Abstract Art - Vandalism

Cubist collage attacked,
Expectation failed,
Sum of destruction seems
Real world looks un-nailed.

By Mushroombrain on deviantART

Not going far enough,
Broke the fruit dish,
Cannot glue together --You
Missed what Cezanne wished.

Assault the painting within,
Abandon the medium.
Ready-made objects
Don't equate the sum.

Independent artist
Show provocative ways,
Blurring boundaries in
Degradation displays.

Set the stage for deskilled,
Experimental progeny.
Vandalize a painting -- Is
What some want to see.

Paint splattered and poured
On trash encrusted surface.
Ghostly traces in gilded frames
Brings tyranny of purchase.

Artist choose what art is.
Can destruction be vandalism?
Pathological passion - It
Depends on your prism.

Dreams Upon Your Face (Life after suicide)

I held your hand,
Dreams upon your face.
We danced slow songs
Heart beats of grace.

dance by melodyofleeloo on deviant art

I led my love
Never been kissed.
Chose purity,
Nothing been missed.

I fit the plan,
Not left to fate.
Prayers had been said.
God bring my mate.

I was the one,
A dream come true.
Each piece in place,
Up to "I do".

I felt the pain,
Shame hid in me.
You believed more
Than I could see.

I failed at life,
You would succeed.
Can't hold you back
I now concede.

I never brought
To you a ring.
He is the one-
Now you can sing.

I'm looking down,
Dreams upon your face.
Joy fills my heart,
You found your place.

I let you go,
You deserved more.
In His embrace,
I leave the shore.

A Sharp Edge Stops

by myxchimcalxkiss on deviantART

A sharp edge
Thought to numb
The pain too deep
To heal away.

A sharp edge
Brought to mind,
Cut the memory-
Blood covers.

A sharp edge
Pierced His side
He took your sin
Upon Him.

A sharp edge
For a moment
Pause the cycle,
The burden.

A sharp edge
Does not solve
The real problem,
Hurting shame.

A sharp edge
Words spoken,
The Gilead
Balm heals all.

If you think about using a sharp edge to cut yourself to stop the pain, stop. A sharp edge against your skin is not the help you need. You are priceless, precious, and your life was created for a purpose. You can know happiness.

Child's Love - Mother's Longing

Mama, naturally.
A child loves his mom,
connected as one
from conception
in her womb.

by bailey--elizabeth on deviantART

Birth pangs, naturally,
Discorded at birth,
No pulsing between,
Empathetic
Or flatline.

Children, naturally,
Completely depend
On mama for needs,
Hopefully
A bond builds.

Parents, naturally,
Are beloved, it's said.
The childhood window
Closes quickly.
Locus food.

Regrets, naturally,
Eat away her peace.
Could have been's haunt.
A mother's heart
Never stops.

Loving, hoping, trying.
Even unrequited.
Her longing remains,
For her child's love
Until she dies.

The Core of Me

by Isikol on devientart, boris tribute

My flesh, my muscles and my bones,
I flex and lift my bronzing tones,
I once was skinny, dust and dirt,
Now I'm built, I hold the earth.

Nothing easy comes to me,
Grovel, work, I can not flee.
Words haunt, howl, from my past,
Blows in frozen, bred to last.

By my brow and pumping grit
I resolve, no more, I spit,
Cradle to my bed alone
Four walls free me from that home.

Choose I must now - how I live,
Running springs no longer give,
Dig my own well, for my thirst,
Raging feelings, out I curse.

Cut the strings that held me down
Dangling offers - sins abound.
Taste the apple from the tree,
Rotten to the core, I see.

Pleasures, crutches, hold me back,
Mirrors glaring, what I lack,
Smoke defuses, nothings clear,
But the song of panting deer.

Brawn and might can get me far,
Still I'm crawling on the floor.
Willed erect now, full of pride.
Satan lurled me, 'course, he lied.

My redeemer, sees my core,
I can't open, the king's door,
Mercy needed, costly grace,
Lift me from this miry place.

Cursed I thought to bend my knee,
Humiliated, made me plea -
Kept it silent - evermore,
No one knew what - I endured.

Twisted up my sense of self,
Felt like trash, I lost true health.
Left my hope, my heart steel cold,
Forge me, liquid, with blood coal.

Sanctify harm, done to him
Holy love, blood, covers sin.
Purify the death dried stains,
Light life fire, through his veins.

Out of evil -can come good
It's the story of "he could"
Yet, each must choose his own fate
To be written his-- eternal state.

Listen little 'core of me'
Even Atlas Bent His Knee!

Love Me

Said I to God, "Love me,
Pour down your showers from heaven.
Release your geysers from earth.
Surround Me in Your presence.
Let me float weightless in You,
Absorbing goodness into every crevices'
That I might be saturated,
That my thirst would be quenched,
That I would never need another."

And God so willingly poured out His love on me,
Little me - to the world I am so minor,
Just a one in a crowd of millions- even more,

A grain of sand upon which the ocean roar,
A particle of dust--clothed away- unwanted.


But to God I am His everything,
A priceless daughter of the King.
My heart bursts forth with exuberant,
To know, He joys, that I exist.

