The Strangest Dream

I was walking in the moonlit night.  Escaping something and making damn good progress from what I could tell.  In the dream, I was highly impressed with myself.  My feet were bare but I did not feel the dry earth underneath. 

I came to a set of train tracks high atop a cliff.  The rails were splintered and broken.  I couldn't turn around and go back; there was nothing to return to.  Nothing worth mentioning, anyway.  My foot gingerly stepped on one of the rails and I stepped forward.  I could see the broken places as I continued on.  The river below me raging.  My heart racing.  I came to a spot I had to jump.  A leap that could go either way; success or death.  One deep breath and a quick jump.  I made it.  My feet landed with a thud and I continued on my journey.  I could hear voices ahead. An older couple standing and watching me; cheering my progress.

I came to a pier stretching out across a massive lake. In the night that stretched out before me, it looked black and ominous.  The older couple was standing on it, beckoning me forward.  My feet moved of their volition.  I stopped in the middle of the pier and sat down - refusing to go any further. 

"I hate murky water. Water where I can't see the bottom,"

The old man laughed and sat down beside me, "Why?  You've swam deeper, murkier water than this."

I looked out across the water; my eyes adjusting and finally seeing the faint tree line on the other shore.  I was waiting for the older couple to leave but he continued to sit beside me and the elderly female hovered protectively behind me.  I huffed stubbornly and crossed my arms.  I'd wait them out & then take my leave.  This was too much.  I was nearly to the end of the pier; there was nowhere left to go but back from whence I came.  Just then the moon came out of its veil of clouds.  A soft glow of amber surrounding its fullness.  The old man took my hand and we stood. 

I was so in awe of the beauty.  It was then I saw the curve in the pier.  The end was not the end.  The old man looked at me and smiled and simply said "See?"  My feet took their steps forward.  Fear no longer guiding me.

It was the strangest dream...

Trigger Warning

It happens in the blink of the eye
So I run
Without saying goodbye
Hard talk
'bout feelings
lined up on the floor
in chalk
The trigger hits
& I can't stand the pain
Numb ache
To a blasting migraine
I can't always discuss
the narcissist

So I steal myself away
Lining up my boundaries
Brick-by-brick
Dried mud and stone
I make that wall thick

Letter to My Heart

Remember that day you thought you'd never survive? Look at you now.  Beating and strumming and drumming.  A song made only for you.  My God you're tough, but it's ok.  You can beat nice, steady, and slow.  It's ok to be soft and sensitive.  It's ok to let it show.  My sensitive, little cordiform jewel box.  Never mind the ones who choose to throw rocks.  Ignore those that ignore.  Just keeping beating.  Nice and easy.  Steady and strong.  Cry, but don't forget to sing your song.  Dear heart of hearts.  Don't you know?  Nothing is the end unless you choose so.  So keep on beating.  Stop all that worrying because it's precious time you're cheating.  Love? It will come soon enough.  Right now, let all the chambers fill.  Know that I will always love you.  Still. 

Glass Heart - Velvet Skin

No longer ducking my head
when I tell a lovely boy
my story
Now I raise my chin in defiance
letting it spill with all its glory
Most turn and run
running from the rambling
six-shooting gun
too afraid to hear the next thing
that might slip outta this
running mouth

Glass heart
Velvet skin
Tired eyes
Wry smile
As I tell of the sin

Let it Roll

Not everyone's gonna wanna hear it
Not everyone's gonna wanna cheer it
Rolled down windows
& I'm driving along my long country road
I'm unloading my heavy load
Shrugging off the misunderstandings
Never minding the shallow ramblings
A pocket full of friends who know how to show
I keep them close
They ask me how I am
I drop my line or two
Make 'em smile

Turning up the radio
Blue-grass playing
Strumming banjo
I'll tell you my story
After a hug
& a genuine
"Hello"

What the Hell Do I know?

What the hell do I know? Simple. More than you think.

I was recently called out after a reader read my last article on VoElla.  This person claimed I know nothing about domestic violence and that I throw out more hurtful labels and statistics only to impress or garner more followers.  Wrong.  I am a survivor of domestic violence.  I will not ever justify or explain myself to anyone who points their stubby finger in my direction. 

The labels I highlight in my domestic violence column in VoElla.com are meant to shock and dismay every reader.  They are derogatory terms that have been thrown my way from people that have called themselves my friend and from my own family members.  They are the worst things that anyone could ever imagine.  No.  No one likes hearing "slut", "bitch", "cunt", "whore", or any other derogatory term meant to tear down and demean.  I use these terms in my articles as a way to educate all readers.  Taken out of context, I suppose the low self esteem souls of society could say that I am throwing them around and being heartless.  Read the articles I have written and then judge me. 

I've had a few claim that I do not focus on male victims of domestic violence.  To some extent, that is true.  The statistics out now for male victims domestic violence are rather distraught.  There is no clear statistic of the real number of male victims because they are the most silent.  Children of abuse are more willing to speak up before a male victim will tell his story.  That's just how ugly this disease of abuse and violence is.  I plan to change that and write about it - but not before I gather all my research. 

Do not say I don't know how the rape victim or the child molestation victim feels because I DO.  I was raped during my abusive marriage but society still wants to throw that notion under the rug because we all know spousal rape does not exist (sarcastic undertone).  As for child molestation, I will write about my own experience when I damn well feel like it.  I've touched on the subject and as I gain my confidence, I'm sure I'll delve deeper into that very dark family subject.  One negative reader will not force me to prove just how much of a survivor I really am.  One negative reader will not force me to appease only them and forgo my own better judgment. 

I don't know the exact statistics of domestic violence victims in the U.K. No.  And I don't know the legal system in the U.K.  You're right about that.  Here's what I do know.  There is a massive injustice to female victims of domestic violence around the world.  I could throw out numbers.  That might impress someone.  I do that sparingly.  The statistics I use continually are blanketed for not just the U.S. but every nation.  1 in 4 women and 1 in 7 men.  Victims of domestic violence.  Go write that down if you need to.  Meanwhile, I am going to work on my next article for VoElla.  I'm late in submitting it because - guess what - I'm still in a hail storm in my real life. 

