Our lives are troubled.

I shot a man when i was sixteen.

I looked him straight in the eye, and pulled the trigger. 
I left him with a gaping hole in his head to match the one in my heart.

       I slept with a strange man, then later his wife.

       I cut my chest open and watched the blood flow from it like a river.
I was told that this would cleanse the evil from me. 

I was alone. 

I saved a kid from drowning in a lake.

I gave a complete stranger the clothes (no longer) on my back,

walked down the street completely naked. 

      Never was there a heavier burden lifted.

       I cut my chest open tonight, and watched the flowers grow from my rotting corpse.
I bleed out the evil that never existed.
I was never alone.

I try my hardest to not think about things that effect me emotionally. My main coping mechanism is to force the feelings out of my system and to numb myself. Or just write them down and never read them again.
But it’s not a fool-proof system. Things have a way of creeping on me and hitting me extremely hard. It’s kind of like being able to find your way around a darkened room quite well. You know where everything in this room is and do your best to avoid these things when navigating said room. But in darkness, things that aren’t seen can be forgotten about and have a way of really messing up your navigation once it’s presence is noted again.I don’t know if this metaphor makes sense to anyone reading it… I guess it doesn’t need to make sense to others. Just me. And it does make sense to me. So it’s okay I guess. What I’m trying to say is that I’d like prayer. For my mother, more than anything. If you knew my mother, you’d understand. Ever since 1999, she’s been on a downward spiral with no regard for anyone or anything around her on her way down. She’s a paranoid schizophrenic and suffers from delusional thoughts and cannot manage a state of contentment without the presence of a man. She hasn’t been a real mother to me in almost 10 years. Although she could easily get a better-paying job with better work conditions, she chooses to stay in her current profession because she enjoys the pity she receives for the wages and tasks that she must do. Thinking of my mother in this condition compared to the memory of the bright, loving woman who was my mother when I was a child causes me so much pain. She was a phenomenal mother. We went on adventures and she taught me to paint and how to love others. She coached my soccer team and was vibrant and beautiful. I still need that woman more than words can express. Being fully aware that she is gone and never coming back is a thought that has plagued me for an incredibly long time. It sits in the back of my mind and eats away at my spirit. It’s a cancer of longing that will never be fulfilled. Did she realize how badly I’d need a mother? Did she realize that I longed for maternal guidance and affection for years and never received it? I needed someone to talk to about boys and doubts and how afraid I was to become like everyone else. I pray for peace in my mind and heart. And more so, for my mother. I’m just afraid.

this isn't how I feel but, I have so much compassion for this woman, and I just wish that there was something that I could do- 
that there was something that could be done. 
I wish this world wasn't so fucked up. 
she deserves so much more...
I mean, we all do- don't we?