when i...

catefrances

it came to be the hardest thing she ever had to do... leave her self behind so that she could move forward. the first day had her pausing at her door, willing her feet to take that step. words inside her head tried to convince her she needed to make the move, to feel the sunshine on her face, to feel the breeze wash over her body. to hear the noises of the outside world, the ones that would block out the voices from winthin. the second day had her sitting on the top step seeing and hearing only what passed her by(and the low hum of the freeway traffic half a mile away) when she heard the postmans bike, she sat still, trying to make herself smaller so she wouldnt be noticed. on the third day she made it to the front gate, clearing out the mail box, tossing most of it in the kitchen bin. by the fourth day she was back in her room....

catefrances

my mind is messed
im standing on a chest
of treasure that is pure fools gold
im sober yet
i feel drunk
on stupidity, ignorance and funk
no sense i feel
nor truth to be seen
your thoughts make roses bloom
the pungent smell of fucked up words
you call alternative facts
you praise your lord
despite the tears he weeps
as you use his name in vain
and obsfucate his message
to suit the lies you lay
upon the alter strewn with bodies
you dont care
how could you?
theyre not your blood...
... but they are
cause all of us are connected
but of course not 'my' son
so you stand there
head bowed, arms bound, screaming..
.. he's not my son
yet he drowns in your blood

catefrances

I see it NOW cause my minds not so clouded
You were so self contained that NOW
I understand that I never knew you at all
I laid myself open for you,
NOT wanting to hear 'you never said'
I thought perversely that I'd drive you away,
Yet thought that my whole self was enough
How wrong i was...
I never knew your friends, I never knew who you spoke to
I was always conscious enough to call my friends by name thinking
They'd be less intimidating.... I was wrong....
Now when I see... When I look, I see I wa projecting my desires onto you...
My desire for you to be open with me...
My desire for you to feel so at ease that you could tell me anything
My desire for you to want me for who I was...
But I realise NOW that you didn't know what you wanted, you didn't know how to get it, you didn't know...
You simply didn't know....

Godfather.

nice writing, if this is about you and the recent past I truly wish you a happier life to come.

catefrances

he struggles with the reasons why
she struggles with the word goodbye
feigning sleep to get some peace
only to be shattered by careless words
and a smile that hid strangled contempt
she wonders why he even began
but even moreso why he continued
the same could be said of her
and for that
she has no answer

catefrances

she sits and wonders
those she thought friends
where are they now?
what is it they think of
is it her?
her doubts rise mountain like
from the flat plain of her existence
is it her?
what?
is it what she expects,
is it too much?
not enough?
how does she gauge
her worth?
how does anyone?
she once thought she was worth so much time
that she now strangles on the excess left.
she cant be worth so little
that no one cares
cause she cares enough
for the whole world to lift her so high
she sees the coming dawn.
yet when she sits alone
with thoughts of herself
she sees nothing
hears no one
and realises yes,
those she thought cared at least something,
cared nothing for her
and its time she cant get back.

catefrances

catefrances

do you ever feel like killing yourself, he asked. her heart leapt into her throat, she could barely contain the smile forming on her lips. yes, she said without thought or reservation. do you want anything, he asked as they plled into the drive thru.  

catefrances

it had been nearly a year. the meds werent working. she still felt like shit. her drinking went from sober for weeks to digging out more bottles than she could carry out of the waste paper basket over days. so she stopped... the meds, not the booze. lets not get ridiculous here.  there was a month left on her script but she said no more. every time she stood up her head shot in all directions. if she was walking, which she did slow cause her head  liked it that way. any change in direction had her brain several paces behind. she looked at people but looked through them. they kinds just floatedstraight through her head like casper. her eyeballs welled up with tears and more than once she felt like punching the walls, shaving her head, walking out the door never to return, eating everything she could in the house. she felt like screaming and sometimes did, her face buried in the pillow. she spent days in bed curled under the doona, the black dog curled at her feet. he was her saviour, though he didnt know it. he just loved the extra attention. and she loved his presence. she blew off shifts and still couldnt understand where it all came from. she didnt shower for weeks and only washed her hair in a bucket when there was a need. there were nights when she didnt sleep, others when sleep came with the rising sun. thinking of reasons to leave the house grew scarce. shed make plans and when the day came, spend it in bed. everything she wanted to do turned into things she didnt do. a movie not seen. a walk not taken. an exhibition missed. a shopping trip put off. ill go next week she told herself. next week turned into this week then turned into last week. what did you do, hed ask. and shed say the usual. which they both knew meant nothing. he stopped asking. now hes gone. he never understood that she lived inside her mind... how crowded it was in there. and now he doesnt have to understand anything about her. she misses him sometimes. she misses the feel of his body next to hers. the sound of his breath. the way hed try to tell her he knew everything. she wants to miss him more but then she remembers his selfishness and how her desire to see him turned into not wanting to be with him when she was. she erased his phone number and  their message exchange so she wouldnt be tempted. shes mostly okay with that decision. she started a course last week that would help her find a job... to make her more desirable to prospective employers. the thought of that put her on edge of course. being desirable in any shape or form meant that she was seen. she didnt like to be seen. she came home from class yesterday and stood in the kitchen crying. what the fuck was that about? she cant tell you cause she doesnt know... it just happens. it all just happens and she remembers back to when he asked her does she ever feel like killng herself, and wishes she could... not just think about it.   