A gift - a gift - I am to Him
And He to me - far greater.
To love as He - I can not measure
Nor ever - though try, I might - to do
Like the river He pours out for me and you.
Oh, ask Him, try and you will see
You will know for yourself -
His love - as He has for me.

Vision Tutelage Through Brain Therapy Healing

by maticgolog on deviantART

Several forms of Trauma Therapy use visionary training to heal the brain naturally. These are not dark forces or drama but organic abilities all humans are born with. As creativity and imagination are decreased in the advancement of age and school-tutelage, so has the innate ability, the part of the natural man has been hushed within a person. This erasing is so indelible that most people profess to lack and never to have had the ability to heal from within.

Our senses are keenest when we are untaught by the refinement of institutions and scholar-wise establishments. Thus, natural learning is the best tool for inner growth, healing and advancement. This does not mean that a person cannot learn from another. Of course, we learn from each other and those who words are printed over centuries -- saved -- for those who come later into the world that must uncover, realize ... see in every sense of that ability.

Cherished fictional stories hold the truth that can be digested and embraced much more widely than the formal tutelage of non-fiction. We are more open to receive light and power from what is woven into a fictional classic than to hear the plain direction in simple words. Moreover, this testifies to our innate ability to be visionary and to learn through what can be seen. Most can see what is physically transformed into images that we all accept and thus are familiar.

The invisible versus the visible are the opposite poles of light and darkness. The twist is that what is seen is more of darkness than what is not seen. And lightness can be more fully known in a "felt-sense" over a pure physical realm sense, but we don't believe [or so the common lesson is taught by those who are suppose to be most wise to not trust (believe)] what one cannot witness, that being what one see with one's optical ability.

Yet, we can see in the visionary and we must learn to trust our visionary nature.

Opposite are always in play. What seems most real is unreal and what seems most foolish is wise!

Brainspotting, EMDR and many other trauma therapies are simply tapping into the human ability to be visionary, and the force of good that can come from allowing the soul to know and be led to what it needs. Permanent healing can be had.

Like Forever

by katiepox on DevianArt

Dead leaves float low.
First frost is mean.
The dragonfly is here and gone
In one day.

Creation never stays
Each - in due time -
Makes its way
To its continued purpose.

We act, all day,
Narrowly we play,
Like Forever we will be.
Yet coffins float upon the sea.

Listening, Reflecting, Writing - Filled in Spirit

Running water bubbles over plastic rocks.
I close my eyes to drift elsewhere.
Crows caw, woodpeckers peck,
Insects rattle a hiss.
Bee buzzes, close chasing another--gone.
Late summer breeze brushes my face.
Cares ease, but do not cease--timeworn.

Berry Bush Bird by Endmon at DeviantArt

Tapping keys, so effortlessly,
Letting thoughts roll,
Flowing where they want to go.
Noisy little hidden insects
Make themselves known,
Rhythmic shaking in harmony.
Soft, then loud, they say,
"I am here, one more day."

Focusing back to the running water,
My lungs inhale deep-- a cleansing breathe,
A moment alone but not at all quiet,
No human voice, still sounds grow.
What a filling for my ear.
This summer day there is no pause.
Yet my soul reflects -- no fears.
Faith makes one bold with cause.

Drawing in another deep breathe,
Six legged bug, wings up hobbles
Full of effort cross the table,
Then stops to regain strength.
Do I hobble two arms, two legged,
Not using my wings to fly?
My soul draws to God above,
He is my Love-- supplied.

I'm cleansed by nature's lovely air,
Moist from showers gone before,
Maybe the cause of so much chatter.
Joyous response to life needed rain--quenched.
Fill my spirit with Yours, I pray
That I might reflect Your image,
Source of all, be mine today.
Into my core be etched--and stay.

To this, sings my soul until I die,
I watch a little bird,
Into the hedge he flies.
Bopping about, not in a cage
Free to roam the earth's wide sky.
Thank you for this spiritual reprieve.
As sisters, we prayed, for this need,
Now - the fruit of faith - I receive.

All My Own - Selfish

All My Own is a poem about dealing with wanting something for yourself when you have been deprived of so much. Asserting your needs, expressing your wants, are things that are normal human actions but after extreme neglect and abuse these supposedly simple times can be perplexing, emotionally draining and regardless of the end result you are left exhausted... so often are also the people in your life.

By Narcoleptik on deviantART

Guilt Crowds My Company.

Selfish One wants all her own.

Let me have it.

Do not touch.

Taking care of it.

Eat my lunch.

Isolated - stands alone.

All forlorn, but she’s grown.

It will burn in the end.

Stubble and hay, they pretend.

Let me have it.

Do not take.

Wanting some of it.

Have some cake.

Feelings hurt for a thing.

Words just spent, left a sting.

Babbled sounds were not heard.

Growing anger is a verb.

Let me have it.

Do not leave.

Biting upper lip.

Watch it bleed.

Never can some thing be mine.

Intertwined, self-centered-- fine.

Fragile psyche, all a mess,

Spinning cycles ever press.

Now I have it.

It is mine.

Sitting all alone.

Left in time.

Piles and Piles of Writings

I am trying to clean my room today ... the piles on the floor... surrounding my bed.

Piles are in other places but today I turned my focus to my bedroom and there I found a problem.

I have been doing extremely well lately at accomplishing tasks... beginning, working through them and completing! What a new delight.

