect. I made some dreadful decisions, which at the time, I, deep down, knew were bad choices; I actually had that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, which would give most of us a hint that it was wrong. However, I was young back then, and the heart and mind are risk-takers when you are youthful; they will do the guiding if you haven’t already grasped a mature outlook on life and know how to take the wheel of both.

When I was in my late teens and twenties, I was still searching for adulthood. I was one of those stuck in the middle of not knowing how to move forward, but knowing I couldn’t stay back; if you know what I mean? I made those few bad choices through some of my early years that later sealed my fate for lonely days and hurtful relationships. In that way, my auntie was factual; I think my choices in those young adult years have positioned me precisely where I’m at today.

Nevertheless, it's not because I don’t think we learn from our bad choices, because I’ve seen others rally straight out of theirs into a brand new normal life. However, for me, I believe God keeps me as an example. I know that must sound strange, but it’s how I have to see it. He has made me humble to my punishment. He has made way for me to be fine with what I now must teach and show through my own experiences.

Sometimes, it has taken me a while to come out of the pain, but I always understand that I will. I know I am a good person, and all the bad things that happen to me take place for his persistence. A purpose of guiding others that feel they are starting dreadful, a way to be positive and have faith, that even if they don’t find an exact white picket fence life, they do have a purpose here. It's not the things we have that make us the person we are or become, but the things that God has chosen us to live through and the lessons we take with us; that’s what matters.

And Nothing Else Matters...

My Poem of Disillusion

I wrote this poem out of something I felt has repeated several times in my life. I wrote it out of something I tried for but never achieved. And I wrote it to deal with the guilt of that. It’s normal to have guilt when you feel that you have brought others into the madness, such as your children, but there are also blessings to teach them as well. They don’t have to see you as bad. They could actually see you as something even better than what you see yourself. More than likely, they will see you as the best parent ever for being strong enough to raise them on your own.

This is another hub of self-help therapy for me. I hope you think it's interesting and forgive me for using this platform to medicate myself once again mentally. However, if one person out there reads this and can relate to it in a way that makes them feel not so alone, I am not too sorry for that.

A Sleepwalk Through Regret

It’s breaking my heart to

feel such pain, a

a family full of memories

I had to waste.

Life didn’t work for me,

you see. That white picket

fence did not happen to set

me free.

Instead, I now watch from

the locked latch of a happy

home, while the family inside

interact in a loving communion.

On the outside, always

looking in, as the breeze

steady blows and covers my

skin.

A numbness that sits inside

of me right now, still yearns

and screams for a peaceful

way out.

The regret builds as I

continue to watch;

a dad playing on the floor

with his precious son.

Something my children

deserved but did not get;

that dad who would stick

around for their growth

and special events.

The breeze continues blowing

the latch remains locked,

and this real movie I keep

watching has me entranced.

Water rises before my eyes

as I still stare, then streams

down my cheeks falling and

disappearing in mid-air.

The lights go out. I turn

slowly to leave, just as I

have done every night this

week.

I walk back to the

only home I’ve ever known,

then tiptoe like clockwork

off to my bedroom.

I slip under the cold

covers I left, staring up

at the ceiling, before I

dose off to forget.

When I wake to the

bright sunlight shining

in my eyes, that strange

feeling will again set in my

mind.

Another crazy dream

so it seems, that somehow

suspiciously has dirtied my

feet.

© 2016 Missy Smith