Shattered Glass Life After Abuse

Words can stab Words can pierce Make us bleed Not ready to receive Not spoken by the King Out of timing-- they seem mean. photo credit: written in blood by star95 deviantart Drip, drip, stab--pierce--bleed Therefore, when words hurt, We must forgive the one Who has spoken and Filter as received, covered In grace by His blood. Drip, drip, stab--pierce--bleed Well-meaners, do-gooders, Advice, without knowing That embraced acceptance Is always needed first. Love proceeds instruction. Drip, drip, stab--pierce--bleed Too soon, unready to receive. Dig deep to forgive, Photo Credit: Elyra Coacalia Deviantart Cover in grace, Filter in love, Please the King, An audience of One, Surrender alone to His lead. He will never cause you to bleed, But lead you to heal - In His timing. Drip, drip, stab--pierce--bleed You didn't know my need. You didn't live Through my life. Oblivious - Out of sight-- Two paths converge o...

Handle it, I ask. But you find an excuse, You don't foresee the abuse. So I went, You stayed. Words spoken under breath, Drew me into another death. What I spoke, I regret. My response frustrated. Left painly irritated. Protect me, I asked. But you left me to walk Into the trap of my talk.

Window opened. It flew in. Pretended pretty, Helped to win. Less than one week, Turns to frost. Burnt and hurting Aches the loss .

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 ...

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...

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. Sh...

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...

Leave me alone, I am in pain. I don't need to be around people, I am in pain. People hurt me, I am in pain. I do not get hurt by books, by food, by clouds and rainbows. Or cats, and clothes, or trees that blow in the wind.... No,  just by those I think are friends. People hurt me; they don't understand me. My arms feel so heavy underneath, I know this is the first sign of overload. My heart has a hole, pierced one to many times in life. My eyes are filled with drops of sorrow, sadness and regret. My mouth is tight, clenched, frozen, no words want to go. Why am I different? Why do I have to hurt so much, all the time, so easily, by so many.... So many days, so many people, so many ways. When does my cup of torment forever filled up to be more than "enough"? Is it because I so love You, God, that I am such a target of your enemy? "But you have not endured blood sweat tears," the wise one jeers. "God will never give you more ...

The scarf around my throat ... I thought about it... I wanted to hang myself, to end it all, to make this stop happening. I don't want to hurt others, to respond inappropriately, to make people cry. Why can't I just shut up? Why can't I stop talking? If only I never said a word, it would help so many times and so less people would be hurt. I really don't say anything that consistently helps. I write better than I speak anyone. I long for it, but don't think I can do it. I wish my voice would be taken away. To never scream again. To never say another painful word. To never push into a conversation. To just listen and be silent. A failure is how I often feel. I feel worse..I feel less... Why did He allow me to be made? Why knowing the future let it happen... the sperm meet up with the egg... the child to be formed in my mother's womb? If He could see the number of my days, He knows me through and through why allow someone to be made so that they can be to...

Is this your life? When you are shattered in life, like a crystal vase that has crashed on a hard tile floor, you are splintered into little parts - some sharp as a cutting edge, others blunt and a few chunks that just wouldn't break any smaller. We go about life trying to "be normal" if we can... to fit in, to not draw attention, to not be 'a problem', to wishfully be swept away... But very rarely do the broken pieces in life ever come together... Why? With so many hurting people, so many who have been taken advantage of, who have been abused or used... why do so few find healing. I think it might have to do with what we are willing to endure, what cost we deem too much to pay... and how much we love. Cost and love - an odd duo. Love can't be bought, but it costs more than most of any love newbie would imagine. Sacrifice, selflessness, delayed satisfaction and so many similar lessons must be mastered in transforming ... in becoming capable of lov...

I yelled. I screamed, "Screw U!" I was so angry..... but I didn't realize until later at who. Anger Rages upon My Soul Angry - I was in such a position, angry - no one put my fragile soul safe, angry - I felt trapped, angry - I came so far to be cut off, angry - I couldn't trust others...especially those in life the very people you are suppose to trust... those in life that most often are sitting in the front row of one's funeral, that have your back, that forgive, forget and protect. Anger boiled in me, burnt my soul, made me cry in deep agonizing tones howling like a wolf in the darkest night or a battle horn blown by a solider shot, wounded blood mixed with dirt crusted on what was once an optimistic uniform. Anger seethed for those who hurt me, and I became unbalanced..rolling from one event to the next...never quite finding the "be still" place in life, because stillness brought more uncertainty and PAIN... a wall of falling rocks on my path,...

Every time I try to be a mother... I try to guide, direct, lead... I am treated terrible. I don't know why you God made me a mother. I am not at all cut out for this. I have tried. I have failed. Nothing I do is right. I am ignored, disrespected, despised. Why am I here? I am certain someone else could have been a much better mother for my children. This is not a pity party statement - it is a statement of truth! A rare fool could have done a worse job then me .... and they probably would have been appreciated. I don't handle rejection well. Does anybody? It appears that other children listen and respect their parents. Is this true? Are is a just a charade everyone is playing? Is the Emperor Really Wearing no clothes in every home, and families just pretend they are real.... or Do real functioning families exists? I do not want to talk about it anymore. I am sick... I was going to say I was sick of it, but in reality I am probably really just sick..... I am one flew...

I started this website for those "Shattered Glass" moments in the life of people who are really seeking to recover from abuse and trauma. Abuse is very ugly...frankly horrid, disgusting, and often filled with terror. Healing from abuse and trauma is also very ugly. Healing is very messy, painful, and can be deathly serious. In the healing process, I felt strongly lead by God to be real and to use writing to express the emotions inside my wounded heart. God give different outlets and directions to each person, some people sing, draw, create sculpture, woodwork or take a run. Over the past month I have come to the finishing point of my healing, which I would not have believed possible 2 weeks ago. It always hoped to be finished the healing process, but I resigned that I would be always healing. As a Christian believer, I understand that I will  never stop growing and will always be developing personally becoming sanctified and more like Christ. So what do I do with ...