Sunday, March 31, 2013

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.

her life,
to give--
for Him.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

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.

Monday, March 25, 2013

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,
She shares her life journey,

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

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

She spoke her memories,
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,
She reached to give a hug,

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

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

Thursday, March 21, 2013

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


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 ...


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.


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.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

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.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

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.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

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.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

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.

Monday, March 4, 2013

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

Friday, March 1, 2013

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.