Beloved

Yes.

Today will be tough.

Today might suck hard.

You might have to climb the tallest mountain you have ever faced today.

You might have to:
tell someone the truth,
lose 1 pound,
love someone who is unlovable,
discover a clumsy lie.

You might:
gain 3 pounds,
fight with a loved one,
discover someone’s gone,
ruin or have your day ruined with an ugly word.

God may ask you to face something really horrible and ugly about yourself that needs to change before you can move forward.

You may have to live with the shame, guilt and heartache that sits in your throat like an immovable lump because there is no one to hear your pain.

You may be paralyzed by fear.

But.
YOU ARE ALIVE!

He didn’t give these problems, friends, husband, kids, parents, body, mind or life to anyone but you because He knows how strong you really are when you’re loved. When He loves you.

Go out and get whatever it is you need today! And stand strong in the knowledge that you are LOVED! The daughter of the one, true king.

Amen. ❤

Advertisements

sympathy for the seduced medusa

raped because he could
cursed for no good
snakes under this hood
see myself and turn to stone

never meet another eye
pretend that i am shy
lock the truth behind this lie
walk this wicked earth alone

someone’s out for my head
“i’m a monster,” it’s been said
made from blood a man has shed
i was merely trying to learn

the only wisdom i would gain–
knowledge of Poseidon’s pain
it’s a wonder i’m still sane
endless hell in which i burn

product of your sex-crazed town
you kick me when i’m already down
my heart dies without a sound
so you can ignore it

coerced/seduced
cursed and abused
quite simply reduced
to the slut who asked for it

 

Broken-hearted is not a bad place to be.

Under water
Bottom of the pile
Broken-hearted
Nothing left to defile

Can’t piece this puzzle
Ripped to ribbons
Remnants of this raiment
Spinning in oblivion

Naked emotion
Raw devotion
You can’t expect
A controlled explosion

Dangling in cliff’s shadow
Reaping fields that fallowed
Run aground in the shallows
Swallowed whole in the valley of gallows

Even the devil wouldn’t follow
Through this unhallowed hollow
Choke back a hard swallow
Funeral for the sorrow

Give you my word
If you’re still keeping score
You can blame me
I’ll fall on my sword

Can’t bring this heart home
It was born to wild around
Built to be lost in war
Through heartache I am found

To Dust You Shall Return

Photo: Martha Maggio, from the garden at Mount Carmel, potted Cyclamen, Israel

I know it’s not easy to love me.

Temperamental
Hard-to-handle
Hot-headed
Hothouse flower

Fading in the bright light
Swamped in the black of night
Wilting with any slight
Change

Strange
Delicate
Difficult
Intricate

Complex and rare
Complicated care
But my air is sweet
And I only bloom for you.

To my unfortunate gardener ❤
You shall turn the earth.

Broken-hearted

Heart broken
Sad beyond words
Despair and anger
Pick at me like birds

I lay in the ashes
Mixed with tears and spit
Swirled dirt and blood
This is where I quit

You left me here
Alone in the world
To drown in this whirling
Pool that you purled

Where’s your spirit
Where’s your strength
Where’s your promise
Past arm’s length

You’re dead
You only live in me
But if I’m numb
What good will there be

I’m at a loss
To know what to do
If something’s done
It’s gotta be you

You’re the only reason for living
So how can I exist
When you’re not here
My fingers crumble from a fist
My head remains unkissed
Erased from some list
What’s the point in this

#Metoo

Pussytrap.

I was caught in a pussytrap once. That’s what my friend and I called it. We laughed about it later. Because it was so horrific and nothing to be done. No agency to report it to and no officer to tell.

Plus, when you’re young? You think the world is the way it is. And to squawk about it? Is unnecessary and useless. So laugh. So you don’t cry.

My friends and I went to a dance club in a university town. It was on a street with other clubs. Alcohol was served, but only to those with the over-21 stamp. I had the under-21 stamp.

We went to the bar to dance. Not to drink. We loved listening to music, dancing and laughing.

About 20 minutes in, we lined up to use the bathroom. The line stretched back to the bar and two young men started chatting us up.

We were young. Naive. We were friendly, inviting, charming, silly, laughing. We wanted boys to think we were cute. We wanted attention.

After a few moments, the line was going nowhere, and the boys started grabbing. First, my friend.

I was always the protector. The NO-sayer. The “Hey, watch it!” girl. So, I was laughing, but I said, “Hey! No!” Then they grabbed me.

First, my breasts. Quick, pinching, playful swipes and pokes. Then, my crotch. You can imagine that when someone grabs your breasts or tries to, you pull back. But that only presents your lower body for them to grab.