But today I am tugging through the mud of paper goods.

I see bits and pieces of my life... my thoughts like scribbles here and there. My mind is over active. Words keep pouring out and on the pages I find... typed beginnings of books, of articles, of journeys I have been compelled to begin...

I notice a pattern of a lot of incompletions.

My mind buzzes with new thoughts, ideas, impulses. While I start off running, rapidly getting done or said what I feel at that moment to be monumental, I observe life cuts in and "it" is lost.

Darwin went to an island to write. So did John to write Revelation, the final book of the Bible.

I have a writer's mind. The creative type that keeps pouring out words, a faucet open that seldom stops.

Every drip is not important but if the drips are closed up the pressure builds inside my head and I can do little else.

Thus, this is being written because I had to stop sorting books, magazines, papers and all miscellaneous notebooks for writing.

Help I have too many interests.

I live a life of many people not simply one.

I am not focused. I love everything. Life is so interesting to me... little flying insects, birds, clouds, flowers, art, people, clothes, houses, buildings, wind, water, talking, and then there is topics of religion, politics, ministry, healing, churches, the poor, gardening, cooking...

it is endless...college, parenting, friendship, work, travel....

Sometimes my eyes hurt because I look and read too much. I am tired and need to rest. My mind is too rapid. I am talking before I can think. I am tired.

And then I want to sleep. To snuggle up in the covers. But I also don't want to waste so much time in the day. Oh, help me. I am so confused. I am twirling... and cleaning my room had tossed me over into this rattled state.

If only I didn't suffer from these road blocks. I feel sick. My head hurts. It is spinning. I feel nauseated.

Oh, God help me. I am falling... falling... falling... but never reach the bottom.

Thank God if you never feel like this. Just thank God.

Of course, I will survive. I always do, but we life life in the middle of the process not in the observation or in the recollection. Once again my bedroom is covered needing help... maybe I will start tomorrow. :D

Mumbled Messages

I am trying to speak, to explain, but I am incapable of being heard.
I am speaking clearly in my head, but what comes out is mumbled.
I want to be heard, to be understood, to be empathized,
But others can't comprehend or even barely listen to what is uttered.
It is too hard to listen to, dragging them deep where they do not want to go.

Pretty little house, cute little family. We go to church.
We serve. Love the Lord. Raise our kids.
You are weird, complicated, too hard to be a friend.
I don't need that in my life. I have a ministry and enough to do.
Help me find a way to end this conversation.
Help me get away. I will never speak to her again.
I will be quiet. I will pretend to listen,
But I am not.
I have already moved on.

Sticky people are more trouble than they are worth. What is that you said? You couldn't possibly. Are you serious? How could you think that?

I am trying to learn to not speak ... at least to certain people... but truly in most.
Smile, nod, greet, I am doing good, fine, nice, swell, have a nice day... oh, I said nice already, but nice is such a nice word... it says so little but is enough for most. Nice chat. Nice dress. Nice story. Nice time. Nice... it crawls around sneaky little mice... hope the cat hunts this little creature and swats him while he eeeeks! Swash no more mice... no more nice!

=============

Thick lips, fat tongue, speaking words while it all feels numb.
Run away, hide your kids, keep them safe, from this liz.

Speak the truth in your lies, mix your words, at least you tried.
Laugh one day, when your away, what a joke, you tried to stay.

Big mistake to help someone, complicated, it is no fun.
Light ministry is your style, sing a song, walk a mile.

God loves all, even those who try, why try hard, when we're going to die.
Live a nice life, have a bbq, chat with friends, swim in their pool.

Feel the breeze, in the Caribbean shade, on adventures, there is no shame.
Dig your heels, into your life, live it high, aloft, in the sky.

Shake off dust, of complicated others, don't need that, she just smothers,
Lift a glass, make a toast, life is good, better than most.

Cheer to us, and our delight, we are far away, we are out of sight.
Greed and lust, fills our heart, but we do good, we do our part.

Feel the sun, upon the skin, mansions apart, we live in sin.
What a life!, to know no pain, we have our hurts, but it's not the same.

See her face, in a misty dream, she drifts away, I didn't catch her scream.
Jewels to wear, giggling you, sip champagne, we deserve it too.

Walk away, from the crumbled soul, we have to go, can't miss the show.
Insulated, it's the high life, above the rift raft, away from strife,

Seal my soul, in sparkling glass, how I live my life, to you it might be crass.
Each has his turn, going to victory, when will it stop, when she drowns at sea.

Mourn a life, we did not know, it is fine with us, pull her in the undertow.
Now it's done, she is no more here, we can live our life, never hear her tear.

In a distant day, when your days are done, And the dear Lord asks, how you treat His Son,
Flash before your eyes, that poor girl's face, Oh, you didn't know, It was Him, the same.

Don't shed a tear, Oh, you did so well, you laughed a lot, now you go to hell.
How did He do, make this decision, you walked away, from His hurting Son.

When the days are done, and we count our goods, He is more concerned with our missing shoulds,
Now it's too late, to change the tune, you had your chance, now you die entombed.

And she dances free, she sings her song, she hurts no more, all of that is gone.
For eternity, she lives to please, He dear Lord God, on her bended knee.

