Meesa's Manic Mind

The Great War

2013-08-08T19:04:00.002-04:00

"This is a time of war!" was exclaimed,
"The tension has gone on too long!"
"We must fight to the death to prove which of us
is the weak and which is the strong!"
With each thought and with each pulse,
the mind and the heart fought with pride.
Exhausted from battle, but each held it's own,
to conquer the great divide.
"I am the intelligence!" said the mind,
"The body uses me to survive!""
But I am the soul!" said the heart,
"Without me, you wouldn't be alive!"
Since the dawn of time, humans were confused
about which should lead the way.
"Follow your heart" says one human,
"It will never lead you astray."
"But the mind is our intellect, it uses facts,
it doesn't lead us into the dark!"
So for years this battle continued,
with each making it's own mark.
But this war, my friends, is never won-
and it carries on to this day.
One will drag you straight to hell,
the other just paves the way.

Jellyfish

2013-05-28T10:52:00.000-04:00

Staring into the ocean
from the safety of my boat,
observing all the ocean life
as I comfortably float.
Wondering what's beneath the water
as the sun starts going down,
dreaming of diving in
but too scared that I might drown.
Intrigued by the jellyfish
but scared of the pain of its sting,
so I sit so quietly in my boat
writing a song to sing...

Oh to swim with the jellyfish
watching its beauty and grace,
intrigued by its wonder
but terrified of its embrace.
Knowing the jellyfish can hurt me
I keep my distance, and yet
I dream of swimming with jellyfish-
but it's much too much of a threat.

There once was a jellyfish
that effortlessly hypnotized me,
but I got too close and got stung
so I tried to set it free.
It left behind the painful scar
that I still feel to this day-
I tried so hard to let it go
but couldn't seem to get away.
I was terrified of its power,
the pain of its sting was strong.
I had to let the jellyfish go-
so I now I sing this song...

Oh to swim with the jellyfish
watching its beauty and grace,
intrigued by its wonder
but terrified of its embrace.
Knowing the jellyfish can hurt me
I keep my distance, and yet
I dream of swimming with jellyfish-
but it's much too much of a threat.

Hard to Handle

2013-05-28T10:50:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I have a bad temper,
and an attitude to match.
Sometimes I get moody
and I seem a little detached.
Sometimes I just want to cry
because I get so overwhelmed,
and I always need to be reassured,
to be loved, to be held.

Sometimes I get bossy
when things don't go my way.
Sometimes I can be a diva
when I've had a long, tough day.
Sometimes I get too motherly
with the people I care about the most-
and I get so mad when people hurt
the ones I hold so close.

So don't tell me you love me
if I'm too much for you to handle.
Don't tell me you love me
if your love flickers out like a candle.
Don't tell me you love me
if your love casually comes and goes.
I'm hard to love but I'm worth it-
and I need a love that grows.

Sometimes I get bitchy
when my hormones are out of whack.
Sometimes I whine like a child
when I've done something to hurt my back.
Sometimes I get disappointed
because my life isn't what I thought it'd be,
and I need my man to lift me up
when I'm not at the best that I can be.

Sometimes I get a little too wild
when I go party with my friends.
Sometimes I stay out too late
and you'll wonder where I've been.
Sometimes I act too young for my age
but I see no good reason to grow old.
And I need someone to run wild with me,
that will never let our fire go cold.

So don't tell me you love me
when you see that I'm a little rough.
Don't tell me you love me
and then decide you're not man enough.
Don't tell me you love me
if you can't handle me at my worst.
I'm hard to love but I'm worth it,
and I'm sick of getting hurt.

Sometimes I get so bored with life
and my gypsy side wants to run.
Sometimes I long for the family life,
to grow roots with a special someone.
Sometimes I feel so hopeless
because I get a little lost in my own mind.
Sometimes I can't see the bright side
because my faith has gone blind.

Sometimes I dream of getting married again,
and having children of my own.
Sometimes I long for the American dream-
the white picket fence, the home.
Sometimes I lose sight of it all
and want to stay in bed for days.
I'll hate my jobs and the town I'm in
and walk around in a haze.

So don't tell me you love me
if you think I've become a burden.
Don't tell me you love me
if you just add to my hurtin'.
Don't tell me you love me
if it's just a downright lie,
I'm hard to love but I'm worth it
and need a man that won't make me cry.

Homesick Gypsy

2013-05-16T08:48:00.000-04:00

Homesick Gypsy
©Meesa Caudill
Sitting in this fluorescent hell,
windows open, feeling the breeze-
daydreaming of the moment
when I can finally be free.
Needing the wind from a car window
blowing through my hair,
I need to feel the rush
of driving to the middle of nowhere.
My gypsy soul is homesick,
the road is calling my name-
I need to see the world
that's beyond this window pane.

I'm a homesick gypsy,
I need to be on the road.
This homesick gypsy
with nowhere to go.
Lord help this homesick gypsy
find her way home.

