original poetry copyright Stacey Witner 2011

original prose copyright Stacey Witner 2011

Thursday March 3rd 2011. This beaten(?) past(?). What do you do when you suffer broken heart. I'm usually the one to sit around and wallow(?) in it. I beat myself up emotionally devoting myself in to music that help me to release tears, sadness, anger. All of the emotions that go with a broken heart. It's my heart ___ that resting itself by reflection very deeply in word towards itself. Like look at the mirror If you will. The past 3 months have been very trying to me testing my faith, testing my trust, testing my position and ultimately leading me to make some pretty tough decisions. One thing I have always been known for is going with my good instinct that soft untouchable place inside of me that fuels my heart in each new adventure. I never looked at this time which I'm going back to my roots person unknown and obviously necessary reason as an adventure with many reward and lessons to be learned.

original poetry copyright Stacey Witner 2011

Thursday March 10th 2011. Stop hurting me. Pull up a chair in the room next to the others who hurt me. When a woman tells you you're hurting her do you stop do you try harder not to or do you continuously jab the dagger in deeper. It's my own mistake. The price I paid for opening up to you. I should have known better. I was naive and harder now because of you. I'm untrusting(?) now thanks to you. Thank you for turning my heart to stone. Thank you for making it more difficult for those who succeed you. Well I'm moving on. I'll keep searching until I find my heart's mirror. You can't make it better you broke it. The damage is done so pull up a chair next to the other idiots who've lost and stop hurting me.

Monday, March 14th 2011. The travel is worth the time by the way that's a very good song. If I could only shut the spinning off the spinning that keeps on in my head chances. I believe in taking them. Risk I believe in taking those too. With easy disappointment I have began to give up on these necessary ingredients in the quest for happiness what happened to me. The scared scar me as I in the bubble of protection around myself look but don't touch because if you do I might crumble and fall the pieces right there. Freedom. Is the feel of a Chris Marsh breeze piercing through my hair on the boardwalk in New Jersey. It's the warm raise of the sun beating through the passenger seat of the Nissan and lending on my skin. It's the constant motion of the gravel on the side of the road waiting by with the reality that there is and I'm here. Pleasure I'm getting lost in a good song. It's sweet

original poetry copyright Stacey Witner 2011

original poetry copyright Stacey Witner 2011

Tuesday March 15th 2011. Round and round. Why do they call it a merry go round? There is nothing merry about it. When we were kids we used to torture each other on that thing. My brother used to see how fast they can wrap that thing up around until those of us who have not yet fallen off of it clinging to the edge for dear life while receiving splinters in our butts would beg plead and cry for Mercy. I remember the only way we can avoid not taking our guts out would be to lay on our backs our arms and legs wrapped around the metal banisters staring off into the sky whose clouds would twist and turn like a kaleidoscope. The freakish(?) ride from hell does not stop there just because you're an adult. You hop on it graciously receiving they abuse you undoubtedly know it's going to come out of the experience. You take your seat hold on for dear life until the freaks of those splinters in your butt all over again.

original poetry copyright Stacey Witner 2011