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