No one has the right to judge the silent survivor.  Let me make that perfectly clear.  Not everyone feels comfortable with writing or talking about their abuse experience.  They heal in different ways and we should all respect that.  Please remember that the next time someone loses their cool or acts odd or acts out of turn to their normal character.  Perhaps they're redefining their normal character and perhaps their mad as hell that they have to fight like hell to find themselves while the abusers walk around with their cocksure smiles as if nothing is wrong. 

No Brother, Mine

Such rage
yet he couldn't keep
eye contact

Shifty eyes
looking for all the
excuses for what
he was saying
more
excusable

And the people
who claim to love me
just sat with
vacant
passive
stares

When I said
"You are not my brother"
I reiterated
Again
So he would hear
because he's deaf in one ear

Numb
when the shallow apology came
His back was turned
Another bridge burned

Broadway at Night

Thump, thump rhythm of broken pavement
buildings leaning into
the rusty sunset
night approaches surreptitiously
street lights flicker mysteriously
beat up cars
line the street full of bars

Union Hall call
middle class meeting
on a Friday night
with George Jones
singing it up right
and all the ladies are dressed up
best
in their polyester dress

River town drown
all sorrows flowing
all troubles throwing
pass the corner fight
and just keep driving
a busty town
a lusty night
the Ridge Street girls
are calling your name
don't look too close
or you'll never be the same

Burning Bridges

Hand in my pocket
watching the flames shoot up
cracked concrete under my feet
lighter click complete
past burning up in a red hot delete
eyes set on a new road
unloading a heavy load

Throwing my baggage in the
sparking river
as the bridge & all her ashes
begins to crumble
posts and steel tumble

Turn my back
as my feet find the
lone train track
taking me where I need to go
wind begins to blow
whispering her tune
wistful & full of hope

Control - Alt - Delete

Nights so heavy
Days weighted & thick
Worry taking over everything

I swiped it all
My thoughts
My words
My poetry

With a sweep of my
outraged hand
I watched as the
jagged pieces of the puzzle
clattered to floor

Weeping
stained glass wonder
shattering

Control - alt - delete
tap out
reboot
repeat
until
the thoughts
the words
the poetry
were more complete

Back Story

Back story
Second glory

Rewriting a tune
that better suits my soul
Bring the heat
I can take it
Give me the beat
Wildflower feet

Back story
Second glory

Born again
from the wind
& the rain

All that I know
& all that I am
Rewriting a new tune
for that shameful sin

Back story
Second Glory

Goodnight angel
I'm gonna sing again
Bury that worry
Bury that sin

Driving On

Dusty car
window wiper moaning
waiting for the rainy rain; groaning

Driving on
Three quarter tank

I'll be there
Before daybreak

Beating Heart

Inside my own chest
To reach in best
Fingers gripping
That beating entity
Clamping and ripping
Blood trickling down
Droplets soaking in the ground
Trembling hands and shaky arm
Reaching out
Inside my palm
Everything I'm about
My heart given to you
For you to decide what to do

The Burning

On trial
with each new face;
each new set of ears
to hear my story

Like a witch in Salem
Some onlookers want
only the
burning glory
They watch
Waiting for the
flames to reach my hair
Eyes set ablaze
Into the flames
all their idle care

I'm called insane
I'm called daft
As I tie myself to the post
Like a burning host
I'm burning my own blame
Eradicating my own shame
So I tie myself
Time & time again
until the flames burn it all
Each piece of the past
torn off & thrown in
Hands behind my back
Eyes extended to heaven
until all the nightmares
are burned away
my lips mumbling the story
another day

I'm burning
I'm burning away
I'm burning
I'm burning the opaque day
I'm burning
I'm burning a new dream
I'm burning
I'm burning for another seam
I'm burning
I'm burning into night
I'm burning
I'm burning that phoenix into flight

Shackles and Bones

Clinking
Clanging
Rusty chains
Bones just a'bangin

Skinny metatarsal scratching
Sandstone prison catching
Numbered days of a
loveless love

Shotgun wedding
and this cold prison
has no proper bedding

Shackles and bones
Fallen crowns
Empty thrones

Souls filling space
but there is no grace
Filing the papers to say
we're not alone
but this prison
is far from the ideal home

Shackles and bones
Shackles and bones

Tarnished ring
falling with a clanging echo
in endless tones

Ramblings of the Night Before

I was crumpled up on the bedroom floor;
holding my belly and crying out "Dear God. How much more?"
It's the inner, tangled war I rarely discuss.  It turns all my gold
to rust.  My psychosomatic anomaly - where my insides look back
at me like I'm the enemy.  My intestines twist and tangle - creating a
painful strangle.  Every harsh word and every traumatic event seeped
way down deep.  My body's most trusted self defense during a time
when nothing made sense; contract, relax, pull, twist, stretch, block,
pain, pain, pain, numb.  My outer half walks on freely; relishing the
air and sun.  My inner half still wonders and prepares itself - making
ready before any war has begun. It's so like a child that's been beat down.
Intestines crumble in - ready at any given moment for a new trauma to begin.

Quiescent Soul

She's fought so hard
Day in
Day out
Long into the night
screaming soul
quiet shout

Out of the battle
Having survived the
death rattle
Tired
So tired
Mending deepest wounds
Her eyes now close
sleeping soothe

The worst now over
A soul to now relax
stretch in plush clover
Having pushed past
the nightmares
& anxious flares
Sun on forehead
warming cares

She whispers in her sleep to me
"We survived"
Soul of my soul
No longer half
Now whole

What Domestic Violence Didn't Do

Domestic violence didn't break me.  In fact, it did quite the opposite - it forced me to look within myself more to view what I had once seen as broken pieces of me and learn to love those pieces.

 Domestic violence made me love myself again.  Odd to say, but it's true.  I was so invisible before.  Now, I'm this person that freely discusses hard ass issues with ease.  Self-care became a mode of survival when the hardest symptoms of PTSD first hit.  Now, I perform self-care with such ease.  I no longer make excuses for it or feel the need to explain.  If I need to distance myself from all forms of life for a while, I do it and gladly (not for long, of course.  My friends wouldn't stand for it). 