She laughs a lot, and skips away, she is given life, It is just God's way.
So when you have a day, to help someone, remember it might be Christ, His only Son.

Push through the pain, and the dirt, there is someone there, for you to ease her hurt.
Take a hand, extend it out to her, invite her to your land, it is kinder to care.

It is worth your time, mess with sticky hair, the gems to bold, the gifts she'll share.
Doen't think she's trash, yes, she is misplaced, but she needs your love, you to share your space.

Crumbs from your table, treasures to behold, you just swept away, thought you weren't able.
Don't miss the chance, to breathe in a life, the gift of joy, do more than tithe.

To give a hand, to the messy crowd, to get tangled up, to hear them loud.
Is a joyful sound, hear the reigning grace, drink the gift of life, see it on her face.

Just reach out, give a hug, rumble up inside, feel His perfect love,
It'll change your life, to the better sort, you will see beyond, you will share His Heart.

Glory to God on the Highest and Peace to all on earth who believe!

Haven't Cried in a While - Mama's Childhood Lore

Tears are filling up my eyes,
It's been awhile since I've cried.

The warmth of salty fluid flows,
From the pain within my soul.

Broken dreams of love we hold,
Choosing sin -its goods are sold.

See me crying in the night,
A cold dark chamber blurs my sight.

Stripped of envy and disgrace,
He walked into the wicked place.

Making choices everyday,
Is how the game of life is played.

See the sucker at the bar,
See the midnight falling star.

Twinkle, twinkle lost its light,
Darkness flexed his muscles' might.

Lucifer laughs when we cry,
He taunts the sinner til he wants to die.

God send Angels to my son,
Protect him til fool's hill is done.

Dazzling worldly wanton ways
Entices many foolish slaves.

Freedom to live by your grace.
Answer his call when he prays.

Draw him to Your perfect peace,
Humble crying on his knees.

Mama loves him evermore,
Forever sings the childhood lore.

Surviving Depression and Suicidal Thoughts

Reading about Rick Warren's son's suicide "hit home" and made me think about a lot of things

, therefore, I had to write.

I am a survivor!

I have been one since early childhood. I had to be or I would already be dead. I grew up in an abusive home and daily survived, escaping the hands of death, evil committed against the children by my father. I didn't understand why...

why was I living?
why was I allowed to go through all the abuse?
why didn't I have good parents, parents who loved me?
why did I not get to be a little girl?
why was life so hard for me?
why could I never get a break?
why did no one help me?
why did every time I seemed to get ahead something would fall apart?
why was the government not able to stop my father?
why would he not die?
why did my mother allow it?
why did she not leave?
why did no one stand up to him?
why did every adult pretend nothing was happening?
why did everyone forget, pretending nothing happen?
why did I have nightmares?
why did I feel so much pain?
why did I see so much suffering?
why did I have so many fears?
why were my children not easy to raise?
why was being a mom so hard for me?
why did we not have much money?
why did I have to endure counseling?
why did I get rejected so often?
why did I always seem to hurt people?

LOTS of question - I know, but I could continue... mostly, because those kind of questions don't have simple answers.

But I live today because, I was willing to face the questions, to ask the questions, to look for answers within and outside of me. I had to know. I wanted to survive.

Whenever I hear about suicide I feel personally touched, connected because I have lived through suicidal obsessions - I have wanted to die more than I wanted to live because I wanted to so badly stop hurting people whom I love.

Did you hear that?

I wanted to die because I felt it was the only real way to stop hurting others. I saw it as the most unselfish thing a person could do... to sacrifice my life to stop being a problem to so many others. And this is what a lot of people feel.

I was already hurting so much. I knew what pain was. I never wanted to cause others pain and no matter how hard I tried to not, I always did. I was tired of fighting within so much, of trying to change, to healed, to be different than I was.

I was not in control. Chemicals in my body swirled around and put me in a funk... it was like I was inside of a cloud and could not make it go away. I could not escape. Darkness followed me and so did failure. I kept making mistakes, bad choices that ended up hurting people. The cycle was vicious.

But I survived, at least I am still here today. 

What was my source of continued life, my anchor to keep death away by my own doing?

I understood that I was not God.

God alone has the right to my birth and my death - it is His choice - the timing of it - not mine.

 I surrendered this one point to God... and because of this, no matter how hard life gets or how messed up my internal chemicals swirled, death was not an option for me - I am not God.

It is on this point alone - that today, I love.

So I thank God for showing me who He is, and for teaching me that it is He alone who has the right to choose a person's day of birth and death.

In humble submission, I trust Him - that come what may - He is doing what is best. And if I am still here, I have a purpose to serve, yet another day, for His glory.

Stained Glass Pain

This is an edgy poem. I was thinking about how through my life relationships have been hard. In my rawness and brokeness I have scared many "good" people away. Knowing someone who has lived a hard life - can 'in it self' have times that are very "up hill" to work through. You don't always get what you want or what you expect and many times the odd conversations or moments are never reviewed because when they are done, once they have happen, they are gone. This is awkward for most people - they don't know how to handle and accept the unexpected. I don't view myself broken, but more like a stained glassed window made of pieces of my life because of the pain I lived through.

I see life through a stained glass pain,
I'm not insane, it's just my view.

From birth to the hell I was spurned,
Tried by the day, no one had a clue.