My daddy was a trucker so
I was born with diesel in my veins.
I can't be still in one place too long,
Lord, release me from these chains.
Put me in a car, in a plane, or
the train going down the tracks.
I'm so ready to get out of here
and never have to look back.
My gypsy soul is aching
to see the world with my own eyes.
I need to experience everything there is-
no tears, no regrets, no goodbyes.

I'm a homesick gypsy,
I need to be on the road.
This homesick gypsy
with nowhere to go.
Lord help this homesick gypsy
find her way home.

Turning the Page

2013-03-20T08:30:00.001-04:00

Turning the Page
©Meesa Caudill

Lost sight of what it meant to be me,
need a new chapter and a new pen.
Leaving behind what used to be,
and all of the pain I've been in.
Gonna let go and start all over,
a fresh, positive start in mind.
I realize I've gotta take care of me,
protect and love what's mine.
So I'm letting go of you and our past,
I'm exhausted from this rage.
It's time to write a new chapter in my life-
this is me turning the page.

Turning the page to write a new story
of the life with which I've been blessed.
I'm turning the page to begin a new chapter
without you and all of our mess.
I'm turning the page to start all over,
so many blank pages for me to fill.
I'm turning the page, it's all about me,
and what's left in my life that's real.

It's time to let go of the story of us
and start the story of me.
It's been long overdue, I'm so over you
and all of our history.
No more believing in fairy tales,
I've got one of my own to write.
So I'm grabbing my pen and healing my heart
and moving on with my life.

Kentucky Summer

2013-03-20T08:30:00.000-04:00

Kentucky Summer
©Meesa Caudill

Fever's kickin' in on the first day of spring,
chill in the air but the sun is bright.
Basketball season for the Cats now over,
clocks kicked up for more daylight.
Summer's just around the bend,
we're all daydreaming about the heat.
It's been a long, dull winter and we're all ready
to escape from all this concrete.

Kentucky summer is on the way,
Fried chicken, watermelon, and lakes...
Let's pack up the coolers and head to the fields,
be sure to watch out for snakes.
Fire up the grill, throw on some chicken,
don't forget the steaks!
We're all ready for a Kentucky summer,
Fried chicken, watermelon, and lakes!

Pull out the tents and let's go camping,
drink and laugh around a bonfire.
Grab your poles, let's catch some catfish,
splash as much as your heart desires.
If you got a boat, bring it along,
we need a redneck yacht club!
Let's escape the bar scene a while
and cook up some Kentucky grub!

Kentucky summer is on the way,
Fried chicken, watermelon, and lakes...
Let's pack up the coolers and head to the fields,
be sure to watch out for snakes.
Fire up the grill, throw on some chicken,
don't forget the steaks!
We're all ready for a Kentucky summer,
Fried chicken, watermelon, and lakes!

An Old Letter

2013-03-01T22:40:00.001-05:00

An Old Letter
© Meesa Caudill

You could see the anguish in the handwriting,
shaking hands with each stroke of the pen.
You didn't have to look into his eyes
to see the pain he was in.
His despair is there on paper,
ink smudged from drops of tears
from the eyes the light disappeared from,
his soul weary for all those years.
I could tell from the letter he was exhausted,
so tired of putting up a fight.
All he needed was a glimmer of hope-
to have some faith, see the light.
I was the one he trusted to read it,
years before his light went out.
To read of his struggles and stresses,
to know his unselfishness without a doubt.
In some of the lines I see anger
and bitterness from a life unplanned.
Regret ate at his soul from the inside out-
he felt as if he were less of a man.
Even after reading it I tried to tell him
what a hero he was in my mind.
To him, he was a failure.
Misery the only thing he could find.
I blamed myself for taking away his youth-
my existence stole his dreams, his light.
I know his absence isn't my fault
because I had become his life.
His letter was written in darkness,
a man wanting so badly to be free.
But I know to this day he loved me so
because of the letter daddy wrote to me.

It's Been Six Years... and I'm FINE.

2013-02-26T22:00:00.000-05:00

It's Been Six Years... and I'm FINE
© Meesa Caudill

vic·tim
/ˈviktəm/ Noun

A person harmed, injured, or killed as a result of a crime, accident, or other event or action.

Victims. Survivors. Those left behind.
"Get over it already."
"It's been _ years. You're still upset?"
"She just wants pity and attention."
"Anyone who wants to kill themselves, just let them."

How many of you have thought these things? Said them? I admit it. I have. Until six years ago.

I didn't understand the anguish, questions, and destruction a suicide leaves behind. I had dealt with losing friends and family members to natural causes, a car accident, and even to homicide. I assumed, like most people, that losing a loved one to suicide was the same as any other death. That you grieve, you go through the stages of dealing with a death, you smile at the good memories and then you get over it.

Sadly, that's not the case. Losing a loved one to suicide is a wound that never heals. For some "survivors" it causes deep depression, some suffer PTSD (primarily those that witnessed the act or the outcome- but even some just from the loss), some just get lost in their own worlds. And then you have the ones like me- the ones who still, after six years, fight with the anger. Those of us that build walls up between other people, that get furious at ourselves when we realize we care too much or feel too deeply- because every emotion we now feel somehow relates to the day we found out we had been abandoned by those we held closest to our hearts.