Domestic violence did not take away my trust in other people.  And by people, I mean men.  The harshest comments I received when I first left my abuser, came from other women.  Likewise, the kindest acts of generosity came from men.  I have a trust in myself that cannot be taken away.  I've been given the sublime opportunity to survive the most traumatic event in my life and now I have the tools necessary to go further than I ever imagined.  I know all the subtle signs of domestic violence and all of the non-verbal signs that most take for granted.  I learned that trusting and loving is an inside job and it starts with me.  How the hell can I love or trust anyone if I don't love and trust myself? 

Domestic violence did not take my ability to forgive. I forgive myself first.  The rest is a process.  I have a narcissistic mother that battles her own demons every single day but I do forgive her.  She says some of the most hurtful things that simply are not worth repeating.  My sweet Dad taught me the art of forgiveness.  He came from a family that made me often wonder how he even survived.  His own brother attempted to kill him with a machete when they were teenagers.  Later, my Dad would tell us that story and he'd always laugh.  "My dumb brother...God love him. I knocked his glasses off and he was as blind as a bat.  He never tried it again, I'll tell you that."  My Dad had a grace about him that I now model.  And my Dad's brother? Adored him for forgiving him.  My Dad's father was the most abusive soul that I ever met in my entire life.  My Dad never let that become an excuse for his own failure.  In fact, he simply moved on quietly and graciously and became one of the most respected plumber / pipefitters in his field.  He was always looking out on the bright horizon.  The harsh words of his father could've torn him down easily but he never let the words settle too deep.  His soul remained a bright beacon of courage and strength.

Domestic violence did not take away my hope.  It's hard being a single mother.  The statistics of my financial success as a single mother are stacked against me but that does not obliterate my hope.  My hopes and dreams are slowly coming into fruition of my new reality.  I am extending myself further than I ever extended myself before and I'm always looking for ways to improve myself.  Hope is my seed that I plant and my thoughts of my own success is the water that is making that seed grow. 

It's All in a Name by Kendra Lynn

It's All in a Name by Kendra Lynn

They want, they want...

They want me to write pretty
It's so damn ugly
"Just paint something to make
the readers see the light."
Meanwhile
the narcissist
is still showing
gloating
in all his might

It's a fucked up
never ending fight
I'm getting tired

The appease
The pretty please
To paint Hell
in pretty colors
as the darkness
swallows the
pastel colors
faster than a firestorm

It's far from the
comfortable norm

It's violence
lurking down the street
in the midnight silence

It's abuse
of a soul
shattered
scrambling after leaving
to find the new meaning
of
"whole"

Tired Foe

He pushed and pushed
Words and fists
Thumping his chest
Telling me he was the best

I always stayed quiet
Never letting him in
On my inner thoughts
My sacred ground

Years and years
Push
Push
Push
Waiting for me to fall
Waiting for my final crush

Most girls played with dolls
Pixie posies
I studied General Patton
How he won the war
How he never let the enemy
See him keep score

Surprise attack
Sitting straight
My unbroken back
All the pain
All the worry
He can have it all back

These Days

These days
I'm going on
& on
Numb
like the
perfect drone

Swollen eye lids
watching the world
pass me by

Sleep
Eat
Work
Sleep

My baby asks me
"Mommy can we play?"
I go through the motions
allowing the childish notions

My car begs me
"Fill me with oil"
Blasted
Never ending toil

My family asks me
"What's wrong with you?"
As I sit and
silently stew

My heart asks me
"When are you gonna stop worrying?"
mitral flap fluttering
slow doubt flurrying

Slow motion run
Slower than normal
reach for my six-shooting gun
Fingers clutching
Fingerprints remember touching
Dimmest light
in the black
moonless
night
A spark of hope
Enough for me to cope

Broken Anomaly

As I kneel on bloodied knee
Aching soul
Dusty particle whole
Invisible self rising
Broken words
Scratching nails
Remembering the tall tale
Scattered family photos
Quiet daughter
So skinny and frail
Burgeoning migraine memory
And the touch
That just
Was not there

Purging My Soul

I can tell a thousand faceless strangers
Tell them my story to all the finite details
Purge it all til I'm sick
Come face-to-face
And I'll hide my dirty stick
Laugh and say
Everything's okay

Bitch Slap

Don't give me
your
holier than thou
miss
goody-two-shoes
who sends only the
positive news

Save your
bullshit carrying
card stash
full of trash
you don't
want anyone
to see
you're far from
better than me

Shove that
patronizing talk
I still remember your
dancing
wanton walk

Take your bitch slap
right along
with your
fake gift wrap

We share the same story
in all its blood and gory
But by all means
run with all your might
away from
your breaking seams

Diving In

Tattered boards on the dock
lending no support
Yet I keep
gingerly stepping over them
hearing only the echoing
yawning screams

Mouths filled with water
moments before they
begin to drown

I'm diving in
inky black
to bring them back

Run!

When all else fails
When darkness prevails
The night calling
With a deathly howling
Run!

Run past the funeral parade
All the hype and charade
People shaking hands
2-stepping grand stands

Run for your life
Past the glinting
Wincing
Steely knife

Run past that opaque parlor
With its outdated
Wall paper that seems all too cheerful
Run past the gabbing mouths
Waiting to give you an earful
Empty hugs and bottom dweller thugs

Run past it all
This is not the end
No one can mark the time of your fall

Woman in Waiting

She stood in the doorway
A tear lingering in her
haunted eyes
She so wanted to tell all the
painful lies
She wanted to let them spill
so she could feel her heart
begin to heal

I threw her a token
A story of my own
to keep the magical spell
from being broken

A half second split wide open
I saw in her
I used to be
A girl hovering in the shadows
on her way to the deadly gallows
A woman in waiting
for the love surrounding me
drenching and cascading

Soldier Girl

Quietly
but not so quietly
The door closes
and darkness descends
Into the trenches
I begin again

I'm planning
I'm scheming
Damn well better believe
I'm dreaming

Through the fog
you'll see me
Shining sword
Shining smile smiling

I trained hard in the mud
And at the end of my day
you're just another cow
chewing his cud

I have no
tender underbelly
None you'll ever see
I've the thick skin
of a warrior
hell bent against
your blasted sin

I'm the little soldier girl
remember me
Matters not if you've forgotten
I'm going to take you back to class
and make you see

Why Now?

