As an adult more so then as a child I’ve always loved the holidays but the last few years I find them to be more stressful and anxiety ridden then ever before. I sum it up to all the pressure, you start seeing Xmas stuff in October now, they play xmas music before you ever get to thanksgiving. It’s just too much of all of it. I don’t want to put up the tree anymore because in a 2 weeks I’m just going to have to take it all down again and it makes me feel claustrophobic because it takes up so much room. People are assholes at this time of year and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. We are all out there at the same time doing the same thing shopping for the people will love (well mostly and probably people we can’t stand) So why this need to treat every one like what you need matters more because guess what it doesn’t, why be rude to cashiers who are literally doing the same job they do year round, but what ’tis the season to be an asshole because you can? No you can’t!!! I don’t want to hear any of this crap about consumerism ruining the meaning of xmas because I do not believe in god and fucking love getting presents but guess what I’m still polite, I still say please, thank you and excuse me and I go out of my to do nice things and be helpful to other people while I’m out and about, why because it isn’t that hard to be a good person. On top of all of that is this constant need to plan everything and it is just to much; meals, gift buying, decorating, wrapping etc and then also get all of the things done you would have to do even if it wasn’t “the season.” It just isn’t fun and anymore and that makes me sad because I have a 17 yr old that loves it, but I’ll go through the motions for her because I would never ever ruin it for her.

The Raven – Edgar Allan Poe


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I have no words of my own to share today and rather then ramble on about that I’m gonna share the poem that has been rattling around in my head all day mostly because one can never go wrong with Poe and the Raven and it matches my mood…weak and weary..

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

The Darkness – by me


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I hate, with an all-consuming passion

I am terrified, of being lost and forgotten

I seek, to be alone but am afraid of it

I struggle, everyday though you can not see it

I fear, death and life and love

I control, all the time in every way I can

I confine, within myself to seek to appear normal

I hurt, deep inside sight unseen

I scream, can you hear me through the darkness

I am lost, searching through the nightmares

I finish, the depth of hurt too much to take

I have gone, did you notice my absence


I am content – by me


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I am content

As I sit here in this empty room

I am content

While I listen to the rain fall down

I am content

Pondering the here and now

I am content

Waiting for the dawn to break

I am content

Knowing you are no longer here

I am content

When the world outside screams for more

I am content

If my time has come and I must go

I am content

When the pages are gone and the book is done

I am content

As your words run dry and you have no more

I am content

When sorrow fades and happiness shines

I am content

I wait… by me


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I waited for you day and night

I waited for you all my life

Thought I had found you once or twice

Thought I had given up a time or two

I have been happy more often than not

I have been unhappy here and there

I dream about you while I sleep

I dream about you while I wake

You are the whisper in the crowd I hear

You are the whisper on the wind I see

Sometimes my hope is faint and fleeting

Sometimes my hope is tethered and strong

But it is for you I wait with calm aware

But it is for you I wait to bring me home

With the breath I breathe

With the lives I have lived

I wait