Toxins Kill Everything

Toxic: Poisonous

Toxic chemicals ( Draino, Rat Poisin) when ingested will kill you.

Toxic Gas (Carbon Monoxide) when breathed will kill you.

Toxic Material (Acid) will kill you when handled improperly.

We know these things and most of us will take precautions not to end up dead. You bastards slipping it to people because they cheated on you or whatever… my advice is simple. Success and happiness are the best revenge, your soul stays intact and you don’t have to go to jail. Jail is bad. Living is good. Go get some “revenge”.

But what about the toxins that mascaraed as medicine; prescription pills, street drugs, and booze? I include street drugs and booze because that’s self medicating. It’s so easy to get lured into “feeling better or good”. Who doesn’t want to feel good, right? But at what cost?

Philip Seymour Hoffman, God rest his soul, died too soon at age 46. I look at this brilliant actor and think how could he let this happen to himself? From the outside he seemed to have everything, a loving family, three beautiful children, a successful career gaining him oodles of money and yet he’s gone now like so many before him. I guess he was far from having a charmed life with demons only he knew. I pray for his family and the long hard road ahead of them.

Addiction shows no prejudice. The lure of “feeling good” does not take age, race, gender, religion, financial status or geographic location into consideration and once it’s got you, it is a fierce lover, driving itself into and in between everything in your life. It may start off slowly or full blown but the end result is the same. Death to everything.

Death to the life absorbed with it and death to all the lives connected to the addict in some shape or form. The addict thinks of only one thing: the next fix. The people around the addict have many thoughts mostly in the form of worry, sadness, anger, and helplessness.

“Cut all toxic people out of your life.”

I’ve heard this, hell I’ve said this, but it’s not so easy if the toxic person is a family member. “You should cut him or her off, tough love style.” It sounds so easy but to actually slam the door, figuratively or literally, in the face of a loved one is far from easy. Some people would argue cutting off their own arm would be easier. So what do you do?

Talk to the person? You’ve done that like a million times giving ultimatums and pleading speeches.

Intervention? You’ve done that too and maybe it even resulted in a period of sobriety…until sobriety slips away and the ugly clawed monster of addiction is back.

For the people who are stuck watching the addict go down, because there is no up in addiction, it is horrendous, and that description doesn’t even begin to do it justice. It is days and nights filled with frustration, anger and an impending funeral.

For the addict? It’s a lonely, secretive, horrible life intertwined with a vicious beast that has its teeth clenched around their neck waiting to deliver the final blow. Sounds like fun, right?

Of course, these are not the people who get help. These are not the people who claw their way back to life. Because, thank God, or whoever you believe in, that those people do exist. But the ADDICT has to WANT to do this. The people on the sidelines, no matter how much they want to FIX it, and I totally get it, I’m a fixer, a doer, but the ADDICT has to want it.

The other kind of people are the lost ones, the ones who were gone years before you actually attended the funeral. The addicts, that for what ever reason, chose to stay sick. And then there are the people connected to them like a root to a tree, who were forced into a life of addiction even though they were not the addict and it was never their choice. It sucks on both sides of that fence. No one wins in that life.

Don’t ever give up on your loved ones but you don’t have to end up in the ground next to them. Realize that you only have control over yourself, you can ONLY change you. Set up boundaries and protect yourself. Learn how to handle the toxic addict properly. Seek advice from professionals; counselors and doctors. Be very careful in your own life. Pain that equals pain pills, booze or street drugs can very easily turn into addiction.  Peace my friends.

This poem is for a lost one.

I’ll Miss You

I miss the person you used to be, the one who loved life so much.
I miss the person who kissed all the boo-boos away.
I miss the person who made scrambled eggs and toast for anyone who was sick.
I miss the person who was strong and protective.
I miss the person who helped make me what I am today.

I’ll miss you when you’re gone.

I’ll miss the conversations that we have.
I’ll miss my children never really knowing the real you.
I’ll miss your laugh.
I’ll miss the support shown brightly in your eyes.
I’ll miss your fingers gently playing with my hair.
I’ll miss the fights that only you and I have.
I’ll miss the cups of coffee that we share.