"Pain comes in all forms. The small twinge, a bit of soreness, the random pain. The normal pains we live with everyday. Then there's the kind of pain you can't ignore. A level of pain so great that it blocks out everything else... Makes the rest of your world fade away, until all we can think about is how much we hurt. How we manage our pain is up to us. Pain. We anesthetize , ride it out, embrace it, ignore it, and for some of us the best way to manage pain is to just push through it." ~ Meredith Grey, Grey's Anatomy

It's been six years tomorrow. 2-27-07. That date will forever be burned into my brain. That date forever haunts me, my mother, my sister, my niece, aunts, uncles, grandmother, cousins, family friends. I have sat here tonight kind of in my own world, trying to get lost inside the tv or internet, and my mind keeps taking me back to this time six years ago.

I can't remember what I was doing the night before my dad took his own life. I remember the last time I saw him- it was at my sister's baby shower on February 11, 2007. I didn't talk to him much that day because his best friend was there and they were trying to stay away from us "cacklin' hens".

I remember the last time I spoke to him - February 23, 2007. It was my then-boyfriend's birthday and we were about to go to Olive Garden for dinner when my dad called me from my grandmother's house to tell me he was proud of me. I didn't understand why he was so proud of me and I rushed off the phone so as to not ruin my evening because I assumed he was drunk and I figured I would just end up emotional. I remember about an hour after that was the first time I felt my son "kick"- that flutter you feel when you're in early pregnancy. I was 14 weeks at the time.

And I remember the day I got the call at work. I remember the weather that day. I remember where I was parked on campus. I remember the stop sign I was pulling up to when my aunt Marie called my phone and told me he was dead. I even remember what I was wearing that day. I remember the look on my sister's face as I walked in the door and she was crying, and I remember collapsing on the floor screaming "Someone's fucking with us! They're lying!!!!"

At that point the memories go kind of fuzzy until the memory of being at the funeral home and begging the funeral director to please let me see my daddy. I think in my mind I felt like I could wake him up. The funeral director wouldn't let me see him, he told me that my dad didn't look very good and they hadn't had time to "fix him up" yet and that I didn't want to see him that way.

Fuzzy again. I know I helped pick out his casket but I don't really remember it.

Then I remember the day of the funeral... getting so mad at my mom because she was on the phone the first time I saw my daddy in his casket. I remember how handsome he looked lying there- the funeral home had done such a good job on making him look like the young, healthy man in my childhood memories- not the tortured alcoholic he had become. I remember vividly the appearance of a smirk on his face- as if he was finally happy, at peace, and even a bit sarcastic about what he had just done. And then everything fades to black again until six weeks later when I found out I had also lost my son.

For so many years after 2007, I've heard many times how "strong" everyone thought I was. Even now, friends will tell me they don't know how I survived that year. And honestly, looking back, even I don't know how.

Now, six years later, I work at the coroner's office and I occasionally see those same tortured expressions that I'm certain my mom and I had when we walked into that funeral home for the first time. I occasionally see and hear that same anger I feel to this day in the voices and faces of the people that have to visit my office. Every time I see that pain, I want so badly to stand up and hug those left behind and tell them that it gets better. I want to tell them that they'll get over the horrible hurt they're experiencing. I want to tell them that it all goes away. But I can't.

Because the truth is- none of it ever does. Those of us left behind just figure out our own ways of dealing. Every. Single. Day.

Constant reminders of what we're missing, constant reminders of the day we got that horrible news. Reminders of the pain our loved ones were experiencing.

We know that that day changed us forever, and not for the better. We know that we are now damaged, and we're hurt, and we're angry, and we're ripped to shreds on the inside.

And the truth is that a "survivor" rarely feels comfortable talking about these things with people, even our closest friends. Because we don't want to burden anyone with such emotions, we know no one understands and that we seem like we "play the victim" or that we are "seeking pity". We are "depressing people" who "hang on" to too much. Honestly, I don't think any of us want pity. All of us look for a release.

My release, most of the time, is my writing. Unfortunately not everyone has the ability to write their emotions so they find other ways. When I can't write and I feel like my head is a mess from the non-stop war in my brain, I anxiously await the weekends so that I can get silly with friends, drink, and go completely numb. Healthy? Of course not. But being a "survivor" of losing a parent to suicide isn't healthy and we all just deal with it the best way we know how.

Am I as "strong" as people have told me I am? Not even close. I think I've just become a new person. And that new person is "just fine".

Bastard Child

2013-01-18T13:57:00.000-05:00

© Meesa Caudill

Well I was born a bastard child
in the summer of '79.
My daddy was a good ol' boy
so he stuck by my momma's side.
Two weeks later they were wed
in a small ceremony in town-
daddy became a family man
and never let momma down.
He held tight to the Bible,
almost became a preacher man-
wanted a country life full of God
but momma didn't understand.
He started sippin' on the bottle
in the summer of '95.
He tried to drown all his regrets,
so sad, he hated his life.

