blend in – Opinions Of Eye

Obsession

“When you live with voices in your head, you are drawn inextricably to voices outside your head. Very often the voices work to confirm your worst suspicions. Or think of things you could never have imagined! There are only so many hours of the day to hate yourself.” – Emma Forrest, Your Voice in My Head

templeofdamneds

Obsession, a compulsive often unreasonable idea or emotion. My obsession is a self imposed attack on my body that’s not only pervasive, but changes it’s angle of assault every 4 -6 months. My mind, whether from a comment, a look, a misunderstood text, or a bad day, will berate me about a particular body feature without mercy. After I became completely obsessed with it, even making unreasonable changes, the area of obsession would change. I’d literally drop all thoughts concerning that body feature or action and begin a new regimen of torture around the next perceived “fault”. This led me to believe that the problems weren’t in my body but in my self-perception and what I perceived others thought of me. Most of the time what I thought they thought about me was wrong. That “look” that they gave was totally unrelated to who or what I am. My egocentricity caused me to believe that I was the topic of every thought process in those around me. The plain truth? Most of the time no one cares enough to think that long and hard about me. To take the offensive against my renegade thoughts, I knew I had to be happy with my body and refuse to interpret what I believed others where thinking (which likely wasn’t true). I recognized the futility of conforming to a constantly changing standard of appearance and found that happiness with who I am, is the greatest compliment to my being. Holding my head high, I’ll be confident and sure, no matter what I think you think about how I look.

01282012

Alone In The Company of Her

“The trouble is not really in being alone, it’s being lonely. One can be lonely in the midst of a crowd, don’t you think?” – Christine Feehan, Dark Prince

melissaharmonphoto

We smiled our smiles, kisses burned

Feelings rushed one way

For me not returned

This is how I find myself

Alone in the company of her

Also published in: Broowaha

11262011

The Beautiful Rejected Ones – Spontaneous acts of kindness

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.” – Plato

“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
– Mother Teresa

paintingmania

How strong am I? I didn’t know until I faced death, loneliness, depression, lost a loved one, felt the pain of hating my body, experienced the betrayal of a lover, and wrestled with an addiction. These I have done and come back from, being rewarded with an understanding and compassion for those teetering on the point of no return. So many people on that edge, looking self loathing, rejection, and death in the face. These are the outcasts, the downtrodden, the incarcerated, the elderly, the dis-formed, the dysfunctional, the addicted. I will be a friend, a partner to those rejected by the crowd. Starving for affection and acceptance, withering beneath the blazing sun of rejection by family, by friends, by society. Orphans, left behind, stranded on islands of disorders: disorders of eating, thinking, mobility, and socializing. I don’t know their pain, their reason for leaving the path to wander aimlessly through a deep and lonely sea, finding themselves without a way back. I will be the ship on the horizon. I will send up the smoke of my prayers that they may see a sign before they see me and have hope. Many don’t want, or will refuse help. I mean no offense to their independence, I don’t want to change them, that they must do themselves, if they need to change at all. I wish only to offer a respite from their routine. That is my resolution for this new year, to travel to the edge of my world, the edge of the parties, the edge of church services, the edge of bars, the edge of communities, and bring to them a concerned and loving hand of compassion. I will bring hope, an opportunity to get back up and try again, a break to breathe easier, refreshing them. With this sip of cold water, perhaps I may save a life or revive a weary soul to get up and come out of the cold, into the warmth of love. Look for me this new year, you will find me in the company of these, the beautiful rejected ones.

Also published in: Broowaha

12312011

The Beautiful Rejected Ones – Spontaneous acts of kindness

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.” – Plato

“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
– Mother Teresa

paintingmania

Also published in: Broowaha

12312011

The Stairway to Heaven is not for sale

“In the blink of an eye wealth disappears, for it will sprout wings and fly away like an eagle. ”- Proverbs

I believed that an abundance of possessions would make me happy. My entourage followed me around faithfully as long as the money and parties flowed. I took security in my future by how much I could stash. During these anxious moments, I felt pressured. Pursued by the need to get more, to be more, to gather and gather until my storehouse was overflowing. The more I gained, the more I obsessed over security to protect my belongings and hold on to my little corner of the world. I started packing guns and rigging traps. Sorry man I was, now that I had all this: money, women, “friends”, pretty things and wild times, I felt burdened with the care of a shaking empire. The weight bore heavy on me, knowing that if I skipped a beat I’d lose it all. Responsibilities put their chains on me and whipped me into submission.