Turn up the flame,
Lead in the fire,
Broken glass is plain
Piece it in the frame.

Walked the night in a crawl to day,
Held me down, til I braced the shame.

Dark shadows hollered out to me,
Blinding hate, they could not see.

Fractured in light,
Color shining through,
Shapes take the form,
Pretty picture you.

Tears, sweat and dirt-- made up my face,
Covered any stain, its the same ol' news.

Brittle bones broken in her spring,
Metaled back, into winter hues.

Catch the sunbeam,
Spinning on a string,
Tagged a price,
Pretty little thing.

I see life through a stained glass pain,
Some think I'm sane, if they only knew.

Pick Me

She listens to them
Handle the plans.
Never asked her thoughts,
She gives nothing.

Needs are expressed;
She is overlooked.
What possibly could she do
To help others?

"Pick me," she longs,
Wanting to offer.
But dares not--
Too many rejections linger.

To God she prays,
He could suggest,
If He wants.
He would speak her name.

In sadness she sits,
longing to partake.
Though she's never noticed,
By those who cast the roles.

She waits trusting,
Her time will come.
She will be allowed
To be all that she can be.

At least, that is the story
So often told.
To those who wait,
His timing is perfect.

To Him she clings.
Hoping one day soon,
Her time will join His
And she will be set free.

To LIVE,
her life,
to give--
for Him.

Old Face

She had an old face,
It told of a life hard lived.
Still she smiled
And shared the joy of doing.

She had a young age,
Her face told another story.
The days had been more
Condensed in time.

The earth rotated on its axis,
But her life spun out of control.
The sun rose and set,
Tragedy exploded the limits.

Her children witnessed her decay,
But now she claims no signs.
Her form betrays,
Her version of the story.

Each shriveled dry wrinkle,
Holds the volumes unsaid.
She believes in the victory.
God sees her as a beauty.

Can her words portray truth?
Does her body tell a lie?
The regeneration of the soul
Can it be reflected in the skin?

Her eyes dart around.
Struggling to focus.
She is so busy everyday,
Hours filled can be deceptive.

She talks of prayer,
She does so much,
She knows the Word.
Hollowness surrounds her being.

Does she project the image?
Spirit-filled - so her story goes.
The connecting lines are crossed.
Did they slip off the source?

Spirit felt a negative charge,
Draining - instead of supplying.
Does she know the steps
How to lead the dance?

All is good - great reports.
Rose colored glasses
Always see a cheery view.
But wet paint runs in storms.

Invisible Woman

Have you ever meet with a group of people but realized you were invisible? No one came to hear or talk to you. The agenda of the hearts had another purpose. You tried to belong, to join in, but your words were not valued or wanted. Did you wonder why? This poem is for anyone who has had such an experience and for those who want to step in others shoes.

She sits at a table and talks,
Ignored.
She shares her life journey,
Cutoff.

Did you tell him blah blah blah?
He needs to know blah blah blah.

Eyes turn back to her
Not there.
The "other she" pretended to
listen.

Don't tell him to blah blah blah.
He needs to just blah blah blah.

She spoke her memories,
Unheard.
She exposed her life events,
By gone.

It is nice to met blah blah blah
Let's pray blah blah blah.

She stood to say goodbye,
alone.
She reached to give a hug,
unloved.

See you soon blah blah blah.
Enjoyed meeting you both blah blah blah.

She walked toward the door.
Empty.
She didn't know why she came,
Clueless.

Not Feeling Myself - Who Am I?

Being a survivor of child abuse doesn't seem to ever end in "she lived happily ever after again." I have made so much progress, but on days that I dip - frankly, I hate it: disassociation.

The past few days I have felt like I was in my body but another person was controlling me - Miss. Edgy Depresso! I tried to hide in my bedroom because I didn't want to snap at anyone. I knew I was plunging; a few days ago I had my girlfriend pray for me. I know when things are not right; I feel it all over my body: heart races or pounds, blood vessels bulge in my hands, my arms feel like someone has punched them, and I am irritable.

Yet, the worst symptom is feeling trapped inside my body and the mood--unable to snap out of it. All I can do is keep "bubble wrap" around me and try to lower any pressure or stimulus so I wont pop.

I pass mirrors and see such a sad face; a shell; a flat affect - zombie lady.

Where did I go?

If this never happens to you, feel blessed and simply try to place yourself in my shoes. When the sensation - the heavy controlling presences ceases - I know I have fully returned. Where did I go? I keep asking myself. I wish I had the answers.

I noticed a bruise on my right arm - I don't remember hitting anything. It must have happen while I was in the mental fog.

I am sorry for how I cause negative influence in the life of my family however I don't rag myself because it is not like I chose to behave a certain way.

Maybe someone can relate. Hopefully I can help another person hang in there! Life goes in ebbs and flows. In many ways we are along for the journey. We can only control so much - for what we can we are responsible - for what we can't the way we respond is our responsibility.

I am grateful to be back again. Hoping for a good day tomorrow, even if I do have to hand wash the dishes (our dishwasher broke a few days ago.) :D

Lindy

Alone, Trapped

Alone - something that we never are,
 but so often "alone" feels true.

God says, "I will never leave you or forsake you," therefore, in reality I am NEVER alone. But ...

