Taken for Granted

How could you?

How could you take me for granted this way?

How could you sinfully touch my skin,

kiss me with persistence,

touch me with tightness,

and murder me with your lack of presence?

A connection, like a spider web in creation. A significance, like two children, born and raised together, marrying at age 35.

But I am still - still that little girl. That little girl riding quarter horses and winning medals for gymnastics in a gymnasium but 67 years of age.

You sure know how to paint a town.

I can see the satanic disturbance that has paralised you.

The puppy that you saw in the window.

It’s me.

It always has been.

The words I may write, the lyrics I may type, compare to nothing than what is underlying in my eyes.

I am still Samara Jade.

What is this woman talking about!?

Let me explain..

I could have saved two people; myself or a figure of lust.

You can only guess who I caught from the fall, who I wished to save and who of course; survived in the end.

How sluggish and sick I feel, I had just consumed the third dose of my antibiotics today. Please, please refrain from another trip to the hospital.

Lately I find myself with two hands clenched. Like a snake suffocating its prey. I am preaching. Asking for guidance, most often a shield. A shield to protect me from the outside world. The toxins that may damage or destroy my friends - myself included. 

How is it that I provide others with the last dollar to my name, the last breadcrumb in my ownership and love like I have never received before?

I wish I had friends to take me to doctors appointments, guide me on living out of home, explain how to construct a proper sentence and support me when I have consumed a drug that has drastically effected my body.

Why am I always that friend that never has a hand to hold? A tissue to wipe but a single tear?

I admit, at the beginning of the year I was overwhelmed with the idea of university.

It was everything that I had lived for.. Especially Bond. The interview alone had me ecstatic. Tasered my heart with excitement and the feeling of being needed. The feeling of success which I am afraid I will never experience again.

“What do you love to do? The rest will come to you, Sam”

I love to write, and I love to mourn the old me, every day.

For some reason I am still utterly stuck.

My feet held down in mud.

Why can I not find a style of writing that provides me with a profitable outcome?

Tarot Cards.

My mother had told me that I must not buy them for myself. They are to be gifted to me.

I have never felt so ready to try them. 

WAIT,

how could I forget?

If you read my blog posts from around this time last year regarding my birthday, you may see the never-ending pattern of unsuccessful birthdays.

My 18th is only 2 days away.

So what’s the issue?

Court has been adjourned, and they believe it to be reinstated on my special day.

How could it possibly be this ironic?

I waited nearly 2 years just to find out that I will be nothing but more depressed on my birthday. I am soon to see the face of the man I met multiple times in my dreams. The cursed soul that walks where fear follows.

My violated body.

I can still feel his eyes. The camera in the left corner of my eye the morning I had seen something I wish I hadn’t.

My scream - still rings in the front of my mind; as does the raid.

“Samara come out! it’s the police”

“Brodie, what’s going on!?”

“What do you mean he recorded you?”

“You have become one of Heywires’ 2015 winners, Congratulations on your story”

I think I’m going to be sick. These tablets are not going very well with my emotions.

I must say, I have been channelling my sadness into my friendships.

Building those who throw me in the gutter. It gives me pleasure knowing that I have become the person that I have when all I have experienced is trauma and fear.

His blue eyes.

Sams blue eyes.

The day that I met him. The day I could never reverse. 

My poor Kia Rio, Rhonda.

I miss hiding in my car; Fear or love. My room when I was nothing but homeless (read Bootfull of Me and Crash Landed in Homeless Ville).

How could I forget my piano, ugh..

The keys as my fingers would play a melody that consumed as a whole. I imagine playing, in space. Surrounded by the stars and infinite possibilities. Play on.

Canon by Pachelbel. 

Play on.

My keys were my tears. Sometimes even both.

Selected few may hear my creation by music. I love when you’re so completely unattached to reality and find yourself becoming the muse.

What a lyrical genius.

It saddens me to think it is so close to me but so far away. Oh my baby.

Take me back in time to where the sweeter things were as they were.

The demons were in movies and pain was standing on lego pieces at lunch break.

Viewers, always, always plan on.