Thief

This wasn’t my plan,
His wasn’t my sickness,
These weren't my dreams,
These were his wishes,
I was just a little girl,
I was just playing dolls,
Before becoming this monster,
I sang and skipped down the hall,
He stole my playtime,
He shattered my soul,
My dolls became demons,
My playground a hole,
There used to be laughter,
Blonde hair in the sun,
There’s not enough bleach,
To clean up what he’s done,
His hands were dirty,
His soul was as well,
A sweet blue eyed angel,
Whom he sentenced to hell,
My smile now as forced and fake,
Like the face of those dolls,
My stare as dead and empty,
My blood poured down that hall.

Silence

In the cold sober light of a Colorado morning,
His silence rolled in without a warning,
His feelings were gone like the heat from the ashes,
Her memories of the fire hit her in flashes,
Just barely Moments after the embers are cool,
She’s reeling and tripping and acting a fool,
After all who was she to question his fears
I must have dreamed it she chokes through her tears
The quiet is awkward now they are apart
Together it was replaced with the beat of their hearts,
And the touch of his hands on the back of her thighs,
The silence was filled with what now wounds like lies,
Meant to deceive by a theif of hearts,
Silly to take what she handed over in the dark,
A bolt of lightening a flash in the pan
Once solid ground where she can now barely stand
1000 dayss, so happy alone and now this,
Three years on her own but she would have been his
Its cost too much just to turn back now,
He walks away without effort, she does not understand how.

I think of you while the sun is rising still baffled how i woke up in your arms,
I didn't know that a full moon could shake me...
or a glimpse of your heart might just break me,
as I lose sleep it is so surprising,
for a moment you were the calm in my storm.
I know it hasn't been a long time,
but the days grow short and you're still on my mind,
the wind is getting colder like my soul,
another birthday in October,
God knows how I lived to see this day...
It's hard to know the right thing to say,
I wasn't prepared to ever feel this way,
like maybe I could try one more time ...
So if I misread the place of your heart,
your intentions twisted from the sparked start,
who knows maybe it was just the fire and gasoline...
To trust in my heart has always leftme so broken,
but somehow between the words unspoken,
maybe your heart's been bruised as much as mine...
So goodnight baby I don't mean maybe,
when I say I think you're soul is solid gold,
hug your babies in the coldest weather,
your love for them is all you're guaranteed forever,
and the comfort that you can always count on change...

A Second Glance

I didn’t give a second glance,
The first time you flashed that smile,
Completely unbeknownst to me,
I would only be immune for awhile,
Your eyes that squint and sparkle through,
So seductive and so green,
Would slowly start to chip away the ice,
From every past what might have been,
My heart is safe I tell myself,
The ice too solid and too thick,
The walls I've built are very high,
and the mortar has dried,
Over every tortured brick.
I thought I’d use that picket fence,
and some kerosene,
To light the bed of my funeral pyre,
the devil would dance upon the coals,
Of this soured soul He does desire,
It was just as simple as you being who you are,
Every wrinkle and imperfection,
My nails begin to claw the rocks I've stacked,
To stave out all affection
I still have questions in my core,
If I could love a soul so bright as yours,
I have so many broken pieces,rusted nails and shuttered doors.
Thank you for the light you have left,
in this moonless darkened space,
and if it never lasts beyond today,
I will carry close thememory,
Of ours and the childrens’ laughter,
Which echo through this empty space

I'll just write your name with A blade on my skin,
It's the only metaphor fitting this sickness within,
My touch scars like an acid on soft perfect skin,
My presence will poison your soul from within,
I walk with the demons I crawl with the Flies,
I can't be your Savior my beauty is lies,
I will never hold hands with an angel you see,
I can't fight the demon if the demon is me.

Death and Her Kiss (Failed Suicide)

You may know the sensation when you swallow a pill, 

Maybe two more, perhaps, another one still? 

I have choked on the plastic of twenty, two hundred and more,

Before I knew, on my knees, surrounded, empty bottles on the floor,

You have heard the sound of sirens, seen the flash of the lights, 

Maybe once, maybe twice, heard them dozens of nights, 

The sound pales to fear as the gurney’s seatbelt goes click, 

The “do you know who you are, where you are?” tell me this! 

Do you know what it’s like to be held to the ground?

A tube forced down your throat as you cry but can’t make a sound?

The taste of your stolen escape, vomit putrid on your tongue, 

The chalk of the charcoal, black like my soul and the sun. 

You may know the crisp smell of clean, freshly starched sheets,

How about the echoes, the white walls, felt the ache in the lost's shrieks?

The thud of your heartbeat as you pace through the hall,

The first time you understand how far an angel can fall? 

I know firsthand, the shame and the scars, inexplicable desire, 

Helplessly self destruct, burn it down, be consumed in the fire.

The tight rope of ambivalence, the desperation, the why’s, 

Begged my soul to be free of the pain, body covered in flies.