While all this was happening, another young man had positioned himself behind us. He would grab our butts when we tried to move away. Thus, the pussytrap. No way out. A vicious game of unwanted touching.

After a few moments of arms and punches and shuffling and finally just leaving without the use of the bathroom, we got away. We weren’t laughing any more. Just wide eyes and nothing to say.

That was it.

“Hey, why you leavin’?” They called after us.

No one ever taught me to stand up for myself. In fact, the lesson I learned was, “Take it.” But to be fair, my mother didn’t grow up in a time when young men acted this way. She didn’t know. And everyone else acted like it was no big deal. That this behavior was just “boys being boys”. Or locker room antics. Isn’t that what the president said to excuse his own behavior?

That should never happen. To anyone. It’s humilating. Not titillating. It’s meant to objectify and demean. It’s not foreplay. It’s degradation.

Especially to an actress. Especially to anyone who ever worked for or with the current POTUS.

These are your mothers, your sisters, your daughters, your friends, your neighbors, your coworkers, your fellow human beings. Your equals. Keep your hands to yourself. Or when we grab you back, you won’t like it.

If any man or boy ever touched my daughter like that, he’d be sorry. So would his balls.

Have I ever told you about the balltrap? LOL I’m older and wiser now.

Conclusions

You draw conclusions
Like ragged curtains
Assume that I feel
Pain that is real
Un-hidden in the place
Where hurt lands

But I’m injured inside
Bruises subside
Too deep to detect it
No surface affected
Clues coincide
Chaos will abide

Down to the core
Heart of the sore
Poison pill, weakened will
Infected ill, quivering quill
You kill me with your words
I rocket to the ground like gunned-down birds

Everything you say
Is trapped inside my brain
I try to let it go
But you race to reload
I will say thanks to you
Now that I’m dead, I’m bulletproof

December 11th, 1992

The day I lost my dad. 25 years ago, yesterday.


I am kneeling beside my father. He’s dead.

I look at him for a long time. I’ve never seen a dead body before.

I want to memorize his face and hands before he is in the ground.

His mouth is open. His eyes are fixed and wide. He is frozen with a look of surprise. I reach out to touch the back of his neck. My fingers barely land when I feel the prickle of shorn hair and cold, firm flesh.

I immediately withdraw my hand.

I am devastated that he’s gone. I never thought I would feel bad on this day.

My face is numb and tight from the departed tears that I didn’t bother to stop, catch or dry.

His hair is stiff and sharp. It’s cut so close and damaged from the radiation. It’s seems almost burnt.

His nose is pronounced and pointed. When he was healthy, it was round and red, but he’s lost so much weight. It’s chiseled bare.

His cheeks are waxy, melting mounds. Smooth and brown.

His hands are large; dangerous. They are still, yet frightening. The monster strength is gone, but they summon the fear of what was possible, what was done.

He is a mechanic. But he has the cleanest, longest nails I’ve ever seen on a man. The palms are soft and tender, amazingly so.

My hands are close to his. The backs of my hands are rough, pale and dry. White with flakes. My nails are short and torn. Red and sore like my eyes.

I can sense that whatever lights the eye and warms the blood is gone from him. There is no recognition, not even a grimace.

His spirit has sighed away and what is left is just a heap of tumors, bones and bile. He will never talk, kiss, threaten, smoke, curse, drink, hit, hate, love, work, sacrifice, shame or wrestle on this earth again. He can’t hurt any more, but he also can’t fix a thing.

I have lost him. I. Am. Lost.


I love you. I forgive you. I miss you. Still.

High

Coffee & Leather
Unsmoked cigarettes
Words & Tea
Guzzled with regrets

Remembered rambles
Filled with remorse
Ancient ships
Blown off course

I didn’t love you
With all that I had.
I saved some for me.
Am I bad? Are you sad?

Sharp in the vein.
Blood in the glass.
Drink all the pain.
Don’t give hurt a pass.

This aroma.
This smell.
This pain.
This well.

I sweat these smells and swirling thoughts
Linger on the rush of Past.
I get high on who we were.
Too bad stinging smoke won’t last.

Walking in Darkness

For my friend, Laurey. Love you, Doll.


Night has come and we walk in dark
Because we have not made it home.
But in the black, hand in hand,
We do not go alone.

The light will come again.
We know that now for sure.
For lightless earth and dimming path
Love is the only cure.


Isaiah 9 ESV

But there will be no gloom for her who was in anguish…but in the latter time he has made glorious the way of the sea… The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.


Laurey lost her mom over Thanksgiving. Anytime is not a good time to lose your mom, but it was unexpected and on holiday break. If you would like to help, they have funeral costs. You can give here. Ellen Johnson Please do not feel obligated. I’m sharing to try and help.