Spiritual Guidance –

“She’s not showing any interest in me and she looks like she doesn’t want to be here. Should I take off her handcuffs? I thought kidnap victims were supposed to fall in love with their captors?
” ― Jarod Kintz
 

horrorchic87

Help me! I can’t see and my eye is swollen and throbbing, my lips cracked and parched, and I taste blood. He has me bound and my breathing’s painful from what I think are my broken ribs. I cough up blood and spit it out on my dress, why did I think he’d take care of me, protect me and guide me? That innocent dream’s gone as I hear the sound of his breathing in the next room. Does anyone know I’m here? Does anyone care? I should’ve made different choices, followed advice, and been more careful. This is my fault isn’t it? I begged for this he said, because I dressed the way I did. My walk was the lure, because my hips swayed a little too much, because I was confident and had long hair that fueled his desire. I struggled against the stiffness settling in on my body and mind, perhaps the shock’s wearing off. God I hope someone is praying for me. I feel around trying to find something that will help me out of here. As I fumbled around I bumped the door and it budged! Peering out of the small crack I see evidence of him all over, liquor bottles and clutter. Opening the door a little farther and I notice that he’s passed out on the chair with drug shit all over the table in front of him. Seeing my chance , I struggled to stand and barely made it up before falling with a thud on the floor. A shudder of stifled terror filled my panicked breaths believing that the fall would wake him. With my head on the floor I saw a knife just at the edge of the couch. With great effort I managed to get my hands on it, and began cutting the leather belt that held my hands. Damn the movies make this look easy, but it takes for fucking ever to do it and I manage to give myself quite a few slices before I’m actually am free. My adrenaline is kicking in hard but it beats back the haze that’s growing over my thoughts and making me dizzy when I stand. I hold the knife firmly, thinking that as I work my way past him I would drive it right through his eye, but I didn’t, I just wanted out of here and a chance to live. I didn’t think I wanted to live and I’m ashamed now knowing how bad I just want out of this and to be alive. I opened the door and ran through the street grabbing a cab that happened to be dropping off his passenger. I should go to the cops, but I don’t, I just go back to my apartment. He knows me and he’ll be back, after all, every pastor should know where the ladies in his congregation live.

Also published in Opinionsofeye.com

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How Right Is Your Right?

“The answer is that there is no good answer. So as parents, as doctors, as judges, and as a society, we fumble through and make decisions that allow us to sleep at night–because morals are more important than ethics, and love is more important than law.”
― Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper 

allweareisbullets

Walking the fine line, what makes a criminal? There are things done to survive, like stealing to provide food, and things done for protection like killing to defend my family and nation. Many times the law’s broken for the sake of greater good, but there’s an intrinsic law we carry in our nature, a line that’ll become apparent hopefully before it’s crossed. There are some of us that are meant to be lawbreakers, by nature rebellious, and those are necessary. Many good things are accomplished by those who’re not afraid to break away from the current understanding of right and wrong. So at what point are the actions considered criminal, not in the sense of law, but in the sense of conscience? At this breaking of the deeper, shall I say, spiritual law, a path’s entered that if continued on will lead to a seared conscience, a point which the wrong that’s done is so severe that conviction of the wrong’s never felt again.

This aborted morality leads us to a higher authority in which to compare our decisions. Many points of contention rise in response to this directive of a higher power. Haven’t hugely deviant and violent actions been inspired by “spiritual directive”? Yes, and still they will, but the perversion of the truth does not negate the validity of the same. A spiritual directive is out there and needs to be sought after to guide our unsure moral crawl to a full stride of right choices. There are things that’ll obscure this path and those things should be avoided at all costs, especially the habit of them. Beware of things which lower inhibitions and subvert the will. Many things beside the obvious will hypnotize the unwary. Drugs, alcohol are cliches in this respect but there’re more cunning enemies, beware as you grow to understand and be consistent to follow those things which you learn, and most of all, keep seeking to be free of a seared conscience.