Why do these feelings crop up?
why now, after 5 long years?

The feelings of dread and anxiety
Will I ever be whole?

The constant battle
It tires me

A spark of fire
drenched in tears

When?
When will I feel
fully alive?

My Little Warrior

He's a wise, old
young soul
Plops his little self
next to me
And we both feel whole
Filtering through
all the times he's had
to count his coup
He's had to learn to quick
to pinch the burning wick
He walks through fire
more times than I can count
bravely silencing the hell hound
Still managing to look at me
with glazed-over
innocent eyes
He keeps silent
all he hears
all the lies
Shouting proudly
all the lessons I teach him
of right
of wrong
Bare feet stomping
Sun Dance
Thready prongs in his chest
probing
Little hand reaching up
always the truth
taking
never simply groping
Whether or not your ear is reaching
my boy remains in his teaching
A tribal leader in the making

Family Photo

It's a photo
Wedding so happy
Or that's what everyone thought
As she sits by her love
With her saucy half smile
Hiding a million secrets
His hand at her side
Not touching her
Half-fisted and wrought

She died much too soon
Leaving an infant son
To grow up learning
Never to swoon
Daddy couldn't stand
Looking at him
Seeing every time
Her eyes
Again and again

The ghost of her smile
Reaching through
Parched edges
Looking past
Generational smudges
Peering in the heart of me
A constant reminder
To break the invisible chains
No one can see

Revelation Constellation

Would you believe me
if I told you
all the things
I had done?
You want to change me
and I want to change you
and together
we're trying to find the true

Tell me your darkness
lay it out on the cold floor
and I'll lay out
my stripped-out whore
Tell me you're
cold and hard
and I'll prove to you
there's another wild card
that I've been keeping
near my breast

Revelation constellation
where the conversation
never gets a rest

I'm in your mind
just know
you're also in mine
Feet no longer able
to side step
the land mine

Secrets rising with the
flowing,
white egrets
Rushing to the river
and the rushing wind
makes my body quiver

Mayfair Carnivale

As the sun goes down
the smoky yellow lights
cast shadows on the
prancing clown
Peeping under the tent
with my breath
held in my throat
Inviting me in
the bearded lady
and her trusty goat

An outcast in the real world
here
I am an equal
in an ongoing story
with an ever changing sequel

I hear the distant sound
of the lions roar
Life
no longer
the never ending chore
I let go
Let my emotions flow

He comes out of nowhere
without pretense flair
Pointing to the trapeze
high on ceiling of the tent
I left my fear on the dirt floor
and simply went
I climbed up the ladder
Refusing to look down
at the faceless clown

Hands grasping the bar
feet slipping as I leap
and fly so far
Wind rushing
Mind gushing
He's reaching
and in that moment
I release
A free flow moment
with no net
no trapeze

Suspended in the moment
Weightless and free
he catches me
Clasping my hands
Flying above the
crowded stands
Never minding the
roaring applause
Holding on with a cause
feet plant on the landing
and I feel
life slipping in
in a surreptitious reveal

It's Not Your Problem

Keep on driving past
The complete wreck
It matters not
Help is surely on the way
It's not your problem
And there will always
be the promise
of a coming day

Forget you heard me cry
I can't stand to think
You ever would think
I was meek
Weak
As if I wait to find excuses
for my curse
Decorate real pretty
my hearse

Bury me deep
Blame it all on me
And pretend not to weep

In men's eyes
I am yesterday's garbage
Another piece to the
Carnage
And maybe I make myself as such
Because the loving words
That loving touch
Was never meant for me
At least now I see

Don't Ask Me

Don't ask me
in the morning
if I'm OK
You know damn well
all the things
I cannot say
I don't think love
truly exists
Slap my wrists

The Beast in Me

I wickedly laugh
A wicked laugh that
carries on through the night
like a hollow wind
warning of a coming storm

By day
a pastel
girl next door
By night
a funeral garbed
love's death whore

Dear sweet boys
try as they might
but they can't sense
the stinging bite

I lay in wait
the innocent bait
that come closer
not seeing the toxic doser
Showing every
wild card
Laughing in their face
with their loving bard
A shrill shriek
Knowing
they are part of the meek

I was released from my
death pin
and a loving lie
nearly pulled me in
Words
Shredded
Cut
to shards
knowing they're all
just senseless words
but when called into action
they run
and I howl

A ripping howl
that tears through the black
as I stare in
wild wonder
at their
spineless back

And still they claim
to know me
As I quietly
slip away
forgetting their name

I'm a beast
Don't tell me there's love
for it's that very thing
I will ferociously feast
Chew it up
spit it out
a silent shout

Daisy Chain

Stomping ground
Soft, green grass pound
Feet threading fine
In the dance of
The spirit wine
A flowering weave
Faltering and falling
In our bosom sleeve
Yesterday's rain
Cleaning out the pain
We dance
We chant
Without recant

Half-Slitted Eyes

I've seen
The wordy exchange
Of the obscene
People talking
Through
Half opened mouths
The talking cows
Promising promises
Without thought to compromises
Without any thought
To keep
The leveling heap

Through half-slitted eyes
Listening to the easy lies
Nodding my head
To the shaky ground they tread
Making no agreement
To the empty appeasement
Looking beyond them
To the clear horizon
And the people that truly care
With the sun in their eyes
The ones
That forget to tell
All the fruitless lies

Redefining Love

Love
was a mocking tone
Love
was a hollow drone
Love
pushed
Love
shoved
Love
punched
Love
always making
empty promises
Love
ignored my boundaries;
trampled on my
sacred premises
Love
left me
crying and weak
Love
watched me drown;
shoved my face further
into the water
to see me become
part of the meek

