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Brain rot

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It's a life sentence; & until you perish, it's hellish.

Unless you opt to replenish-

filling up your cup and mine, together-intertwined we can share the harvest.

Water loomed emblems born amongst gravel and dirt; waves of togetherness that wash away the desolate hurt.

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I wanna be ur vacuum cleaner

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ᵣₑₐₗᵢₜy ᵢₛ ₐ ₙₒₜᵢₒₙ ₜₕₐₜ’ₛ ᵣₑfₗₑcₜᵢᵥₑ ₒf ₚₑᵣₛₚₑcₜᵢᵥₑ.

ₐ ₜₒₖₑₙ ₒf dₑᵥₒₜᵢₒₙ ₜₕₐₜ ᵣₑqᵤᵢᵣₑₛ ᵥₒcₐₜᵢₒₙ ₜₒ ₛₑₜ ᵢₙₜₒ ₘₒₜᵢₒₙ.

Bᵢₜₜₑᵣ ₐₙd bᵣᵢgₕₜ ₚₐᵢₙₜₑd ₘₐₜₑᵣᵢₐₗᵢₜy ₜₕₐₜ yₑₐᵣₙₛ fₒᵣ ₕₐᵣᵥₑₛₜ,

ᵢf ₒₙₗy ₜₒ ₘₒₘₑₙₜₐᵣᵢₗy ₛₐₜᵢₐₜₑ yₒᵤᵣ ₛₜₐᵣᵥᵢₙg ₐᵣₜᵢₛₜ

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Midge

If it’s a father's honor that his legacy be born through the passage of his son; then it's the birth of a daughter that's a mother's greatest gift.

Your sweet bundle of joy newly wrapped in the warmth of your doting arms. Freshly birthed with your mopped black hair, porcelain skin and dainty doll-like features. Your very own extension of self, a carbon copy clone.

And every daughter aspires to be just like her mother. Whether its trying on her shoes, or tagging along at her heels. Pulling at her skirt, reaching your arms up towards the beacon of light that is your life source, your sun, your moon and your stars. Since the beginning, she is all that you have ever known. The rocking of her movements that put you to sleep well before you were thrusted into this world. She heals, she soothes.

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Oozing from me was a sense of child like wonder, blissfully free diving safely towards a net of naive comforts. My entire life was a playground of immagination and creative landings.

To have and to hold a childhood. Something that as the first born child, and daughter, of an immigrant family, slipped through your blistered fingers. Sacrifices were made to push you further along on the path of success that you had never asked for. Symbiotic Sacrifices of generational martyrdom lined up like dominos, crashing down upon each other. A black sheep born from the sacrificial lamb.

Perhaps resent is all that was left for you to feel towards me. After all the attention had been grabbed and bled; your identity dried up and plastered with mine. So when you called me Midge, was that a smile or a scowl I saw curling at the corner of your lips. Was it a mock, or a play? who was it that you saw when you looked at me? Was it ever truly me? Or just the direct manifestation of you, that you never got to be.

I desired your attention as passionately as fire craves air. I wanted you to dote on me, and choose me, every day as I chose you. I would twist up falacies in my fantasies to earn a place on your radar. Itching for 5 minutes of your time as you silently made dinner. Coming up with stories of my popularity, to win over your satisfaction. A simple gaze would have sufficed. Instead i filled the icy kitchen with my circles of empty fables. At one point Midge was put away, on the top shelf somewhere out of sight and out of mind. Forgotten about entirely. The detachment of me began to unfold in ways I didn't recognize. Oblivious, and ever optimistic, the idolization I had of you was nowhere near faltering. My heart cherished and protected you, loyalty that was unbinding. It's easier to understand when you feel the generational ties attached to every family tree. The vines that strangle, that are buried deep. It's not an excuse, more so an understanding. Of the how and why things play out in the ways that they do. Of course we are operated with choices, but awareness is key. Some awarenesses that people have are buried so far beneath the surface, they would fail to recognize even if buried alongside it. I was to much awareness for you, to much pain and hurt I dug up simply by existing. In order to bury back the hurt, you buried me with it.

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Hope

“hope” has been prominent throughout the course of my life. Been somewhat of a life line that I’ve held onto, leaned on and always came back to. I wanted to at one point during my pregnancy use it as Karminas middle name. Karmina Hope. I almost wish I had.

As we all know I’ve gone by robin for awhile now. I had everything ready & laminated to get it official. However, to my suprise and disappointment I was missing one page. Kinda have to believe that maybe it was for a reason.

I wanted to change my last name—again. (Changed it from Weinburgh 💩 to Frost to match mina.) but I didn’t know to what.

I read a book, “wild” by Cheryl Strayed, and upon further research on her I learned she chose that last name. “Strayed away from the path”- and I really appreciated that. I want to pick a good one, something that means something to me. Then it dawned on me. What is hope in Italian? Bam. Speranza. I liked it.

Writing “Robin Speranza” down gave me chills. It felt right. I’ve never felt like Katherine Weinburgh. I played a part and never complained. It’s not that deep tbh. If you don’t like your name, or like something else. Change it. Who. Gives. A. Shit.

With that being said, while I do have plans to eventually legally change it, I’m in no rush. I wanna make sure it’s good with Mina first. I felt the abandonment of not having the same last name as my mom as a kid, and I don’t want that for her. We’ve discussed it some. Fortunately she loves her name—which she chose 🤷‍♀️ (story for another time.)

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Crying without the release of tears

Is like

Holding your breath without an exhale

Always in low tide, a ship that can’t set sail.

Feeling it all, without knowing,

Broken dreams, unspoken things, badly bruised but never showing.

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There’s a

Tightness in my chest

Bitterness in my breath

Hollowed out from when my heart left,

Leaves a dead man walking

Pity parties piss me off

The one who needs no one, needs no one to become some one, because something is better than nothing.

My whole life was experienced inside of a sealed glass bottle

Slowly drifting, splitting currents,

Screaming under water

What is glass, a window? A shield? A mirror?

Am I even really here at all, ever. Or a fragment of my mind, what’s left of it, scattered.

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I just wanna be…. Appreciated

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