Daddy was a God fearin' man,
momma was a gypsy soul.
Daddy wanted to grow country roots,
momma was always on the go.
I'm the twisted child of that union-
I'm the two halves of that whole.

Momma was always wanting more
than what Daddy could ever give.
She wanted to have fun, a nice car to drive,
she wanted a nice place to live.
We'd move at least once every year
because Momma would get so bored.
Pack up our things and start over again,
Daddy knew it was more than he could afford.
But Momma loved him with all her heart,
she just had an unsettled side.
And Daddy loved her the best he could,
often swallowing his pride.
Then one day he took his own life
and tore Momma's world apart.
Things haven't been the same since that cold day
when Daddy ripped out Momma's heart.
But she holds the faith that he taught her
so many years ago-
she tries to pass it on to this bastard child
but that child has a long way to go.

Daddy was a God fearin' man,
Momma was a gypsy soul.
Daddy wanted to grow country roots,
Momma was always on the go.
I'm the twisted product of that union-
I'm the two halves of that whole.

So now here I am, the bastard child,
left here to find my own way.
My Daddy's pride keeps me grounded,
while Momma's gypsy side makes me stray.
Torn between the two halves of myself
that mimic them so well-
hoping to find my Momma's faith
but fighting my Daddy's hell.

A Gyspy's Goodbye

2012-09-27T21:31:00.001-04:00

A Gypsy's Goodbye
© Meesa Caudill

Fingers cramping from gripping this steering wheel-
legs are numb, gas pedal's the only thing I feel.
Broke off the rear-view, can't look back now-
making you part of the past, gettin' out of this town.
Saying goodbye was just too hard to do-
easier to pack my bags and sneak out on you.
I left a note on the bedroom door,
telling you why I can't do this anymore.
I was a coward, but your tears are too much to bear-
and if I looked into your eyes I'd never go anywhere.

So I'll follow my heart and see where the blacktop leads.
I can't give you all of my love, you can't give me what I need.
Now it's just me and my demons on this dark, open road-
running away from love again because of my gypsy soul.

They say to follow your heart and it won't steer you wrong-
but each time I follow it I end up alone.
Maybe this old soul is just destined to fly-
'cause when love gets too close I tell it goodbye.
Should've been a trucker as much as I run-
get too close to my heart, I'm like a bullet from a gun.
I always take off before I know where to land,
no destination in mind, completely unplanned.
It's better this way, you'll find someone new,
one who can give the love I could never give to you.

So I'm following my heart to see where the blacktop leads.
I couldn't give you all of my love, you couldn't give me what I need.
Now it's just me and my demons on this dark, open road-
running away from love again because of my gypsy soul.

Spotless Mind (yep, movie inspired!)

2012-07-24T13:57:00.000-04:00

Spotless Mind
© Meesa Caudill

At this point in all our lives
we've all been deeply burned-
worlds have been flipped upside down,
we've suffered tremendous hurt.
We've all been through hell,
sometimes twice, and back again-
tried to swear off love,
enjoyed our fun living in sin.
Some of us are free to bare our scars-
most wear them like badges-
some people try to hide them-
cover them with emotional patches.

If only we could forget old wounds,
somehow wipe the slate clean.
New love wouldn't suffer sins of the old,
in fights, we wouldn't be so mean.
We live our lives & try to heal the pain,
hoping to leave our memories behind.
Wanting so badly to forget the pain...
Eternal Sunshine of A Spotless Mind.

We've built up concrete walls to our hearts,
hoping someone strong could tear them down.
With each new love we hope and pray
but they never stick around.
We push them away or we choose to run,
heart is too fragile for another crack.
If we lose ourselves to love again,
we may never find our way back.
So we carry on trying to heal the pain,
heal the damage that's been done to our soul.
We want so badly to forget the past,
unsuccessful at letting it go.

If only we could forget old wounds,
somehow wipe the slate clean.
New love wouldn't suffer sins of the old,
in fights, we wouldn't be so mean.
We live our lives & try to heal the pain,
hoping to leave our memories behind.
Wanting so badly to forget the pain...
Eternal Sunshine of A Spotless Mind.

Add caption

If You're Not Pissed Off

2012-07-24T11:35:00.000-04:00

© Meesa Caudill

Well I hate to admit but I'm getting scared
every time I see the news.
Can't go to school, ride a bus,or watch a movie
without someone shooting at you.
And now the politicians and brainwashed sheeple
are trying to take away our guns.
They don't want us fighting back,
and they know Americans are too fat to run.
With every click of the internet
and on the daily news
we get fed a bunch of bull
and twisted, tainted views.
It's really starting to piss me off
that they want to control me and you.

Land of the free is what we've been told-
free to speak, worship, & get a piece of the pie.
But we can't speak, no praying in public,
it's all a bunch of lies.
Now we're all broke, we're stressed out and scared-
we're a country full of tension.
If you're not pissed off enough to want a change
then you're not paying enough attention!