catefrances

she remembers her sister saying "you have to tell men what you want them to do. she thought well maybe shes right, afterall her sister has been married for  over 30 years. hmm clearly this has been her issue...maybe if she were stronger...  shes always allowed men to come to their own conclusions, to decide for themselves. surely they know what they want... if they dont theyd tell you, or at least let you know  somehow, right?  but what if they dont? what if  they dont know? what if they DO know but  for whatever reason arent capable? what if YOURE not capable of telling them what to do and assume thell do the right thing? thank you spike lee.  what if youre so fucking delusional that you expect men to come into a relationship as equals?  for them to respect you as you respect them?  is that the mistake shes been making? who the fuck knows cause surely she doesnt. with hindsight she can see shes never known. 

catefrances

I read somewhere that sex is the dull heartbeat of country towns. I grew up in a country town on the other side of the mountains and i think thats true. A town my uncle went to war from but never returned to. His name permanently etched in the decaying stone of a cenotaph. My brother also left from this town to go to war; but his war was more personal and so far he hasn’t returned. The family hopes he will one day, I hope he doesn’t. I haven’t. well that’s not entirely true. I come back every now and again to lick my wounds but I always leave at the first opportunity. Stealing in and out like a thief in the night. My mother thinks im ashamed of where I grew up, that I was a country bumpkin. That’s not true.. at least I don’t think it is. Ive never not told people exactly where im from. Ive no reason to be ashamed of that mountain town where in winter a pall of smoke from thousands of coal and wood fueled fireplaces collects within what seems like touching distance from the ground, choking everything til spring comes.

That’s how the town survived, coal mining. Coal mining and grazing. It was the last big town you met before dropping down onto the western plains. Travelers driving through on their way to someplace else, stopped to refuel or grab a bite to eat. It was so frigid in winter we often slept communally. In summer the threat of bushfires was omnipresent and the crack of fire consuming the tall gums fascinated me.

Growing up my brothers, sisters and I ran far afield like all the other kids in town. Wed get ‘lost’ in the bush but always find our way home just as the sun dipped below the ridge. That was our unofficial curfew… and we knew it. Like clockwork mum would have dinner on the table and 45 minutes later our father would walk through the door, shuck his boots in the laundry, drop his dirty work clothes in the washer, wrap himself in the robe that always hung behind the door. He’d kiss mum’s cheek, pat her on the bum and then disappear down the hall. Minutes later we’d hear his voice rise above the rush of water as he washed the days grime from his body. He’d reappear just as we were rinsing off our plates. Mum would place his dinner in front of him, he’d always thank her and she’d always smile. My eldest brother Tom would fetch a beer out of the fridge and popping the top place it on the table like some sort of ritual offering to the man who kept us fed and clothed and somewhat on the road to redemption, though mum had more of an influence on us about that that the old man did. But she’d always defer to him, as head of the household.

My father was an affable man, quick with encouragement and a hug, yet equally as quick to dish out any discipline when any of us got out of line. Much to mums credit and fortunately for us, she didn’t always avail him of our exploits. Even when he found out some of the larger transgressions from his mates down the pub, hed it briefly, the offender would apologise and thatd be the end of it. It was only when he caught us in the act that we’d have to watch out.... 

catefrances

i knew this guy once... at least i thought i knew him, which of course meant i didnt know him at all. he didnt talk much and a lot of the time i thought he didnt want me around... he never said he didnt, but he was dismissive when i asked him if he did.  with hindsight  i figured  he just didnt want confrontation. of course that just left me wondering what was going on and why he couldnt actually tell me what id long suspected. i was a reasonable person but only as far as you were willing to be 'real' with me. i too disliked confrontation(who doesnt?), but i was a big fan of knowing what was going on and what you actually thought and yeah that more often than not leads to confrontation, but i wasnt going to fault you for telling the truth. ive never been a 'quiet' person in that you always knew my opinion on any given subject... maybe that made me seem like a 'bunny boiler',  but truth be told (yes please!) i was far from that. i just didnt have time... at least i didnt think i had time.. a by-product of  my anxiety. turns out i had oodles of times, i just was in so much of a hurry(for what i do not know) ,i couldnt slow down and i couldnt manage my time(still cant).