This has been the definition
Etched in the
Stark stone
Nothing good
To carve out
To hone

Love
Whisper
Gently into me
Replacing all my
Haunting dreams
Soothe my aching veins
May my tears
Become part of
The healing rains

The Girls with the Hollow Eyes

The gatekeeper warned me
  To enter beyond the perimeter
  would be my own demise
Once in the bowels of Hell
  you lose all sense of self

They are a mere existence
  direct consequence
  to punching love
Ghosts
  living on the edge
  of the abyss

One foot in
  one foot out
So close
  they can still
  hear the Hell hounds shout
As the fresh bruises heal
  their breath is given out
  for another to steal
Clawing hands always
  reaching out
  deathly grasp
  wanting to hear the
  death rattle
  the strong shackle

I'll extend a hand in
  hoping one will reach & grab
Allowing the pull
  out of the dreary
  weary
  constant
  drab

In the Trenches

In the trenches
Aiming for the sun
Shooting the sparrows
To see the finches
Nails torn
From scratching the surface
Knowing
There's no easy divergence
It's a fight
Of giving in
Of giving out
Of might
Wanting to sleep
Wanting to weep
With the dawn
Coming at a slow creep
Eyes on the prize
Finger on the trigger
Foxhole muddy
The horizon a wavy ghost
Deep digging digger
Trembling hands holding on
To hope
To grope
For another day
Because
There is no other way

*Survivors of Domestic Violence

Trigger Witch

3yrs ago
Trigger
Bitch
Witch
Sitting behind her desk
Pointing out all my insecurities
Without a glitch
I stammered
She remained calm
I stuttered
She supplied the balm
I cried
She caught my tears
In her palm
She nodded
Wrote in her book
She plotted
I loved her
I hated her
She was her
She was me
She
Telling me
Her tragic story
Drawing me in
Despite my resistance
To telling the sin
I ran from her 3yrs ago
My shadow

Flight of Angels

They leave in the hush of night
With only the clothes on their back
For the cold flight

Seeking shelter
Baby on their hip
Trembling, swollen lip
Eyes seeing through
Lost and numb
Needing one last clue
For the upcoming journey
Out of the tourney

Little baby Jane
Looking at the world
As if it's
Not yet insane
A soft smile
On her cherub face
Clutching her mama tight
Sucking her thumb
Ready for a good night

Letter From My Heart ... unfiltered

I'm a beast.  My mind sometimes forgets to filter and my heart runs wild like a feral animal on the loose; my mouth following suit.  I say it all wrong or I say nothing at all.  I think I sometimes back myself against my own brick wall.  I plan it all out with a finite detail similar to a mad scientist with her new chemistry set.  I play out all sorts of sordid scenarios and to be quite frank - they all end bad.  Then there are times I'm a little girl; sitting and dreaming with my pigtails swinging.  Don't worry.  Most of the time, I'm pretty good at shutting that little girl up.  Dammit! It's a craziness.  It's an insane laziness; afraid of success.  Afraid it'll be taken - ripped right of my outstretched hand.  Because you know what? That's what happened so many times.  I become afraid to dream.  So I push.  Push it all away before the final letdown.  I blast it away so fucking good.  Me and my six-shooting gun of a mouth.  Later I sit and bite my tongue till the blood starts trickling south.  Wondering if I said too much.  Railing at pretty, perfect people who have it all together.  Feeling so dirty in the sun.  So I sit in shadows - lamenting the touch.  Waiting for the end.  Never letting it even begin.  Waiting for the wave of goodbye.  Waiting for you to say I was never even worth it.  Sometimes I push it.  Just to see if that is indeed what you'll say.  It's not a deviant plan.  That kind of push is cerebral.  So instinctual.  Waiting to hear the rebuke for the shout at your constant insistence of me being beautiful.  Staying silent; waiting for the ugly to somehow spill through.  Waiting for you to see me as I do.  Shaking my head and spewing about how crazy you must be.  Internally thinking you're just too beautiful for me.  I had to fight for every damn thing.  Fight to walk.  Fight to talk.  Fight to be heard.  Fight at the absurd.  Fight for beauty.  Fight for my values.  Fight for the restless clues.  Fight for good dreams.  Fight for sleep.  Fight for the non-scheming things.  Fight to see the unseen.  That's what I know so fucking well.  The mother fucking fight that simply does not end.  So I wait.  And wait.  For the unfailing trend.  All this waiting.  All this debating.  Good God.  Here's an epiphany.  I'm waiting for you.  Because you're still here.  A stubborn ass cuss I can no longer rebuff.  Stronger and more stubborn than me.  I don't know how you do it.  I don't even know why.  My pale.  My bruise.  My dark.  My light.  My made up make-up.  My unmade.  My unclean.  My hardly ever seen.  You see me.

Preacher Man

He came a' calling as the
Black clouds outside swirled
As the
Black clouds inside me whirled
Every time he said the word
Suffering
He looked me dead in the eye
Medusa quiet and staring
Listening
To the holy call
In the lonely hospital hall
My third eye twitching
Stinging with the splinter in the middle
A label shining
I wanted him to leave
No longer able to listen
No longer able to grieve
I left with the whisper breath of prayer
Made my way to the cafeteria
That relentless preacher man
Found me there
He blinked a slow blink of knowledge
Reading in me
All that he could not learn
In his holy college
So
When I ran
He just smiled and nodded
Knowing
Even in anonymity
My heart was showing

Long Lost and Drifting

Here I am
Crawling slowly
Slowly
Out of the deep
Puffy eyes opening
To the light drifting in
A swelling innuendo
Of a foretelling crescendo

My future
Is full of questions
Finally
Long lost and drifting
The wracking thoughts of the past
I prefer it that way
For now

I'd rather have a
Future full of questions
Than a past that
Reminds me
Only of pain

We Are

We are the survivors of a cruel and unusual Hell.  We are the walking, talking bruises collected.  We are the smiling faces in the center of a storm.  We are the crying angels in the midnight hours.  We are the shadows.  We are the light.  We are the mothers holding our little ones.  We are singing lullabies in the midst of terrible lies.  We are the friend asking if you are okay.  We are banded together to get through another day.  We are silently hiding away our pain.  We are the pastels.  We are the stain.  We are the bloodshot eyes staring at you saying "Everything's just fine."  We push away.  We shove.  We stay.  We sway.  Inches from falling, we are the ones barely standing looking for the calling.  We are the sometimes empty smile, questioning your inchless mile.  We are motionless in a swirling world, as people pass; the parading file.  We are the heavy heart in church.  Holding your hand and listen as you spill your sin.  We are the catching laughter on the passing wind, helping you grin again.  We are the survivors. We are the domestic quantity.  We are the humane quality.  We raced through Hell & if you're patient, our story we will tell.