My Girl Manny Quinn

“Art and love are the same thing: It’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.” – Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story

thestuffispoison

Pressing my lips to yours…the coolness soon gone with hardened kisses. Inanimate style, making me hard. My hands trace over your glossy skin, swollen to meet my design. My fingers skip across your seams, more oil makes it easy. I carry you to the room, your long hair falling across cheeks blushed with my paint. I fall on you with unrestrained fervor, wild horses in my blood. Turning the music up loud, and dimming the lights enough to cover your dead eyes, I leave you there, lying still in my bed. Taking enough time to adjust the amount of blood in my alcohol, I come back to you. It never matters how long, still you hold that position for me. Never being able to scream means you can’t moan your pleasure over my illegal intrusions. I love you my sweet. I think tonight I’ll make you a blonde, and tomorrow a brunette. Then, I’ll tie your stiff arms behind you and in my final thrust, I’ll feel your soul drain and you’ll lie limp in my arms. My tears wet your flattened breasts, your misshapenhead makes your eyes point in crazy directions. You are my everything, you never leave, you never complain, you never reject me, your are mine and I love you, Manny Quinn. 

(’tis all in jest my faithful readers)

05052013 

Burnt Bridges

“The only bad thing about burning your bridges behind you is that the world is round”

“That bridge you burn, in laughing pride walking on

Is the path that destiny forces to spawn

That one that is rejected will lead you the pawn

The day that died will be reborn atdawn.” – DMW

He laughed under the command of alcohol. With mockery his grand speech proclaimed the worthlessness of my life that he used to facilitate his riches. Needing his provision for my daily supply, I grew rebellious inside. The Boss continued his diatribe in the firelight. On my struggle he built his joy. My work, that though he taught it to me, stood alone in stark contrast to his proclamations. Joyfully he lit a match to burn the bridges and isolate me in shame. As the last timber fell in ashen dismay, the universe set in motion a turn of events that always humbles the proud. Within in months, he fell under the spell of my promotion and others saw to my advancement. The year ground on and then, in the new birth of spring, when burned things turn green again, his mistake of taking the common man for granted gave him a startling revelation. His work is now for me, and I, with humility, take his reigns and learn this, that all bridges will one day be crossed again, so be careful of the paths we leave behind. 

Self Inflicted – A young woman’s cry

The following is an entry from one of my favorite bloggers, Descending Ascension. She presents a raw and uncensored woman’s point of view of a relationship. In this entry she describes abuse and its effect on her mind. Enjoy.

annawestergren

I am defeated

When I let you taint my body.

When you corrupt me,

And deflower my mind.

I am surrendered,

To sins and vice,

Of human things and aspects.

And all the while you’re dragging me down,

Saying sorry for the fucking,

I only say,

“I don’t mind.”

Truth is I do, and you know it.

Such vulgar words and sentiments to escape my lips.

So why don’t you save me?

Stop me?

We’re all just prisoners of our own device.

Besides,

I have never needed a drug.

My mind does more to me 

than alcohol or drugs could ever promise to.

-R.S.L.S

Taken from: Descending Ascension
01062012 

Those Thoughts Again – The ravages of shame

 “Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.” 

– Brené Brown

candylady

Shame, a burning feeling in my cheeks, in my mind, in my skin. I feel like everyone knows my mistake. I can’t believe I stooped so low; that I would‘nt listen to the voice inside that keeps me safe, (or so I thought); that I would betray myself by being in that position. It wasn’t always me. I didn’t ask for that situation or do anything wrong. But still the shame persists. A constant nagging burning feeling that makes me feel less than, less than anything. It burns through all my identities, creating a self hating monster inside of me. I can’t stop the negative thoughts about me. About how I look, about how others must see me, about how I am, about how I behave. It takes away my feeling of safety. I’m no longer comfortable in my skin. How can I forget it? It comes at me when I’m unguarded. Driving down the road, in the middle of a party, walking to my house, praying, when I’m kissing my mate, when I’m making love. It always hits me hard, the burning feeling almost taking me completely out of the game, making each breath painful. It takes all I have to stand up, to continue forward; all I have to resist the feeling of apathy, of not caring anymore about anything. If I don’t feel, I won’t have to bear the shame. But it keeps coming, never ending, in fact, it grows. Negative thoughts breed and feed off each other. Where will I hide?

God, my creator, is a hiding place for me. He can restore me, heal me, and remove my shame. My heavenly Dad, can give me the strength to hold my head high once again, without the support of drugs, alcohol, music, gangs, belongings, or anything I have unsuccessfully leaned on. I need to know that God my father, sings over me. He sings because he loves me and has created me for great things. He understands my shame. He wants me to be whole again, to live without being affected by that incident anymore. Sure the thoughts may come, but He gives strength to me, words of affirmation, and most of all, power. Power over my feelings and thoughts. Power to believe contrary to whats been said about me, by others, by myself. A chance to truly start over. A chance to breathe without heaviness. A chance to be me, rising above the ashes of shame with wings of confidence and power.

Also published in Broowaha Magazine

01092011