am I blue?

I am a deep down dark blue tonight, because this may be my last night in my apartment.

I love my apartment; that’s not why I’m leaving it. My daughter and I walked into it last summer and instantly fell in love with it.  I pulled her to the side, asked her opinion and she was excited to find our new home.  I told her, “We will be very happy, and safe, here.”

Happiness has made its rounds to my home, but so has hatred, mayhem and loss.

First, I fell in love before I was ready even to think about love again.  It was quick and remorseless. That love left me with scars which I still bump up against and say, “Owww!”

If you have questions about that part of my life, you can read the prose poem My Rose, My Executioner and the companion book of poems two dozen roses.

The latter is currently my top seller.  At this rate, I will have another book of poems ready to release by the end of August 2019.  Which means, soon, I will need to stop posting them for free on my blog.

Since my most recent post (my 50th on WordPress!) was my most popular to date, this announcement might make some of my readers feel like this cat.

i haz a sad

 

 

 

 

 

But, seriously, why not get a Kindle Unlimited account?  Then you can download all my books for no extra charge.

Back to my initial comment, I am going to have to play hard ball with my landlord tomorrow because they are the most miserable apartment managers I have ever met.

My cooler is blowing out 80 degrees, and my daughter is having an allergic reaction to the mold that is in the building and they are finally having to admit actually exists because tenants have had blood drawn and it shows mold.  And, oh! they never got around to putting a screen in my daughter’s bedroom window, something about having to smelt the iron by hand, and we live on the first floor.

So while I may sweat it out tonight with open windows and fans, she can’t do the same. She sleeps much warmer than I do anyway. So, she is with my parents.  And that is where I will probably be tomorrow, for at least a couple months.  I’m hoping in the Spring we can finally move somewhere that is going to stick.

Not like the current stick on the bottom of my leg, attached to my office chair.  Yuck.

Truth is, I can see how this is the best thing for her and me.  It radically cuts down on our bills and I can finally put the time I need into developing a job portfolio that works with my demands and needs and doesn’t involve me standing on my feet for 8 hours straight.

But… moving… in… again… with… my… mom… and… dad…. is… so… embarassing.

so embarrassing.gif

I will miss my friends who always are happy to see me.  I will miss being able to call Instacart when I really really really don’t want to go grocery shopping. I will miss having a dedicated shelf in my closet for witch supplies. (Yes, I’m dabbling again).

But free rent and partial board, and a way out of dealing with my subpar landlord?

Hard to turn down.  I need to get out of my own damn way here.

It’s a step back to go forward, a chance to re-orient, I keep telling myself.

At least I have a new car, and my child support will be enough to cover my payment and insurance, plus our cellphones.    Mount up the huge TV that we got with the divorce settlement, and we might just last until February 2020, happy and safe.

It’s there in the name: 20/20.  New vision, new plan. Stay positive even when you’re blue.

stay positive

Meanwhile, before I post this newest poem, I need to talk about pronouns.

The second-person pronoun “you” in my first book of poetry is specifically about one person, the man I refer to as My Rose, My Executioner, or for short: MRME. In contrast to this, the second-person pronoun “you” in what will become my second book of poetry is the more general “hey-you” pronoun that is usually dropped (we call it understood in grammar) when using the command form of the verb.

For example, “Kiss me, Romeo!” is actually “Romeo (You) kiss me!”

In contrast, the various “he” pronouns in this upcoming book of poetry refer to various men, some of them hypothetical and imaginary.

Not that pronouns always much help, even if you are getting spoon-fed answers from the poet herself. Often, you just have to read between the lines and hope for the best.

For example, the title of that my book of poetry is going to be the sweetest heart, which is from the first line of mercy,  and this following trio of wrongs done to me refer to specific individuals without using pronouns.  More to the point, two ex-husbands and MRME.

I found the sweetest heart;
raped, beaten, left for dead.

Additionally, I use the “they” pronoun in karma to reference several individuals, male and female, who have held on to the same vendetta that drove MRME.  Even after that was all said and done, I found myself in a waiting room talking to someone who was trying too hard to incorporate certain topics into the conversation, such as the fact that he liked Johnny Ringo the best but “his brother” liked Doc Holliday more.

Like, okay, whatever you say, narc.  And remember Big Nose Kate too, while you’re at it.

Then again, the poem makes sense with the more general “people talk” use of “they” as in “Well, you know what they say.”

Let’s see… the “he” pronoun of both candy and Red reference MRME, while the “he” pronoun in dessert and libations is generally symbolic although there is some bleed-over.

And all of my poems can be understood even if you don’t have my secret little code book.

In the following poem, “he” refers to MRME directly.  I was going to call it three, because that was the moment when I realized that love, quick and remorseless, had already captured me and would ransack me and leave me for dead.

It’s powerful, still, to think about the moment when I realized I was caught in the Devil’s game. But I like to see it as a step back to move ahead. Here’s to the next round of cards.

temptation

if you play cards with the Devil,
he’ll build up to a three.
three bones, three sticks, three stones, three cats,
three dead at Calvary.

if you play cards with the Devil,
don’t look him in the eye,
you’ll see all you ever wanted;
but trust me, it’s a lie.

if you play cards with the Devil,
he’ll smile and you will fall
in love, in lust, down that deep well
where you will lose it all.

these are my words, and they are true.
listen to my woeful tale:
if you play cards with the Devil,
mind the hammer, fear the nail.

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Hours I own all of these ideas, but none of these images.
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