Political plans no one understands,
a president famous because of his race.
Lost jobs, lost freedoms, no money, no hope-
we've become such a disgrace.
As a whole we just sit back and watch-
"it's ok as long as it's not happening to me."
We're so desensitized and immune
to the things going on across the street.
Start paying attention or one day you'll wake
to the government living in your home.
Taking away our basic rights,
making you bow to a throne.

Land of the free is what we've been told-
free to speak, worship, & get a piece of the pie.
But we can't speak, no praying in public,
it's all a bunch of lies.
Now we're all broke, we're stressed out and scared-
we're a country full of tension.
If you're not pissed off enough to want a change
then you're not paying enough attention!

Our soldiers are dying every day,
their last breaths taken on foreign soil.
Is it really a war against terrorism?
Or are they dying because of oil?
It's been happening now for so long
it seems most Americans have forgotten
about our men and women sacrificed
and flown home in flag draped coffins.
The ones who've survived are damaged
on the inside, out, or both.
They get lost in the cracks of the system
because they took that oath.
"Support and defend the Constitution of the United States
against all enemies, foreign and domestic."
It's starting to look like they need to fight
our government that thinks they're majestic.

Land of the free is what we've been told-
free to speak, worship, & get a piece of the pie.
But we can't speak, no praying in public,
it's all a bunch of lies.
Now we're all broke, we're stressed out and scared-
we're a country full of tension.
If you're not pissed off enough to want a change
then you're not paying enough attention!

It Could Happen To Anyone

2012-07-18T15:48:00.000-04:00

It Could Happen to Anyone
© Meesa Caudill

I used to love my big little city, but now Lexington drains my soul. *sigh*

Every day I watch them, the homeless, as they walk past my windows at work, or as I pass them in my car while I'm on my lunch. Every day I see their worn faces, showing no trace of hope, as they limp up Second Street. As I watch them, I can't help but wonder who they used to be. The broken men I see wandering the streets now are someone's sons, brothers. Some of them are someone's dad, someone's uncle, someone's best friend. I often wonder what their story is, how they ended up in this place in their lives. Yes, quite often drug addiction or alcoholism is to blame- but what led them to that, even? A lot of them are veterans who get lost in the ridiculous system that is the "VA".

How many of you reading this automatically judge these men when you roll past them in your car? How many of you assume that if you give him a few dollars he'll go get a beer? How many of you assume that he's there because he's a loser/criminal/druggie and therefore deserves the misery? Have you ever truly LOOKED at some of them and wondered where their paths were lost and how they ended up on a gravel road of despair?

It could happen to any one of us.

Do me a favor and think about this, in depth, for just a few minutes. Allow me take you to another dimension where your world is the one flipped upside down... I'll even give you a few scenarios just to be sure you "get it".

You're a 30 year old man who has done hard, manual labor since you were old enough to work. You started out mowing lawns and working on cars in your spare time to working a full time job in the construction industry- building houses, roofing, painting, etc. Or you've worked in a factory since you were 18 years old and time is catching up with you. One day you wake up and realize you can barely move because your back is out. You go to the doctor and walk out with a prescription of pain pills and, because you cannot function because of the pain, you take them as prescribed. A 2 week prescription of pain pills and muscle relaxers isn't going to cut it- this is a permanent back injury- so you're on this medication for months. After a few months you realize the prescribed dosed just isn't cutting it anymore, you've gotten immune, so you have to take more and the doc won't prescribe you anything else. You need to be pain free in order to work to keep a roof over your head and to feed you and your family. So you start buying them from the street. Next thing you know, you're addicted. All because you were hurt. Now, your wife is leaving you because she can't take the lying about the addiction, the lying about where all your money is going, and being evicted and losing electricity because all your money goes to the pain pills. Next, you've been evicted- you're alone, you have no money because most of it goes to your pills to kill the pain, and now you have nowhere to go. You're homeless. You're a good, hardworking man but life dealt you a shitty hand.

You're a hard working divorced woman, two children, and a stable, decent paying job. One morning you go into work and are called in to your boss's office for him to tell you that due to budget cuts they have to let you go. You've had no warning. Your parents can't help you because they are either broke or already passed on, your friends have their own problems and can't help you, and the father of your children does his legal minimum to help. Because of the economy, jobs are few and far between and because of your childcare schedule you can't just take any job offered because you have no sitter. You made good money at your job but unemployment doesn't cut it on paying rent, bills, childcare, and groceries. You can't get assistance because even on unemployment you "make too much money". Rent is due and so are all the utilities. Your utilities get turned off. You get an eviction notice on your door telling you that you have 14 days to move. In two weeks you and your children are now homeless with nowhere to go. You're a good, hardworking woman but life dealt you a shitty hand.

You're a 25 year old man fresh home from Afghanistan. You were a normal, healthy teenage boy when you decided to join the military. Now you're aged before your time, physically disabled from the shrapnel in your leg, and you're suffering from PTSD. Dealing with the general public causes you anxiety, you can't physically do hard, manual labor and you don't have a degree or experience in anything other than military- so finding a job that pays more than minimum wage isn't easy. Your PTSD causes you to have night terrors which leaves you exhausted and unable to wake up on time for work, so any job you do find that you're able to do fires you because of excessive tardiness. You are on medication for your PTSD, you get lost in the cracks of the "VA", and you don't have the money to live in your own place. No family or friends that are able to help you out- you end up homeless. You're a good, hardworking soldier who fought for this country but life dealt you a shitty hand.