I’ll miss you when you’re gone.

I’ll miss your voice on the phone, but never in the morning.
I’ll miss your pretend stories to the kids.
I’ll miss your outrageous outfits, gold shoes and all.

I’ll miss you when you’re gone.

I’m angry that you’ll leave me too soon.
I’m disappointed in myself that I can’t make you stay.
I’m sad that there won’t ever be an intervention that will work.
I’m sorry that you won’t change.
I’m sorry for the pain that brought you to this place and then stole your will to come back.
I wish I could help you but this is not up to me.
I will never give up on you but I will protect myself and mine.
I love you so much, and I’ll miss you, with all my heart, when you’re gone.

TWAS THE LAST NIGHT OF 2013

Twas the last night of the year and what do I see?
A pile of rejection letters staring at me.

Oh, woe’s me. I fill up my glass, plop down in front of the fire,
hoping for an idea, a thought, something to inspire.

But the clock is ticking and the kids start to shout,
“Are you done with your writing? It’s time to go out!

I think to myself as I start to smile,
the thoughts that are coming may take a while.

With pen to paper I sit and the words begin to knit.
With any luck it won’t be complete shit.

The fire is popping and I am not stopping.
The main character is talking, her love is walking.
There’s flying and spying and oh God, someone’s dying!

I scribble and scratch to keep up the with cast.
Who knows how long this creative genius will last?
I can barely read what I wrote;
does that say “he grabbed a chicken” or “he dusted a goat?”

It’s not important now. I’ll figure it out.
Maybe the bad guy fights with a trout, or grows a snout, or maybe it’s best for now to just leave him out.

Yes! It’s brilliant! Stupendous! Magnanimously great!
The poetic words are flowing.
All night I keep going.
Now I can show them. Now they’ll see.
THIS work that I’ve done is why they must sign me.

I smile a triumphant smile, a smile of relief.
2013 will NOT end in defeat!

I’ll send the query tonight before the clock strikes twelve.
My new agent will call me with a contract to delve.
She has an editor lined up and ready to buy, and the movie, well, she knows a guy.
The foreign rights? Oh, they’ll sell too.
“Just sit back and collect the money, that’s all you have to do.”

My very own giggle wakes me from sleep.
An empty glass in my hand, pen at my feet.
No words on the page. No agent has called.
No movie. No guy. Oh, for the love of God, WHY?

The horror! The outrage! How can this be?
I raise my fist to the sky but then have to pee.
While nature is doing it’s natural thing, I think to myself
and the words start to sing.
I have them, they’re here, each little pearl.
I haven’t forgot. I go to work with a whirl.

I start with the rejection letters and throw them into the fire, they’ve done their job which of course was to inspire.
Never give up. Never stop trying. The only thing to keep me from getting published will be dying.

So another year begins with me typing away, and just as it should be day after day.
I’ll write down the dreamy dreams in my head.
I’ll write about wondrous things I’ve heard said.
You can’t hear them or see them till I put them on a page, but when I do, it will bring you to tears, laughs and rage.

Take heart all my brothers and sisters of the craft,
May you prosper, may you write,
May your 2014 take amazing flight.
Put pen to paper and fingers to keys,
May your words bring tears, laughter and bended knees.

Peace to all, and to all a goodnight!

Are dreams and goals the same thing? What will your lists look like for 2014?

My lists of dreams and goals used to be distinctly different. I have always been a HUGE list maker. I like to write things down (on paper) and cross them off as they are completed. I get an overwhelming amount of satisfaction from throwing away a list after I’ve crossed everything off. Nerd much? Yeah, I know. It’s alright though, I embrace my nerdiness.

Publishing-Problem-Checklist

Early in my life my dream list read: Get to Oz,

Preferably, in Glinda’s bubble.

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Become a famous actress or singer; doesn’t really matter as long as I get to wear a ball gown or a tutu.