But...

We all have our own answers to what comes after that word.

Sometimes when I feel as though I am trapped, stuck, can't get out...that I am alone.
I want to adventure,
I want to be with people who want to be with me,
I want to see what is out there.

But...

Again, I am stopped. I have an exception. I have a pinnacle turning point that is specific to me.

Forgery, formed of flesh and filled with my being.
Yet I am floating in a quasi-plane of knowing.
Dipped, spiraled, tumbled.
Until I land in the cell, door slammed, key turned.

Locked away--my penalty for surviving.
Existing in the midst like a mirage,
Any moment, the pendulum swings.

Parallel worlds, simultaneously misunderstood.
Strong, yet fragile.
Brave, yet broken.
Passioned, yet deflated.
How do so many paradoxes exist as one?

Great thinkers, worldly wonders,
Burn bright with intensity until the fuse,
The thread snuffs out the matter.
Too brilliant, too illuminous to keep a steady flame.
Gone before finished, blazing star until diminished.

Frozen, locked, a marble statue never carved.
No artist cared to see what was inside,
To lovingly chisel away what was not,
To allow one to emerge,
To find a life within a mere block of stone.
Plain, void, raw in essence.
Either too much or too little - never just right.

Tired, slow meditation, hear each breathe.
Squashed, inflated, pierced to silence.
How long will this go on? How long will we wait?
Blind men lead, deaf men sing.
Before her time, in her prime, exhausted.

Why does it return? Why can't it stay away?
Captured by scorn, they never believed, kept waiting for the finale.
Will they be stood up, disappointed?
It doesn't really matter. Why does it matter?
I never really mattered to anyone but God and me.

Exit left stage, crawl back in fetal position in the dark cave.
Curtain closes.
It is all the rave. Applause, what a show! Magnificence.
Fiction reflects reality --where the line crosses none can know.

My Heart Hurts - Really

Sometimes we say, "my heart hurts," and we mean that we are in emotional pain. Of course that pain is very real, but I have had medication adjustments in the past few weeks and my physical heart is pounding differently. I feel it race some times; other times it just beats harder. I am not worried; I am confident my body will start working properly soon. (a few weeks - I hope not longer).

Still it is uncomfortable, and I try to steady myself - to go a little slow, to not do things that might agitate me emotionally.

It is hard to watch yourself so much, to be careful, to keep a buffer around you so that you don't get poked or tipped by others.

It takes work, mental-emotional, and that can eventually be physically tiring.

I simply want an easy life, simple days, happy times.

Does anyone get that? Or is that a fantasy?

I still believe that someone must, but those people probably don't care about others. They isolate themselves. They don't listen to the news. They don't want to know when people have needs. It is selfish. Sometimes we need to be selfish - for a time - but it is not a good place to live permanently. That would be decaying, toxic, a cesspool of water that has no flow.... repugnant, stagnant, dead.

So, I will keep open to Jesus, I will listen and let Him order my day. How long can I stay connected to Him? How long can I remain un-distracted by life?

I only know to take one moment, relax, breath and soak His presence ... I can not plan the next.

Type Delete Repeat

These words-this poem- came today because it has been a hard day, frustrating. A day when I keep blundering and still I never give up. All I know is to step in the presence of God and allow Him to fill me up every time I am bumped into and spilt over. An exercise in humility and grace.


Type, Delete, Repeat
Is the rhythm of my day.
Gutting all I need,
Makes me have to stay.

Floodgates opening,
Wear the dam away.
Missing all I need,
Help me Lord to pray.

Million Chances-
False start tries
Feel the glances.
Adrenaline slides.

Go, Slushing, Relief
Is the volume in my mind.
Fighting to believe
Keeps me close in time.

Exhaust, Repenting
Do you still see me?
Taking all I need,
From Your hand receive.

Millions Chances-
Lost in Gambles
Move, E-vances
Humbled pile of clay.

Off the ledge I fall
Into Your embrace.
Trusting all I need,
Supply me Thy GRACE!

And I type, delete, repeat,
Every step I take,
Still I'm forwarding,
Forwarding, I Sent Me.

By Lindy Abbott

Pain of Motherhood

Motherhood is a blessing - a gift from God, but it is also a very difficult job - particularly for woman who are adult survivors of child abuse.

Great thoughts don't always become great reality. Often what I see in my head as being something sweet, meaningful and appropriate crumbs into a struggle, hurt feelings, offenses and never-gonna-happens.

I can not tell you how many times this scenario has repeated that past 20 years. It still never gets easy to be part of this two-step dance that is more like a tug-of-wills. A heart slashing - never what it was intended to be - occurs. This poem was birthed out of such a time as this.


Phone is ringing in my ears,
My heart pounds, message clear.
Why are people not listening,
To the words - what they mean.

I try talking to my child,
It'll be good,
I decide.
But it blows up in my face
Homemade cocktail
Burns the place.

I only longed to talk it out,
Think about, what was said,
I listened to the voice I heard
Sympathetic in my head.

It looked so easy - a child could do,
How did I blow a fuse?
Hear my heart - not my words.
I love you, gets unheard.

Mental, spirit and emote,
Thought I prayed-
Dust to clay.