Perhaps you’ve stood near the edge of a few dirty thoughts,

Have you recited your blessings while choosing your plot? 

The confusion, dissociation, you and your reflection aren’t one?

Have you awoken, so fucking angry you did not use a gun?

These memories drift through my mind on nights such as this, 

My affair with that sweet Temptress, Death and Her kiss.

Megan Jean Forrest. (Friday November 13, 2015: edited 2/25/2024

Today I regroup...

Today I regroup….
Day 4,356 of my journey out of hell…
Most people think of spring and the equinox as a time of renewal, balance, hope, and of new beginnings, new life. I think of storms, powerful, destructive, frightening, storms. They hit every year at this time, and I am more prepared for some than for others, and some blow by with only a drizzle. . I have felt it brewing for awhile, the first winds began coming in during the last months of this winter. It appeared I had all the loose ends tied down, and was ready… it appeared. When it hit, it was worse than I thought it would be, and had I known at the time, it was only a glimpse into what was coming next, as the hurricane hit this past weekend.
The force of the gale hit me and knocked me, and I am sure everyone in the near vicinity (sorry family), off our feet for a moment. I am still reeling from it, wondering how a weathered sailor such as I, could handle the seas more along the lines of Gilligan (or more like Ginger, pa-the-tic). I hope beyond hope that the damage is covered under the family policy. Figuratively, for those can’t quite keep up with my tongue. (If that is you, don’t worry, my mouth and tongue often run too fast for me to keep up as well, so you aren’t alone.) While I have survived tougher storms, the after effect of any storm has a much larger potential for damage, however, due to the passengers who count on me to keep them safe. I am lucky to have some very supportive buoys to help weather the storm, and to help keep everyone from knowing how truly scary the storm can be. I think, however, that it shook us all to the core a bit, as I know my knees are still a bit wobbly.
But today I regroup. I thank God… (or Allah, or the Universe, or Science, whatever you shmucks who have a problem with spirituality or religion or whatever anyone chooses to believe. My Jesus wears a tuxedo T-shirt and eats lunch with Buddha. Fuck off,)… that I can still be shaken to my core, and come out the other side, to see the new life of Spring. There have been times I was not so certain I would make it, so that is why I talk about it, whether I decide to paint it in metaphor, or choose to express it in cold hard black and white… its depression. It is not easy to talk about, and I can tell you all of my blessings, of all that I am grateful for, and all of the things that truly fill me with joy and life… but when it grips you with white knuckles and does not let go while you hold on for dear life, (literally, at times in the past, again for those of you still trying to figure out the first slip of the tongue,) I can’t explain to you what happens to those things, except that sometimes they fade from your memory like temporary amnesia, or a really good dream you can’t quite remember… you know what happened but you just can’t quite recall exactly what it was about.
So to be able to be shaken to my core, while frightening, is also liberating. On the other side of the storm, while rather embarrassing because you know when the storm hits you never have your hair done and are wandering around in your nightie like you are doing the walk of shame, I also get to remember that I am strong. That I don’t have to go down with the vessel, that I am not going to break because I am not made of glass. That because I have weathered this, that I can help others weather it too. Today someone told me, it would be cool to be a nurse, to do what you do, to help change someone’s life, or even someone’s day. All I did was talk to them. I didn’t give them a shot of morphine, or even a band-aid. I gave them my time, my ear, my empathy (not sympathy) and I helped give them tools to help them guide themselves through their storm. What I have learned… in school and by sailing through my own storms, allows me to use my experience to offer some light in the dark, in times of depression, or just in times of uncertainty. There isn’t a dollar amount in the world to be placed on the feeling of honor to be recognized with a statement such as that.
It is an honor to be a nurse, one with her own scars, one who can help others heal theirs, both internal and external. It is an honor to be let into lives, to be trusted to see into the core of another human being who was, sometimes moments before, a stranger. I have seen into the hearts of people, both literally and figuratively. It is a privilege to be let into an operating room to see someone have a bypass, and them to trust you with their dignity not being sure whether they will live or die. It is just as big of an honor to have someone let me into their home, and into the lives of their family, and to entrust me to be benevolent, and to bare their soul in hopes that I can at least provide some insight, or some guidance, and (sometimes to my surprise as well), I have always been able to come through for them somehow. Some days that is only being a hand to hold with silent lips, but some days, that is all someone needs.
It is not easy, depression, but I will not be its victim. It will not take me down without a fight, and I am not done fighting. I am not done with the privilege and honor of raising two beautiful children, of trying to be a good daughter and sister, and I am not done being a nurse, who is everything from the fly on the wall listening and observing, to the person who may one day literally be holding your body together. So I am thankful for the opportunity to be shaken to my core, because for some I have been the only solid thing to hold onto in a moment where the world was collapsing around them, because I have been on both sides of the storm, and there would be no beauty without both sides.