Only the Strong Survive

I died a thousand times
Waking up
With silly love rhymes
That carried me through
In the dawn's pearlescent hue
Broken
Searching for that
Brassy token
That would get me
To another day
Never minding that
I was losing my way
Lost
Litost

Thank God
My feet had a mind
Of their own
In a run-down home
I could never call my own

Gas Light

I feel the whoosh
Of the gas of the person
Closest to me
Lighting the torch
Denouncing
Pouncing
Twisting
Turning
My words
Turned against me
Constantly
In a clever
Genius way
To confuse me
Creating a paranoia
So they can feel their own
Hapless hallelujah
Winning a war
I will never know
In a game
Meant not
Ever to win
It's the quiet sin
That most will never understand
Yet it's there
An empty hand

Back in Black

Make no mistake
It's no mask
I put back on
It's the truer me
I tread upon
A cloak of darkness
That few see
Surrounding me
In shadowy
Vapor wisps
Funeral attire
For the past
That provided no
Faithful sire
Thorny black rose
Tossed in the dirt
For all the senseless hurt
Bury it
But you can't bury me

Words thrown
Like a thinkless stone
Emotional warfare
Cannons blasting
Without care

A cloak of darkness
In the black of night
As I tread quietly
From the fight
A tongue riddled with scar tissue
From the constant biting back of words
In the midst of thieving herds
I wrap the black
To somehow
Win me back

If you cannot see me now
You never will
I provide my own
Ceremonium
Paranormal pandemonium
Where the black covers me
In a shield
To walk
Where few dare to go
And fewer still
Know

Bleeding Out

The poison
Lanced
No longer
Allowed to dance
In its mind trance
I've fallen so many times
A bleeding trail
Soaking in the concrete
No more
A comfortable whore
To the thoughts that
Rape me
They simply
No longer satiate me
I'm bleeding out
Ripping out the tight-fisted demon
I am in search
Of a new sermon
That allows me to breathe

Say My Name

Say it, Mama
No
Not bitch
That's not a fair game
I'll take the blame
Just say my name
I know you remember it
Past your haze
Your mind craze
I'll no longer expect a
Formal apology
Laced with such sarcasm
In your viper tongue cataclysm

Attack my character
Paint me any caricature
I know you don't see me
With your tainted jealousy
It's a wonder I survived
It's a wonder I thrived
But I did, Mama
Now
Say my name

You're right
I'm a beast
And pure success
I will feast
I opened my own cage door
I'm sorry
This time
I'm tired of the roar

No I don't hate you
But that's what you'll tell everyone
As you load your mouthy
Six - shooter gun
They'll more than likely believe you
But you & I know
That's simply not true
As you fall asleep
In a fitful twist
Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
Look
I've removed your stronghold
From my wrist

Steely Blade

Kiss me on the cheek
Sweet
Before you stab me
With the steely blade
Hug me tight
Tell me goodnight
As I fall in the abyss
Forget to wade

Drift away
All the sorrows
Of the day
Dripping red
All the hopes
And dreams
I bled

I didn't feel the knife go in
Past my tender skin
I have nothing left
To feel bereft
No
I'm not alone
Neither am I home
Steely blade of reality
Killing the fantasy

Coming Home

He blasts in the door
Wanting no more
My toddler
Wiser than the four
Biting his tongue
Against the wrong
Coming to me
Coming home

Duck Blind

Camouflage
Persona hemorrhage
Moving target
Now sitting silent
In the still
Misty predawn of morn
The girl with the
Tragic tale
Such the mystifying wale
Hiding in the tree line
I see them
I take my aim

My circle is small
High is my wall
I'll play the game
Without shame
Just don't think
It's so easy to come in
To this duck blind sin

Those that remain
Share the scars
Of a different name
I make them tea
As I settle back
Taking aim
At a stranger's plea
To enter
This door
Does not open easily
Nor will it splinter

My Other Half

He is the heart of me.  Skinny arms wrapping; sloppy kiss love for this proud mommy.  He is my reality running and dancing in his super hero undies.  He is a soft conversation on long morning Sundays.  He comes to me for safety and comfort.  He comes to me with stories so tall making me kneel to his whimsical mind.  He makes me laugh.  He my soul - not just my second half.  He turns to me for reassurance in every fearful occurrence.  We share our dreams in castles by free flowing streams.  Sometimes it's overwhelming - this responsibility.  When the dark night crouches low and I hear him let out a satisfied sigh in his sleep, I realize it's all worth it.  The worry, the angst, the pain of the past;  all wiped clean when I kiss his cherub cheek. 

