Hemato-Poesy

Massive hematoma reexamined as art not disease

Blood disorder bone and marrow
fickle fallow depressed me once
Now I know it’s just a poem
Artist or deity or random masterpiece
Drawn from my blood and born in my bone.

I will be your canvas, paint me always let me be
these changing colors of death as beauty.

3 Replies to “Hemato-Poesy”

    1. Jeff, Mervi – social media has become my family – abusive, cold, loud, self-involved and very cruel. If people desire to engage with me personally rather than some “voice of influence” or whatever responsibility one has when you have an audience of lovely, dedicated humans who might listen to anything I have to say because for the last several years, both my personal horror has disrupted others lives if they’ve cared about me, or have mislead or given others constant concern to worry, be upset, call police on me, fire me, kick me in the head = in other word – social media was like the Roadrunner dropping an ACME ten ton block from a mountain trying to hit Bugs Bunny. I’m done being a silly rabbit. For the record, unless they’re big badass mofo rabbits, I actually have an extreme dislike for the species, even when served by a world-class chef.

      Since nothing else was happening here, and I own this fucking domain, why not do as I do and be as I am right here? This way, no one has to deal with me nor I with them except on my own damned terms, which is how it’s gotta be since I (mostly) followed the rules of professionalism and integrity and it destroyed me. People really dislike when you touch on truths they do not care to face, whether they see them as a truth or not – if they retaliate – something is off with them too.

      I was my family’s scapegoat for the vast majority of my life. I’m not going to do that for the damaged Web, the anti-humanitarian organization that the W3C has allowed itself to become due to exhaustion and the power of corporate interests or an environment where humans are turning a great idea right into the same ol’ same ol’ bullshit we’ve seen time and again.

      I’m right here. This is where people – friends, family – whoever one might be – will find me, on my own schedule and in my own voice in my own world on a site worth more to pornographers and drug dealers than anyone else in the world named Molly? Really? So yeah, my blog, my domain, my life, your choice. Let the mountains come to me for a change. I’m done chasing after love and kindness when the reality is there’s precious little of it to be found in terms of truly empathetic people. Sympathy is external. I’m not a sympathetic human. I’m internal, and your pain is my pain and that’s apparently yet another strike on my ever growing list of co-morbid DISorders. Hyper-empathy? Tell that to Saint Mother Teresa or Jesus, then get back to me.

      Otherwise, this is the only accessible on-ramp to me for now. Emails may or may not be responded to. I am at this point over 1,000,000 unanswered career emails and that alone is just a weight I can’t bear to deal with. I do not have the spoons for whoever I was before the utter demolition of my body and identity occurred. My hands, their hands, everyone’s hands because I allowed it, I invited it, and now the party’s over.

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