Just a Girl Lost 2

Just a girl lost~ Here I share bits & pieces of me, in poetry, prose, music & posts from writers who inspire me.


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CHRISTY

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~

The past is always present ~ Immortality in ink

bleeds from the heart of Love

beyond the reach of time in ebbings and flowings

sweptaway keptaway sinking thinking

what if this is all there is
what if there is so much more?

the present

my words always true untainted by reason

as constant as the tides heavenly sun rising high

always true ~ as constant as the tides

no rhyme or reason ~ no longer my own

owned by the one who holds my heart

my every thought eternally bound to only you

Dance with the Angels, my beautiful Christy

You were an angel over all of us

You swept us ‘neath your wings

dusklightmemory

Always with love we’ll remember you,

Always your love will pull us thru

you’re forever in our hearts

and forever in our dreams

~

I miss you and I love you, my sweet Christy ❤

I pray that you are resting gently at peace

RIP ~ 05/13/2017  ~ Christina Gigliotti

~

There’s

so much i wanna say

about how she influenced and affected me and others

ripples on an ocean

she was like a star falling into a sea

touching so many

in ways we didn’t know we needed,

but

this is all I have for now…

prayers for her and her family

prayers for us all

amen

~

©justagirllost2


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1,000 Cuts

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I die every time you never say, ‘goodbye’

I die because in your world

I am nothing anymore

I am worthless

I am broken

I am love unspoken

I wish my heart you’d never reawakened

I was I had been the path not taken

~

Your silence screams indifference

Your inaction deafens me

in mocking ferocity

~

Your sins of omission

Slice~score~slash

my faith slowly ripped away

as you kill my love

little by little

with 1,000 cuts each day

~

©justagirllost2~ Monique M.

 

 

 

*this is something I wrote a couple of years ago.

Wow, time flies and time does heal those wounds that

seem to last an eternity.

~


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She Weeps Alone

 

 

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Tired of being strong

Tired of the games played with her heart

She hurts with a pain soul deep

She weeps alone

~

 

 

~

 

 

©justagirllost2  ~ Monique Mendez

*image taken from Pinterest… words my own


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I am the Storm

 

 

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I have withstood the storms
Hells, yet to be born

I’ve withstood
dark waters of remorse
Slashing me

skin to bone

Pulling me down
again and again
To drown
again and again

I’ve stared into the mirror
of who I am
undead eyes

sliced open wide
to all my inabilities

gutted bleeding inside

Seeing who I was not
Whom I forgot
Always wishing
I’d never looked within

Dying to be struck blind

once again

Until I finally knew,
in the stone cold

silence of emptiness
standing still
in deepest hell

an abyss
of noone

nowhere

of nothingness

~

I found the Truth

I saw the sun

I am the sin
the undone

complete, unwhole

yet begun

I am the beauty behind every cloud

I am the light peering
beneath death’s shroud

I am the storm
~

 

©justagirllost2 ~ Monique

 


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When I Was 13

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I was more in line with life

More mature, when I was 13

I didn’t have the confusion of arrogant assumptions or the world screaming in my brain

I knew what was right and wrong

I knew what belonged in the world

It was the year I wanted to be a missionary

My Catholic family had ties to a doctor who every year took others & his family to help those less fortunate. He went to Peru and Haiti. He worked with Mother Teresa’s nuns. He knew her personally. He did it as a vocation, to help the needy, those poorer that poor.

I decided I wanted to go too.

I asked my mom to make an appointment to meet with him. I remember sitting in front of him. He was a big man, a gentle giant. He was so soft spoken. I felt calm in his presence.

He spoke to me about being so young, third world countries and then he pulled out a pistol. He asked, “Does this scare you? I have to carry this with me in Haiti, it isn’t always a safe place.”

It didn’t scare me. I was stupid then, still am. I think I thought I would live forever. I still do, most times.

I remember finding out I could only wear skirts. Because the nuns. I was not happy about that stupidity.

I flew to Port-au-prince, Haiti on a puddle jumper plane praying Hail Mary’s the whole time knowing we were gonna crash.

We arrived in a third world airport. I almost kissed the ground. Thank you God, not dead!

Assaulted by heat, sounds, I was fascinated & enamored. My first foray into a new land & I was so thrilled. I’d have something to write about in my diary!

Then we were driven through the streets. The thing I remember most are the stray animals.

Starving, sick, so alone & unloved. I was in tears seeing them.

Then we got to The House of the Dying. It was. It was a place of endless cots, quiet, calm people with nothing.

The Sisters of Charity, Mother Teresa and her nuns had a literal house of the dying.

In Haiti the sick without money or means to care for themselves are just dumped out into the street.

Like stray dogs.

The Sisters of Charity, Mother Teresa’s order of nuns would go out and pick them up, take them in, feed, warm, sooth, love them until they died.

That night we had to sleep upstairs, no air conditioning, voodoo drums in the distance. We drank Fanta and ate Pringles, that supper, our first supper. I realized that the nuns had given us a feast. They were so much better than me.

I complained in my mind, the whole time.

We had to go downstairs, upon waking. Kneel on cement & pray in front of Jesus. It was so sweltering hot, yet so peaceful. I felt like I belonged.

My first day, it was overwhelming, cool morning, open air room filled with beds & people, nuns bustling and busy, me just standing there. A nun grabbed me and put a tube of salve in my hand. “Here, put this on his leg.”

He was an old Haitian Continue reading