Yes, I know some of you will argue until you're blue in the face about how you think all homeless people are trash and why they deserve what they've got- but the above scenarios could happen to any of you. It happens every day, and now more often than you think.

http://www.nationalhomeless.org/publications/facts/Whois.pdf

According to: http://www.kyhousing.org/KICH/Content.aspx?id=2861&terms=homeless

"During the 2010 count, which took place on January 28, 6,623 homeless individuals were identified. The 2009 count located 5,999 homeless individuals, although a major ice and snow storm that hit the state around the same time of the count altered plans and prohibited efforts for the count.

1,460 homeless respondents were severely mentally ill.
2,032 homeless respondents were chronic substance abusers.
1,071 homeless respondents were victims of domestic violence.
564 homeless respondents were veterans.
15 percent of homeless individuals were completely without shelter across the state on the day of the count."

A lot of you look at these men and see trash. You see something you could never relate to. I look at these people and see wasted potential, faded dreams, and broken souls.

And that, my friends, is what breaks my heart.

Seeing In the Dark

2012-07-17T13:16:00.001-04:00

Here's another brainstorm from a phrase that Jason Sheffield had given me a few months back when I asked for writing ideas.The phrases to start with were:

The key phrases:
* Looking forward to the past
* Hitchhiking in a ghost town
* Dont make me fall in love
* Six feet under but climbing
* I'm not a sex toy
* Seeing in the dark

(Just to make sure no one gets confused- this is not a current life experience. Just a writing bug! lol!)

Soooo.... here's:

Seeing In The Dark
© Meesa Caudill

I lie awake and hear you breathing
mumbling something in your sleep-
I wonder what you're dreaming
and about the secrets that you keep.
I roll over and kiss your face
and hear you whisper a name...
it's not me you're calling out to-
and I've only got myself to blame.

All these years I've been blind,
not seeing what you need.
All these years you've given your all
and I can't give you any of me.
All these years you wanted a flame
and we didn't even have a spark-
it's taken all this time for me
to start seeing in the dark.

I was so arrogant to believe
you wouldn't find someone new.
Someone who could give their all-
give everything to you.
I underestimated your value,
didn't give you what you deserve-
and it took lying here in the dark
to see how much you're worth.

All these years you wanted a flame
and we didn't even have a spark-
it's taken all this time for me
to start seeing in the dark.

Time Flies

2012-04-25T08:06:00.003-04:00

Time Flies
© Meesa Caudill

Momma always told me
times flies after 21...
looking back now she was oh so right-
where has all the time gone?
It seems like only yesterday
I was 8 years old
sittin' on my daddy's knee
hearing the stories he told.
Where did sweet sixteen go?
Learning to drive a car.
Turning 18, moving out on my own,
trying to follow my heart.

Time sure does fly when you're having fun
and even when times are hard.
Throughout the years you laugh and cry
and life takes a toll on your heart.
But oh, my child, life sure is worth it
when the memories make you smile.
Even looking back on all the tears,
it was worth it all the while.

Turning 21 and spreading my wings,
still just a kid in a grown-up world.
The partying, bars, and neon lights
put my head in a whirl.
Settling down, friends having babies,
losing love and family...
but no matter what, keeping my head held high
through pain and tragedy.
I reminisce on all those years,
and the little girl on my daddy's knee...
What would my 8-year-old self
think of the 33 year old me?

Add caption

Where the Grass Grows on Tears - Survivor of Suicide

2012-02-27T11:12:00.001-05:00

Where the Grass Grows on Tears
© Meesa Caudill

We talk to stone and spill our hearts,
not knowing whether we're heard.
Many regrets, unspoken goodbyes,
lives left behind filled with hurt.
Flowers and trinkets and tokens of love
placed with care on the ground.
Praying that one day our loved ones can rise
and see that we still come around.
We cringe on anniversaries,
flashbacks of moments frozen in our minds-
the last words they spoke echo in our brains,
the pain never erased with time.
Photos make us smile, but also make us cry-
videos tear us apart.
Wishing we could just touch their skin,
hear their voice, reanimate their heart.
But instead we're left here wondering
about the what if's, how's, and whys.
Wishing we could have just one more day
to convince them to save their own lives.
No chance for goodbye, no more "I love you's",
just lots of anger and pain through the years.
You left us here to sleep for eternity
in the land where the grass grows on tears.

©Meesa Caudill

Don't Go Fallin' For A Fallen Angel

2012-01-31T23:17:00.003-05:00

Don't Go Fallin' for a Fallen Angel
© Meesa Caudill

I wish I was the perfect angel
that you see in your dreams
but sadly, my halo's a little rusted
and there's mud on my broken wings.
I get frisky when the horns appear,
you can tell by the smirk on my face.
I can go from good to bad in a second,
that's why I fell from grace.