God breathed in His spirit to me,
Saw the vision, on bended knee.
Clash with fragile-- crack breaking
Wearing out, bent I seem.

Still I love him deep within
Want to scream,
Here we go again.

Stop the music, let me out,
Same old games, I have no clout.

After all the grace given
Why's it hurt,
Bruised by sinning.

Just tried to speak - tell my side,
Slashed his heart, he bled alive.
Curt responses froze the frame,
Tossed like dice in a game.

Let me hold you, make it right,
Rock you to sleep,
Stroke your head.
Morning comes we'll learn the steps,
I still have hope for motherhood.

Walk by faith - not by sight,
Through the maze, It's called life.
Mercy new every day,
Don't you quit, despite the fray.

Buried, died -- before the birth,
Cyclical - in reverse.
I can not see in your soul,
All I know, is what I'm told.

White flag hanging from my door,
I surrender - ever more.
Teach me to live humbly
Repenting - casting on the sea.

When the tide turns
You'll be home,
Full of joy - on your own.
I will be here when you come,
Your forever, my precious son.

Pulling Away to the Next Life

Sometimes what stirs in the mind and soul spills out in a way that feels more like broken pieces found after a storm rips through a town. I am learning that allowing the free associations to come lightens the load I carry that can't find its place to compartmentalize. Humans need means to let go. Writing Poetry is my way. It isn't a picture of my current state of mind, but simply a dance of words, and expression of madness that is healthy, not harmful. Words released in wild display somehow is freeing and brings happiness. Sometimes I think we need to stop trying to explain. Hope is always found in knowing God and being in His presence.




I listened to the thoughts in my head
And noticed I was drifting.
Seated behind the wheel of a car
My soul watched me moving away.

Is it because I am tired?
Or am I coming unglued?
I don't know, can't tell.
Just familiar - what I used to do.

Dissociation comes.
Even when it isn't called.
It shows up on it own.
My body presses 'gainst a wall.

Spirit, soul and mind blend--
Don't we so often pretend,
To be together, when we're frayed--
Knowing we need to mend.

Hurry, go get the glue
Use a hammer or a screw,
Staple her back in layers.
We will act like she is new.

Give her space - don't get close,
She might spit at you.
Spray or squirt, stain like ink--
It doesn't matter what you do.

Life gets messy on the inside
Keep it closed, stay safe.
Dirty, dripping, liquid drain-
Irritating, left her chafe.

Light turns green, on we go.
Split second chance is gone.
Hold it back, never come again.
Doest matter, the picture's torn.

Odd lockbox of raw thoughts.
Some call them --memories,
Who controls the shutter speed
Pushing through forwardings.

Ground me close to My God,
Solidify in my core,
I'm sealed by the Holy Ghost,
Praising He keeps the score.

Spinning head on a table,
Twirling round and round,
Wisps of laugher seeming shallow,
Nowhere else to be found.

Eternity rings hollow,
When our feet touch new grass.
The hands of time stand still
As we breaking like thin glass.

Bursts of color fill my senses
Psychedelic patterns perfuse.
The cold rush of a spring breeze.
I bliss in HIS good news.

You Chose Him

I wrote this to be lyrics to a song... but I am not a musician. I don't write tunes, musics, etc. If someone can write a song for these words I would be so grateful. It is about a daughter abused by a father losing her mother because the mother chose to be with the father and give up her relationship with her daughter, but I could also see it from the eyes of a child of divorce going through a similar situation.


I'm all grown up
Still I bleed the wounds of a little child.
I walk so brave,
Trapped in the realities of could've beens.

You choose him,
Don't ever try to reach me again.

Mom spoke to me,
I offered the love of her little child.
But she drift away,
Fear called her back into his cave.


You choose him,
Don't ever try to reach me again.

I close my eyes
Trying to erase all that was done.
I can not sleep,
Torturous dreams sweep through my mind.

You choose him,
Don't ever try to reach me again.

The bridge is gone,
There is no way to travel back to me.
I'm on my own,
Living out the life that's my destiny.

You choose him,
Don't you ever forget you chose him
You chose him,
Don't you ever try to reach me again.

Celestial Blues

Tingling fingertips a signal

Extra sensory in perception.

Antsy for me, cobweb thinking--

Mapping across, connecting the dots 

When the sky dims-- beams blare and blind.

Sole slips up and down, rocking to no sound.
Muffled words rattle on unturned.

Bold Opinions asserted as facts blurred.

Golden rings domed by celestial blues--

Calm my soul--peace resides--a day is done.

Worshipping watercolored displays,

You are faithful and true, see me through!

Why do I doubt and wonder -will I survive?

Eyes rise, behold the white glow in the sky

And a star or two looking down at me from You.


Lindy Abbott

Glassed In Life - Over-exposed

Incubator walls enclose my soul,
Plexiglas plates seal off life.
Windows to peer out.
Others peer in,
Passing, Running, Ignoring--
They never seem to notice.

Hands pounding invisible bars
Green grass growing outside
Lives among the trees.
Animals roam free.
The world turns on its pole.

I'm in my zone--
Shut out - closed in.
No one heard my sounds.
Breathing slowly
Dying day by day.
Shut out, closed in.
Living a Charade.