The pressure slowly drove me down. Finally, in an economic suicide, I began to let all these things fall through my fingers; every moment of letting go felt like razors drawn across my soul. Left with nothing, but a hurting body, tortured by abuse and late nights; I found myself there, broke, lonely, hurting, and questioning. My prayers turned from, “protect my stuff lord”, to “thank you for this beautiful day and health”. Slowly as I turned from my selfish pursuits and let my “stuff” go, I rebuilt my life. Things are returning again, however, I hold them loosely. I’m more than my belongings and my friends. This time I’m going to be successful, without the burden of having to be a success. Let go, look for those things which are above what you can see, you’ll then have riches without sorrow.

“The blessing of the Lord makes one rich and He adds no sorrow to it.” – Proverbs

Also published in Life As A Human Magazine

//www.youtube.com/get_player

video by Wes King taken from youtube: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fS5843K79NQ)

Masks – Behind the facades of faces you think you know

“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” Oscar Wilde

I take a minute, to look out from the world that is me, to see carefully maintained facades in the all the faces looking back. I understand I’m the same, different from what you perceive, disguised in my intentions. I have masks to hide the things that my mind thinks, hiding my brokenness, deceiving you, protecting me. Crafting these masks carefully in the heat of pain, shame polishing the rough edges to a delightful smile, I take cover from you my companion, or you my enemy. These facades have mistakenly become my reality, deceiving myself with this subterfuge and believing my lies, I must lay these falsehoods down, baring my soul to keep my identity. My friends, enemies, and acquaintances, “Who will lay their masks down?” I hear no reply, so let me be first. See into my soul, I’ll not hide. But, you know I’m lying, I spent to long on this mask, to tear it up just for you. I have good intentions in mind, however, most of the time, I plan on getting what I want, even if it’s under the guise of my kind smile.

Also published in Broowaha

12102010

Breaking Adolescence: The Prayer Of The Girl

This is a post from a talented young lady who I’ve come to admire for her writings, enjoy.

claefer

All I ask for is quiet beauty;

Admiration from men, not fawning over my bosom,

but of my womanly ways.

Let my body not betray me,

to the confinement of a bed-

to my only knowledge being of how to pleasure men.

I hope to keep my face,

open and without tears,

of the foolish kind covered with foundation

and “ageless” years.

If I become a mother,

I hope not to stay home,

as a prerequisite of marriage,

and until the burying of my bones.

I wish to be free,

please,

let it be.

“Amen..”

-R.S.L.S

Link to original article

The Queen – Chapter 4 – Conflict for the Queen

I straightened from our huddled position beside the dented cans of rancid garbage, a small rat sat on its haunches, a spectator to the gladiators now positioning themselves in the arena. I turned to my queen, searching her eyes for some sign that it was alright, that this didn’t need to happen. Her face pale now in the cold seamy night, held only fear, and hope, a slight spark in her eye. Her eyes so entrancing, how I longed to…a brutal smack to the right side of my face shook me back to reality. Twice tonight, I lost myself in her, twice now I was yanked back to unrelenting reality. My queen gave a startled, muffled scream, gathering herself back farther from the fray. That was all I needed, to see her so scared. I turned, feeling anger so deep seated it push aside peripheral sight, and looking down the tunnels of my vision, focused my rage on the enemy of my queen. Another smack, to my mouth this time, and then the iron taste of, blood. My blood. I tasted the elixir with a shocked madness. This wound carried with it all the incentive I needed, my instinct, primal and raw, flowed through my bones, my hands. The warrior looked shocked as I turned back toward him, obviously no one had withstood this, his most vehement attack. The rest of his motley entourage stood back at the beginning of the alley, they too, it seemed, were in shock. With ferocity fueled by love for my queen and pure survival instinct, I slammed my fist straight into his jaw, a snap, spin, and at last, at my feet, lay a crumpled warrior. Crumpled like the wads of stained, stinking paper blowing around, an ovation to his last stand. The cohorts scrambled away, along with the rat who, seeing enough, went about his business. I stood a victor, and I knew, this is why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might protect her and escape from the listless world
that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

NEXT CHAPTER

Related Posts: The Queen, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 , Part 10, Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

Also published in: Broowaha

Picture Credit: qbx.ucoz.ru