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My list of goals were a little different. Goal #1: Do not eat liver for dinner, like EVER. Goal #2: Wear my sister’s stuff without getting caught, and #3: Make it through Jr. High without being sent to a convent.

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I was a little rough around the edges as a teenager. Don’t judge.

As I matured so did my dreams. I dreamt of a big-boffin’, beautiful wedding marrying the man I loved,  to become a famous author, to be the most sought after interior designer on the planet, and live in a mansion where I could invite everyone I knew (and even those I didn’t)for the holidays, birthdays, and PARTIES! Woo-hoo, par-tay! I’m half Irish, and a party is just another another opportunity to wear a tutu-ish dress in my book. 🙂

The goals at this time in my life were to finish college, buy a house, and marry the man I loved. At this point in life one of my dreams and goals had merged. I thought, hmmm, maybe they’re not so different after all. Maybe dreams are not the unattainable but the spark that creates a goal. Now I realize that my dreams are the catalyst for my goals. So, as I’m heading into 2014 I’m seeing that mu list of dreams and goals are the same.

           -Get an amazing agent who is right for me

           -Blog my ass off

           -Sell 1st YA novel, SUNRISE

           -Sell 2nd YA novel, DARKNESS

           -Make enough money writing so I don’t have to do anything else. If I become instantly, J.K. Rowling famous, and make oodles of money instead of just enough, so be it!

           -Be a better human being . . . this includes not flipping people off on the road *hangs head down in shame*

           -Drop the “F” bomb LESS (you hear that little drunken sailor that lives in my mouth!) *hangs head in shame again*

          -Spread peace where ever I go, like pixie dust

          -Finish our house construction. . . for the love of God and all that’s holy!!

        -Be on the Red Carpet wearing an outrageously-puffy-oh-my-God-did-you-see-that-dress, award winning writer. Okay, so this might be on my 2015 list. . . but it starts as a dream!

  2014

Off I go into another year.

I’ll face 2014 without any fear.

I’ll write my list, check it twice,

cross it off, it’ll be so nice.

Out on a ledge,

toes over the edge.

Out of my comfort zone,

ready to have my mind blown!

One by one, I’ll get it done,

with perseverance, tenacity, and a bulldog mentality.

 

Ho Ho Ho Christmas celebrators

What does your 2014 list look like?

PEACE OUT

Poetry, A True Art

** F BOMB** SORRY!

I was on twitter @Forewordlit and there was a contest to write a 6 word poem inspired by the holiday season. I wrote,

“Damn these fuckin’ lights. Damn them!” and won a book! LOL.

I think the first thing I ever wrote at ten years-old was a poem, something along the lines of, “Roses are red, violets are blue, my brother just stepped in dog poo poo.” Cause, well, ten. I’ve evolved so much! All kidding aside, I love real poetry. It is truly an art.

My first favorite poet was/is Dr. Seuss. I give this book as a gift to everyone who graduates. *smiles* This book inspires me still.

Then I moved onto this happy looking chap, Edgar Allan Poe who wrote The Bells. A natural progression from Dr. Seuss. Ha! Yes, his stuff is creepy and yes, I like a little creepy.

And I love (who doesn’t), Maya Angelou’s, Alone.

I mainly write novels but I write poetry when the spirit moves me. I wrote this next poem, PAULIE, in honor of a dear friend’s husband, Paul Kelly, that passed away in August.

 PAULIE

Through a man’s eyes you can see how much he loves his wife and children.

Through a man’s words you can hear how much he cares about everyone he knows.

Through a man’s actions you can see his integrity in which he guides all others without words.

Through a man’s composure you feel at ease.

Through a man’s laughter, its sound, its depth, its frequency, you can feel how genuine he is.

Through a man’s spirit, you feel the goodness, the very essence of his soul reach down inside you burning a mark upon your heart. It is at this point, when the spirit is so much bigger than the man’s physical form, so big in fact, it can no longer be contained, that all must step aside.

Through a man’s life, if he has done it right, all who knew him will be forever changed for the better. Forever and after.

For more poetry check out poetryfoundation.org and poets.org.

Happy Hump Day Peeps 🙂