SO…….I stopped making payments (so to speak) on my other blog house. I’m evicting myself before anyone else has a chance. This poem is part of the baggage I brought over. I wrote this when I was 13 years old and it is about my 1st and 3rd step-mother. That would be singular people. My father married her twice because he said, “I forgot she was crazy.”, which is crazy in itself. This woman was insane and evil. She offered me drugs when I was eleven and decided it was important to show me a book of very graphic pictures of what grownups like to do when they are alone. I saw her giving her five-year old a cigarette and some much worse things I don’t care to mention. She also kept a calendar and marked future dates, with comments about getting my sister and I in trouble. I kid you not. BUT…..back then and when people are in love, they don’t tend to believe what could only be in their mind, outrageous made-up stories by a child. Oh well, now you know why I’m so twisted.
An everlasting inferno
from which I can’t escape
A ring of fire that dresses me and…
won’t let me breathe
Just as the flames lower and…
I make my way through
They see me and rise
They smother me with…
their fiery arms
The heat melts my heart
Time passes and…
the fire thrives
My insecurities and heartaches…
feed its desires
The more it grows
the more I die within
Until I too, am an inferno
from which one can’t escape
P.S.: Sorry I haven’t made my blog rounds recently, but I’ve been in rehab.
P.S.S: That just sounded more credible than “lazy ass, who selfishly keeps writing her own shit”, doesn’t it?
Articles of Absurdity 
Looks like you had a talent with words even then.
I would love to have heard the whole conversation with your dad that included the “I forgot she was crazy” quote!
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Upon their 2nd divorce, I asked him why he married her again. That was his one and only response.
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Hard edges don’t come from a soft upbringing. I love you. Margie
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That’s true. Despite it all, I think I faired pretty well and I have so many stories, but they may be more book worthy than blog worthy. Love ya back.
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Brilliant and resilient you are!
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Thanks for saying so.
Things either make you or break you. After reading other blogs, it seems there are a lot of people who were “made” out there sharing their creativity.
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Ah, but you’ve kept the marvelous, not psycho twists. And that has made all the difference.
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You won’t see me crossing that line. I’m crazy, but I’m not quite prison or asylum crazy.
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Good. We need you on this level
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It’s nice to be wanted. You might change your mind once I get to my blog reading and make comments like a mad woman on yours. I can’t wait to see what’s waiting for my inspiring commentary.
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Wow you were so young when you wrote this. I am glad you held on to the piece and shared with us today. Being able to express yourself, at any age, is so important.
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Thanks. I’m not a pack rat or hoarder, but when it comes to my artwork and writing…..I pretty much have it all. I have stuff from 3rd grade. I’ve got so much, I’ll probably post a lot of previously written stuff mixed in with some new.
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IM-pressive! I can’t even pretend to write like that now. Amazing. That being said, I hope you are writing a book…I’d buy it. And as for being a lazy-ass on other people’s blogs…it happens. I’m attempting to play catch up as well…
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Thanks. I’ve certainly been thinking about the book part. I’ve written some already, but I’m not sure how far I’ll take it.
It’s nice to have company in the blog catch up game.
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Deep shit! You came out of it with flying colors–anyone can see that in your posts.
Keep writing.
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Thanks so much. I have to credit the personality I was born with and my ability to write about it all… for making it through. What a great coping skill. My siblings didn’t seem to fair as well.
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I’m sorry you had to go through all that, but I’m glad you came through and give back to us through your poetry and writings. Angie
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Experiences make us who we are or at least give us great material to work with…..no worries. Thanks so much.
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Ah, the evil stepmother. I had one of those. My heart goes out to you, although I must admit, my stepmother never tried to get me to do drugs.
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I never did them though. Thank goodness. Those stepmothers…..gotta love them for the wonderful stories they gave me to tell. I will never run out of material based on them alone.
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This poem reflects the difficult and terribleness
that surrounded your early teenage years, such
a darker time, but with positivity you were able
to push beyond the envelope of this existence
and hold on to your sanity. The past helps one
to mould the present and the future in a very
different way and you have shown courage in
becoming the person that you are today 🙂 🙂
Well done you 🙂
Androgoth XXx
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You are so sweet. I appreciate your comments and I agree 100% about the past making us who we are today. Sanity is something I’m glad to have held onto. I was blessed with a personality and creative outlet to run to when I needed to counsel myself through it all. In fact, most of my poetry was written when I was in highschool. It’s such an emotional time for all teens, isn’t it?!?
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Yes of course it is, and in creatively writing through your more emotional phases as a youngster you have been able to surge forwards staying refreshed, and also keeping an open mind in the process…
Have a wonderful
rest of evening Lorre 🙂
Androgoth XXx
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You are going to give me a big head, which I wouldn’t mind, except I am trying to lose weight. Such kind words, what’s a girl to do?
Have an interesting evening and get into some trouble. Not too much though. Just enough to have fun and be wicked of course.
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“I forgot she was crazy.”
So glad you didn’t… and am amazed at the ability of a teen to express their emotions so well when I flounder still. Thanks for sharing 🙂
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Crazy is as crazy does and she did crazy well.
Yeah….I was pretty impressed with my writing as a young soul, but it’s funny….this step-mom, (because I’ve had 4, but really 3…since this one was 2x)….well…..she stole my book of poetry and took all the ones that seemed depressing out. She gave them to her counselor, who was seeing her because she tried to kill herself a few times. She tried to throw me under the bus and get me into counseling because I seemed suicidal. He ate up everything she said. I never believed in a counselor since. I told them both their were full of it.
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They were.
Red.
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Thanks. He was a real quack. I remember he kept saying “Bologna!” all the time. What self-respecting therapist says that?
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