Cold Storm Brewing

Winter winds billowing
Tips of branches curling
Dead leaves clawing
Dangling precariously
Like frozen statements
Of something that once was

Words we speak
Frozen and suspended
In the icicle atmosphere
To be evaluated
Before the
Cold storm coming
Thunder drumming
Snow peaked hills humming
Knowing
Truth
Is never too far behind

Don't Tell Me You Love Me

Don't say it
It hurts too much to hear it
No
You don't love me
I'm not worth it
I never was
I never will be
It's the lesson constantly
Drilled in me

In Name Only

They are not my family
They are just some
Nameless people now
Free to say what ever they may
Because nothing changes
It's always the same old way
My voice is unheard
My face is unseen
If only to pick apart
By some bitter heart
Attacking every insecurity
If only for them to feel strong
Not caring
If their words hurt
Not caring
If it's all wrong

I see through them
Or at least I try
Hold it all in
In silence
I cry

To them
I don't matter

In the cold steel of night
My heart begins to shatter

All in the Family

The dysfunction was born
  long before me
Now it's some
  metastasizing disease
Spread over the generations
  through times unfriendly
Into a home
  that does not care
Ignoring the daughter
  constantly sending up
The same tired flare

Just on the Edge of Success

Right as my writing is taking a new, joyful turn.  Right as success starts knocking on my door.  That's when.  That's when the beast rises up again.  Offering up more than a veiled threat.  A narcissistic soul losing his last victim; coming undone.  I'm a tried and true easy target.  He all ready knows my weaknesses, so his job is nearly done.  And the ears of a toddler are an easier target.  Who can I run to?  The police? They just laugh.  "You know kids; they always get it wrong."  Who can I tell? My beautiful friends?  Ask them to stop what they're doing and follow me into Hell?  I reassure them everything is all right, but I'm not.  I stay awake. Waiting for the monster to leave.  Waiting for the end of this long and treacherous grieve.  I plaster a smile on my pale, funeral face.  No one notices the disgrace.  Strangers read my poetry - thinking I'm releasing some artful, satin string.  Sending me nice love notes and quoting my harsh quotes.  Oh God.  Who can blame them? 

I'm falling
I'm falling
I'm falling

Wait for the happy girl to tell the joke to make it all go away.  Lovely, love stroke.

I want to break everything beautiful.  I can't be here again. No, no, no.

I scream so loud on the inside.  There's just nowhere to hide.  Rearview view always illusive.  Wondering if anyone is following.  Listening to my son talk about protecting me from bad men.  It's all such a devious sin.  If there are 3 ways to get to any of my destinations, I pray for 10.  There's only so many ways.  Only 2 ways lead to my home. 

Oh God.  I'm infecting you.  With my unplanned toxin. 

I'm at the end of my frayed rope.  Nothing to grope. 

I'm falling
I'm falling
I'm falling

People call me strong.  People call me brave.  As I cry, writing another blog rave.  It's happening again.  The sociopathic narcissistic beast loving his original sin. 

Where can I park my car where it won't stand out?  Will anyone hear me if I shout?  Don't go out alone at night.  It's all a terrible fright.  Tell all my friends to rest easy and hear them say goodnight.  Sitting up til the banshees stop their wailing.  Til my body stops shivering.  Fall into bed with another mournful prayer lifted up to the ceiling.

Black Hole

Click
Pull
Take your aim
I don't care anymore
Black hole
Hell's death toll

Narcissistic ranting
2 ramble in
Making 3
Spiteful talk
Planning my demise

Oh my sweet little boy
Don't you ever forget
Mommy always loved you
No matter what happens to me

Jigsaw Claw

Jumbled thoughts
In a cloudy head
PTSD lock and key

Coming down
Down
Down
Down
Symptoms rolling
Falling to the ground

After it all
Jagged edged
Jigsaw claw
To a puzzle
Shoved in the closet
Waiting for the redeposit

Now I'm numb
Mind encased throng
Grey clouds dissipating
Into the serene

Now I'm tired
But I feel guilty
For putting you through this
Because I hate emotional tryst
The unknown blackmail
Wrapping unknowingly
Like heavy chain mail

2 Nails in My Coffin

Throw me in
Remember my past sin
Close the cedar lid
Just remember
Worms still
Slither in

Take your shining shovel
Grip that handle tight
Shove the dirt
With all your might

2 nails in my coffin
One for what I said
The other
For what was lingering
In my head

Mind Sludge

It's the other end
  great big transcend
Hearing the vocal drudge
  so used to flinging mud
Hearing the clatter
  of a tin heart shatter
Take me outta here
  free mind clear
Twisted expressions
  all around me
It's all I see

Thank you notes
  flutter in
Forging past my
  inner mind sin
Filled with glitter
  filled with gold
Help me forget
  the shanking grudge
Sharpened leaded #2's
  forgetting my mind sludge
Reading my words
  beyond my overwhelming
Remembering only
  what I'm proclaiming

Taming the Dragon

PTSD. Such a stigma, thee. The good thing is that I simply don't care how people react to my telling them I sometimes suffer from the strange symptoms.  That's what the little girl in me says as I stomp my foot and pounce off; taking my ball back home.  In reality, I care.  I see the subtle wince as I am forced in certain situations to tell some lovely soul that I suffer from such a horrible anomaly. 

I've tamed the dragon of the symptoms of PTSD quite well for over a year, if I do say so myself.  The dragon likes to be fed and I refuse to feed it.  That isn't to say the dragon doesn't sneak up ever so quietly - coming out of that mind cave with a flaming rave.  I'll give you an example.  When my counselor started speaking of her own abuse as a way for me to relate to her, it threw me in my symptoms of PTSD; wanting to run away but having no idea where to run to, disorientation and feeling *not real*, migraines, nightmares, disjointed thoughts and speech.  That was before I even realized I had PTSD.  I'm a thinking person and highly interested in the intricacies of the mind.  I studied my symptoms and researched different treatments.  Basically, the person suffering from PTSD must be vigil in their own care.  It's a full-on self treatment program that takes constant awareness of not only the external stimuli but the internal stimuli, as well.  What does that mean? It means positive self-talk is one of the best ways to douse the flames of the dragon.

Notice how I said "self care."  Medications could possibly help but I wanted to avoid that route.  Ibuprofen makes me tired as a side effect.  I tried over-the-counter allergy medications to alleviate hay fever (daytime formula) and it made me a proverbial medicine balloon head; mumbling and smiling and falling asleep suddenly so I stopped taking it and prefer the symptoms of my allergies over that feeling.  Nyquil?  Yes, I take that but it's a well planned out agenda no matter how bad or beastly my cold / flu-like symptoms may be (off work the next day, no pertinent errands, and everyone around me is warned.  Pre-dosed swig right before bedtime and I sleep. Sleeping like a newborn infant all night - well into the next day).  So self care was my only option. 