In the echo chamber,
I howl cell to cell.
Everyone is learning to play
Life's game so well.
Don't talk, drop it, seal tight the tomb.
Mausoleum dwelling is where I am schooled

And she doesn't make a sound.
Haven't heard from her lately.
Didn't see her in the silence.
She was too exposed.

Shiny Glass Reflection
Viewing Xray smudges
Everything is so visible
In the glare of sunlight.

Cut off, Keep Quiet.
Why Can't she learn shame?
Don't respond again.
Maybe she'll go away.

Ignore, stare at the floor.
Learning filtered words.
Ears work, hairs sway.
Nothings on the nerve.

Impulse - still life.
Crippled - Construed.
Take life from her.
What she had due.
She dared to be different.
Trying to share.
When will she learn.
That No one cares.

And she doesn't make a sound.
Blocked by all sides.
Locked by convention.
Better to live silent.
Just a pretty picture.
She lived over exposed.
Photo processed her gone.
Darkness formed in chemicals.

Kindness Helps

Not every time can we know what some needs,

We think it is just another normal day, 

It may be for us, but not for another,

So we tread on, as any other would,

Seeing no need for extra sensitivity

For people that surround us commonly

In a happy home the memories and the sounds

We can't see the shades shifting into grays

Because to us they still seem like blues,

How simple a task it is to ask for 

Permission to unfold our music on hold

But what gift we can give to the other side

If only we could see how our activity 

Lived out in the mind and soul as another comes unglued.

Didn't mean to beat her, didn't mean to kick her with my shoe,

Throwing water into her face, I truly tripped into the space.

Don't you worry child, she was there for you,

Don't you worry child, It isn't what you do,

Clear tear drips in place, doesn't even come from grace,

She wanted so much more but couldn't hold it together

She heard the sounds but didn't know how to change.

Jumbled wires crossed the codes

Impulses triggers every cell to explode

The train shrilled across the track

Pushed cold air upon her back

He was no where to be found

But didn't know how much I needed him to be

Standing here right next to me.

Little gifts of kindness releive so much pain

Amazing that courtesies placed her mind in sane.

He served her by driving the car

Stopped for a fill up - wasn't much more

But it was enough for her heart to regain its steady beat

And it put her mentally onto stable feet.

Each gift, every day, builds by minutes the same way

Every hour, every ten, ticks the clock in the bend

I watched blinding light moving down, not a sound

I felt time close in and I wanted to try to live again.

Give me one more chance to change

Let me show you I am not insane

Believe in me before I die,

I can stop the cycle inside… or at least I'll try.

Rewind The Thread

Twirling gyro taught us to be still.

Jumping lady strikes us in her snare.

Pin-cushioned targets --very small

Hyper-hearing timbre in the air.

Mallet beaten formed in shiny chrome,

Bruises shape her-- lost in human zeal.

Ignored before, now more, crushing her heart.

Clinging to the promise, I will kneel.

Bobbing thimble, wounding wound it goes,

Threaded needle wearing 'til it split.

How thick the tan bleed and stained,

That bared each lick and built her grit!

Linen, cotton, lacy ruffle, see the frill.

Leather, rivet, painful strikes the metal. 

Filled with fiber, darned the broken hole.

Smell the fragrance of the crushed the petal.

Stitches form seams, rippers expose.

Every error transposed what was done,

Gluing hides the unseemly dark profile.

Giving up life, before she had begun.

Her rose lips meet with a toxic grail.

The foam so subtle, so smooth, simply flows.

Ingested-- clinks the cast foot pedal,

Running over, stitch by stitch, she froze.


by Lindy Abbott

Solving Problems

High-speed velocity zigzag trackin' --
Tripping over every thought and sensation,
Not high, not low, running, ribbing, non-stop go.
Help me not crash, or detonate - I need to isolate.

Input maxed, output floods - unplugged but full of juice.
The source can't be turned off; the value is unknown.
Seek the Maker. Who damaged His perfect plans?
In an instant He can solve, thou He wills to let alone.

Limiting contact prevents potential flares
Pyromanic left too many ignitable tissues
Flammable matters not contained in an atom
Cells hold eighteen-plus revolving issues.

Desensitize charges ground into earth.
Pressurized molecules search for their balance.
Slinging atoms splitting into to nanos.
Science pines the mysterious challenge.

Would they profess the same value or import,
On the splitting minds of human beings?
To help a soul recover from child abuse,
To Wear flip-flops and go a mile sightseeing.

Cherished theories chased for accolade,
Are no compare. They slap her in the flesh.
Opportunities are missed -- No grants
To host the child within a humble creche.

Some came afar seeking a brilliant new star
But few recognized her royal wove clothes.
Behold-- the one precious in life-- and death,
The rose, so delicate, left out -- she froze.

Opposites are the Same

Opposites are the Same

Do you see my smile?

A tear roll down my face.

Two emotions collide to be one.

Seasons change but stay the same.

If I crawl, will you stand

If I try, will you hold my hand?

Stay by me, See me through this fall

I don't like the RED, wipe it away

The hot makes me cold in the soul.

Do you see me cry?

A curve shapes on my lips.

Opposites are one of the same,

Both are needed or nothings gained.

If I stumble, will you lift

If I stop, will you wait for me?

Stay by me, See me die to live

I don't like the RED, it cuts so deep

Gushing inside they say she never bleeds.