| Like echoes |
[Mar. 9th, 2012|06:19 pm] |
An obsidian stone, imperfect
With chips and lines, the shine
Of water and wear, painting the story of ages...
Splashes into the stillness and reverberates,
Rotates the sounds of silence, and chills to the bone
The slowly blinking frog, who shifts
Ever so slightly.
Rain droplets follow,
Making a harbinger out of a simple
Rock. |
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| Writing feels good in that out-of-practice sort of way |
[Jan. 25th, 2011|02:00 am] |
Poetry. Courage never shook in her boots
the way I did
or took her bumps with the road of life
quite like I did. She knew it
beyond a shadow of a bout
with angry voices
etched in the psyche of a young boy
who cringed as his parents railed-- Derailed before quite reaching
Her destination,
a name scrawled in sharpie on a tacky-backed
white rectangle-- What kind of name is "Courage?" The echo of a baby's cry
leaves the answer in dust,
written with a fingertip
in a window
to be read backward: Tell your story with your whole heart.
The strength of that beat,
the moment mindful of itself
drowns out harsh voices and throbs in your being
louder than the reverberation of
slammed doors. She and I
walk dark paths
mistaking blindfolds for lanterns,
crafting reality
in cardiac rhythms.
Posted via LiveJournal app for iPad. |
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| Help Help Help |
[Dec. 16th, 2010|04:12 pm] |
Anyone able to come over in the next few days? Today? Tomorrow? The weekend? Play with babies? Sit in the apartment?
Yeah?
OK?
Huh? |
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| is a big dummy dumb-dumb-head |
[Dec. 10th, 2010|08:47 pm] |
The title says it all.
Seriously, pretty sure I do at least 100 things absolutely wrong every day.
Bailey is sick, and so am I. Blech.
Did you know that I wet the bed for a long time growing up?
I was a pretty old kid before I stayed dry all night long by myself.
Also, on the topic of embarrassing things you probably don't want to know, no one ever gave me The Talk. I think I learned it all through reading books way past my "age level" and TV. Then, of course, Sex Ed in school.
You want more? I'm on a roll.
My mom didn't know I had gotten my period until my 3rd period. I had managed to use WAY TOO MUCH toilet paper, ruin lots of underwear (which I hid under my bed) and keep it super quiet until she found out by accident.
Is this a pattern with me or what? Don't know how to handle something, scared, try to do it myself. For a long time. Asking for help or telling anyone ='s absolute last resort.
Also, my room was such a mess that it wasn't until much later when my aunt was helping me (in an unasked for and embarrassing manner) clean out my room that the bloody underpants were found. I think I nearly died. A part of my soul is still cringing in abject shame.
Oh, I yelled at Rylie the other day for slapping me in the face.
He's a baby. I yelled at a baby. WHAT THE FUCK? Anyways, it was more like a shout, and at least I didn't throw him on the couch from standing position when he was a newborn. Oh, yeah. Brad did that, not that he might remember.
So, in summary, I'm a terrible person.
Feel free to write me off and never think of me in a positive light ever.
*firm nod* |
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| On another note |
[Dec. 9th, 2010|10:16 am] |
It's OK. It's a more comfortable thought that I am so deeply flawed and crazy that this is not an abuse situation, and it's "marital problems" instead, and I'm just not taking responsibility for my part in it.
That's OK.
I absolve to let others think what they will.
8 days left, and hope is on the horizon.
Brad is making statements to select people on FB. If you want to read what he has to say, and you can't see it, or you're not on FB, contact him.
He is stepping forward and taking responsibility for his actions.
I can do no less. But in my case, looking back on all the years of what I've done, I REALLY, REALLY know that I'm a strong, capable person, with lots of love in my heart.
Can't that be true?
If the idea that I conducted myself as well as or better than most would have--if that threatens some preconceived notion of abuse as invited and partially the victim's fault, then don't believe me. |
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| I'm just about losing my mind in sheer terror. |
[Dec. 6th, 2010|03:19 pm] |
11 days left.
Then I have to gather as much information as possible, and put on my "Clear Thinking" hat, and make lists.
Brain is scrambling around like someone lost in a dark room, looking for a contact lens probably caked in filth, hoping it will be A MAGICAL CONTACT LENS that once spit-washed and popped into my bloodshot eye will reveal the light in the encroaching darkness and show the shadowy figures crowding in the corners for what they really are.
My husband, my husband, my husband.
Oh the prayers that fall to their deaths like fine China from between my lips, meeting hard ground with crystal-clarity.
SHATTERED.
Like the photo frame he smashed into the living room floor.
Like the broken wings of dreams that never once took flight.
Tomorrow will be 10 days.
And the countdown is making my insides bleed secrets. |
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