Self Care I Use:

Napping.  I have a 4yr old, remember.  My son knows the importance of naptime.  I make no excuses.  There is no negotiating.  When it's time for a nap, Mommy takes a nap.  Most of the time, he will take a nap with me.  I find it to be a lovely, subconscious way to bond.  We both wake up feeling rested and refreshed.  Highly important for both of us. 

Meditation.  Sitting quietly, anywhere from 5 minutes to 30.  No white noise of the outside world.  Close my eyes and just relax.  Deep breathing and focusing on the inner light within me without thinking.  Letting all of the worry slip away.  There are many techniques one could use all spelled out in perfect detail per Google and YouTube. 

Smiling:  I had to practice this, at first.  Once I knew the symptoms of PTSD and my personal triggers, I literally had to practice smiling when I absolutely did not feel like smiling.  I could spend hours writing about the brain, itself.  I'll save you from that (maybe. That's a future post at a later date).  When we smile, the subconscious mind interprets only that smile / emotion.  It forgets the bad mood / vibes, almost immediately.  So I practice happy thoughts and *smile*. 

Music and / or Dancing:  There was a time I could only write in complete silence.  I was constantly frustrated by external noise while writing.  Now I write with my earbuds in.  Music softly playing.  The music literally helps me forget my PTSD symptoms if and when they arise. 
Dancing.  I have not met a person that is sad while dancing.  There's that mind thing again.  Just like smiling, if you're dancing you're telling your mind you are now ready to be happy and it complies. 

Writing:  I can only say "Thank God for my writing."  Just like I'm doing now.  Spelling it all out in grave detail - whether in an essay or in poetic form.  Writing heals me.  Whether it's poetry, essays, novels, or journaling - writing the pain is a wonderful way to extinguish any inner flame of emotion that threatens to burst out of control. 

Last night was my first real and hard PTSD dragon bomb in over a year.  Deep breathing helped.  I am not taking anyone to church and I feel absolutely comfortable in saying I pray and I pray hard.  It helps me. 

There are after shocks of fighting and taming the dragon.  Not everyone understands it.  Here, in social media and this blog, the world knows that someone named Kendra has PTSD well under control but she has it, nonetheless.  My family does not know (unless they are so inspired to read my blog).  3 of my friends know and only 2 truly understand it.  Perhaps they understand because they suffer from similar symptoms.  Or maybe they have it, too.  Or maybe they are just that kind and gracious.  Whatever it is, they know when and how to approach the encroach of my silence that could bury me emotionally.  I think of the burden it is for them to listen to me sometimes talk about it; knowing I don't always talk about.  They listen with such unselfish ears.  I think of the worry I might cause by talking to them about it. They do it anyway.  They understand my boundaries and sometimes barrel right through them without asking.  They listen to me spill out epitaphs that would make a sailor blush.  When my fire hose slips from my hand, they pick it up and douse the gaping mouth of the dragon threatening to do more than bite.

Hell

I finally got my 4yr old Tot settled down after his breakdown and he was chatting away.  I think of what I'm dealing with and I know it's doubled in Tot.  I had to pull him out of daycare - a place he adored going to with all of his friends.  He was, and probably still is, mad at me.  I explained he would get the chance to see his friends, just not as often.  Being a contract physical therapist assistant means I do get a higher pay rate, but that also means I have to pay out-of-pocket for health insurance for the both of us.  I won't get into the logistics of my career, because that is not what this blog post is about.  It simply means I have to choose my battles wisely and make smarter financial choices. 

Back to the point.  Tot turned to me suddenly and asked me about "bad guys."  I answered some of his questions but tried to turn the conversation around; distract him to a new line of thinking.  He was having none of it. 

"The bad guys are coming, Mommy."

"Bubby.  No they're not.  You're safe here.  This is the place where bad guys disappear."

"No.  They are coming and I'm going to protect you when they do.  I'll fight them, Mommy."

I was silent for a bit.  Then I tried to discern where this was all coming from.  A movie? Some cartoon like Power Rangers? 

"Daddy said..."

I stopped listening for a half second.  My instincts roiling; wanting to scoop Tot up and run.  I don't know where.  Just somewhere far from here and a sociopathic narcissistic abusive ex husband. 

"Daddy said bad guys can get better."

That's how our conversation ended.  I now sit here wondering if this was something Tot saw on TV; am I blowing this out of proportion in my own mind?  Am I in danger?  Regardless, I am now in full-blown survival mode but wanting very hard to rationalize what Tot was saying to me tonight. 

The last thing my ex told me as I packed the car and drove away for good almost 5yrs ago, "I know a lot of people.  It doesn't even have to be me.  I can call a friend and you'll be sorry for everything.  You don't even know the meaning of sorry." 

It's a quarter after midnight and I should be in bed.  Migraine raging.  Knowing damn well there's not one thing anyone can do.  Not one.  Call  the police?  Tot was relaying a series of conversations he has been holding in for some time.  That's my gut instinct. 

PTSD symptoms whisper, "This is all a bad dream. Tot heard it wrong.  It was from a show he saw.  Surely...." 

Her Hanging Tree

In she walks
With the gallow talks
Heavy
Slow
Swinging
Machete
To all the unpretty
Waiting for the crawl
Hearing the banshee call
Swiping easier
Girly, girl feeling prettier
Cutting through the muck
Asking all those who will listen
Follow me?
To my hanging tree
Through midnight shadows
Blood dripping
Screech owls silent
In the deafening echoes
Watch with me
As the girl hangs from the noose
The woman let loose
Slipping through the rope
Into the world
Standing tall
Not bending and begging
To grope

New Voice

I heard her talking
As one person asked
The almighty question
"Are you married?"
No sarcastic backbeat
No angry glare
Just this voice
Calmly explaining
Making no apology
As more gathered around
No hiding for some
Lower ground
I owned her
The voice
My voice
The voice of a survivor
Calmly
Coolly
Collectively
Without worry of acceptance
Without worry of disdain
I lighted on my past pain
Feeling it slip away
In that very moment

I was abused
I am not an abused soul
I am still whole