So don't go fallin' for a fallen angel-
I don't want to pierce your heart with my horns.
Even the most delicate rose
can hurt you with it's thorns.
Don't let my rusty halo fool you
into thinking I'm good as gold-
I'm soft as heaven to be next to
but I'm hard as hell to hold.

I'll torment you with desire
and put you under my spell-
but don't try to hold too tightly
cause I'll drag you straight through hell.
I leave a trail of tears in my path,
shattered hearts I leave behind.
I can be as sweet as sugar
or I can make you lose your mind.

So don't go fallin' for a fallen angel-
I don't want to pierce your heart with my horns.
Even the most delicate rose
can hurt you with it's thorns.
Don't let my rusty halo fool you
into thinking I'm good as gold-
I'm soft as heaven to be next to
but I'm hard as hell to hold.

Don't Make Me Fall In Love (A writing experiment...)

2011-12-21T21:31:00.000-05:00

Time to clear the brain again! I was doing good on the writing each night for a few days but I slipped again. I just mixed up a cake and have it in the oven for 40 minutes, so I'm gonna take this time to spill out some thoughts in font. My buddy Jason Sheffield gave me a few key phrases to build on and so I think I'm gonna experiment with that. I'm gonna try to throw a few in, hopefully all if my brain will let me! Let's see where it takes me! (Again, thanks Jason!)

The key phrases:
* Looking forward to the past
* Hitchhiking in a ghost town
* Dont make me fall in love
* Six feet under but climbing
* I'm not a sex toy
* Seeing in the dark

(okay, after a few minutes of deliberating, I don't believe I can do it with all of them at once. BUT I am going to allow the ideas to sink in and see what I come up with!)

Don't Make Me Fall In Love
© Meesa Caudill

Don't look at me
as if
I'm the only one in the room
if,
in your peripherals,
you're checking out
that girls
ass.
Don't speak to me
in that soft tone,
telling me your
secrets,
dreams,
and fears
if all you're doing
is trying
to convince me
to
fuck you.
Don't make me laugh
by being
charming
and witty
if the joke turns out
to be
on me.
Don't caress my skin
as if it's made of
priceless silk
if your only intentions
are to caress me
into
false intimacy.
Don't tell me I'm beautiful
and that I'm perfect
in your eyes
if you find perfection
in everything
with
tits.
Don't tell me that
you love me if,
in reality,
the only love
you have ever felt
is for
yourself.
Don't convince me
that I'm the only object
of your desires
if you get hard
at the
thought
of one of my
best friends
naked.
Don't fool me
into believing
that you're the perfect man
when my mind
(when logical)
knows there
is no such thing.
Don't make me
fall
in love
with
you.

Dreams of Alabama

2011-12-18T21:40:00.000-05:00

Dreams of Alabama
© Meesa Caudill

It's been a long time since she's seen him-
since she wanted so badly for him to stay-
she lets her mind drift back a few years
to that warm, breezy night in May.
He was the only one she could see
in the bar's soft neon glow,
the world disappeared, no one else existed-
and for the night time moved so slow.
Such a short time she spent with him
but it made her want forever-
she never believed in love at first sight
until their precious time together.

She dreamed of Alabama starry nights
while lying in his embrace.
For just one night she imagined her life
surrounded by Southern grace.
Now her mind drifts off to Alabama-
but her memories have begun to fade,
life could have been so perfect
if her Alabama would have stayed.

It's been years since she's seen his face
and his dark chocolate brown eyes.
She gets a message that hes looking for her
and she begins to feel the butterflies.
The years apart have made her a cynic
so she puts the butterflies to rest,
but she can't stop the longing in her soul
and that aching in her chest.
She finds herself getting lost in daydreams,
trying to remember his dimpled grin.
Her thoughts get lost in Alabama
and she imagines what could have been.

She dreams of Alabama starry nights
and again lying in his embrace.
For just one more night she'll imagine her life
surrounded by Southern grace.
Now her mind drifts off to Alabama-
but her memories have begun to fade,
life could have been so perfect
if her Alabama would have stayed.

Sleepy thoughts...

2011-12-18T21:38:00.002-05:00

Sleepy Thoughts
© Meesa Caudill

Echos of memories
thunder through my head-
lyrics of sad songs
fill my thoughts in this bed.
These lonely, empty rooms
occupied only with ghosts from the past-
they're the only company I keep,
the only relationships that last.
Haunted always by yesterday,
full of fear of tomorrow-
pillows damp with tears,
soaked in all my sorrows.
Prayers answered strangely
but never how they were prayed-
I'll go on reminding myself
that God works in His own way.
So for now the sad songs keep playing
as I lie alone in bed,
praying for the echos to be silenced
and for the thunder to stop in my head.

Leave some love already!

2011-12-14T20:44:00.000-05:00

I get quite a few visits but I never get any comments! Come on, folks! Show me some love! (Or hate!) Either way, let me know what you're reading and your thoughts on it! Tell me how ya found me!

Much love!

