Brevity is Beautiful➩➪➩

#1context

My mother and I both abused drugs long before my prefrontal was developed so lets just say I had no choice.
I DID, but where I’m at now, well this was never my intention, nor was it hers, I’m sure.
But I’m happy to be sitting on my aunt’s bed writing to you about how “too far” was never met.
Thank God.
Thank God my only true casualty is myself.
I have no death counts committed all by me lowly-self.
I’ve watched people die but they knew what poison they were taking the same as I.
But I still can’t cry.
No because I can’t cry if I can’t love and I don’t love.
So let me use you
To be a shoulder to cry on.

My momma used to listen but too much addiction came between us
and I need someone to listen.

All i need is someone to cry on.

critique 1context read nonfictionfiction

#2

You know what I’ve always loved as much as I’ve hated?
Challenging myself.

“Well, that’s not true”

Fuck yes it is,
I’ve always hated challenging myself.

“What kind of human is resistant to adaptability?”

How fucking daft am I?

Is this just my addiction talking or am I completely forgotten?
How could I be forgotten if I’m alive?
If that was so,
Was my mother?

Did I help push her to her early grave?
Everyone says,
“Can’t blame yourself,”
But what if I was the only one who could hear her.

What gift was I fucking given to watch all the ones I love die just to write about them?
Just to know what I, alone, will only ever know?

Some gift, I’m not a fucking gypsy, I don’t tell fortunes,
I’m just writing nonfiction fictions.

How un-fucking fair.

nonfictionfiction read critique

#1

I lost my mom on Valentines Day this year. She was almost 53.
I loved her as much as I loved what killed her.
Fentanyl.
But I am here and alive (physically) and clean now.
Why me? Fuck I dunno.
Why anyone?
Why did I give birth to a beautiful baby boy and now, almost 3 years later, am I realizing how much I love him? Did I always know? Probably not..
I’d like to think I’m smarter than that, but Lord knows I’m not.
And these last few years have been just fentanyl and I,
So who really knows what I fucking love.
Because I haven’t loved myself is so fucking long I’m not sure if much I loved before was ever real.
I dunno.
But I’ll find out,
Won’t I?