Meesa

Run Away

2011-11-03T04:26:00.000-04:00

Run Away
© Meesa Caudill

Run away, little girl,
run from your fears.
Run from your past,
run from your tears.
Run from the pain
that rips at your soul,
run from the regrets
of mistakes long ago.
Run away from love
so your heart won't break.
Run away from committment-
if you don't give, they can't take.
Run away from God-
He's taken so much from you.
Run away from the demons
that always show through.
Run away from everyone
that tries to get too close.
Run away from the ones
that love you the most.
Run away from it all,
keep running forward.

But stop to ask yourself-
what are you running toward?

Thunderstorm of You

2011-10-19T02:08:00.000-04:00

Thunderstorm of You
© Meesa Caudill

My life was like a cloud-free day,
not a drop of rain in sight.
The air was crisp, the beginning of fall-
a perfect autumn night.
With just one glance you were there,
no warning, no alarm.
Like a funnel cloud to a storm chaser
I was entranced by your charm.
Our first days together were sunny and bright,
a few rainbows here and there.
And suddenly there was a dark cloud,
a heaviness in the air.

I had my days in the sun
and then the clouds came rollin' in.
I didn't heed the warning
when the thundering began.
My heart was struck by lightening,
there was a flash, and we were through.
How in the world does a girl survive
the thunderstorm of you?

The tears poured down like torrential rain,
your voice so loud, so full of thunder.
No flash flood warning to save me this time-
I felt myself go under.
Our angry words were hailing down,
striking our souls to the core.
I tried to run, tried to hide-
needed shelter from the storm.
So now I wait while it passes,
praying for crisp air and clear skies.
Hoping I no longer see
the dark clouds in your eyes.

I had my days in the sun
and then the clouds came rollin' in.
I didn't heed the warning
when the thundering began.
My heart was struck by lightening,
there was a flash, and we were through.
How in the world does a girl survive
the thunderstorm of you?

4 years, 6 months, 3 days...

2011-08-30T02:23:00.001-04:00

Not one day has passed, not ONE, that I haven't thought about my dad.

Not one week has passed that I haven't had at least one dream with him in it, be it a nightmare or bittersweet.

And not one moment goes by that I don't wish with everything in my still-broken heart that he was still here.

It's been four and a half years now. The pain is more tolerable now, or at least I've learned to live in denial like a pro. It still hurts though, even if it doesn't feel like it's killing me. It's only unbearable when I really allow myself to think about the details. I don't do that very often. I still hear that I need professional help to deal with it, even though it's been so long now. And a few months ago I finally allowed myself to admit that those who have told me that are right.

Often times, before I write one of my notes, blogs, or statuses about him or my son, I wonder if people are sick of reading about it. I don't understand why I even care. So many times throughout my days, I walk around with a smile on my face or trying to make jokes in order to make everyone around me feel good. I try not to show my true emotions because I know most people don't know what to say and it makes them uncomfortable.

So many times I've wondered what he was thinking in the split second before he pulled that trigger. I know he was arguing with his mother about my mom. Was he angry? Was he hurt? Or was he just so sick of the bullshit that he just didn't care anymore? Did he think about me? Did he think about what he was doing to my mom, my sister, his grandchildren? Why didn't he leave us a note? He knew he was going to do it. Why didn't he call?

And so many times I get angry with everyone. I'm angry at almost his entire family. I would go through and list everyone and my reasoning behind it but I won't allow myself to do that. I'll wait until I can afford a shrink to go through my list one-by-one. All I can say is that I hope each of them feel the pain I do, tenfold, every day. No matter how much I love them, I blame them for my dad not being here. I know that a psychiatrist will assure me that I'm just fucked in the head and there's no one to blame but him, but I will always see things differently.

I wonder who will walk me down the aisle if I ever get married again. I don't even know if I'll ever be able to without him. He always said he wouldn't "give me away" twice. Guess he wasn't lying.

If I ever have another child, he won't be here. He left when I was pregnant with my son and that kills me. Didn't he even want to meet him if I had made it to full term? Did he think we'd be better off without him???

Although it's been over four years, the pain has become more tolerable but the questions remain. And the anger... the anger sometimes sears through me, so much so that I feel like I could burst into flames.

I am angry at the world.

Liar, Liar

2011-02-26T05:45:00.003-05:00

Liar, Liar
© Meesa Caudill

Liar, liar
your tongue's on fire
from telling all those fibs.
Liar, liar
you're such a crier
when I find out what you did.

"Baby, please believe me!" you say
as the lies roll off your tongue.
You carry the burden of all your stories,
I bet they weigh a ton!
Go find someone to believe your bull
and the venom that you spew.
There's no emotion left in my heart,
no more trust for you.

Liar, liar
your tongue's on fire
from telling all those fibs.
Liar, liar
you're such a crier
when I find out what you did.

You tell me that she's just a friend
so why are her pictures in your phone?
I don't need a liar in my life...
I'm better off alone.
She calls you on the weekend
late at night when we're apart.
You tell me she means nothing to you
but I know better in my heart.
So take your lies, and go to her-
maybe she'll believe your stories are true.
But as for me, I'm done with the drama,
and I'm done with you.