Dear Journal, . . .

I can’t say that this doesn’t hurt. Every day I wake up from a nightmare, one that shivers me, immobilizes my every movement, makes me weep and scream in terror, …but then I rise, awakened, depressed and now…I’d die to fall back asleep. It’s like hearing a tick tock ticking in your ear…and a loud voice counting down the seconds before you depart from this world, yet they expect you to continue on. When a puppy runs back to its callous abuser when he calls, it wags its tail, and happily pants its tongue dying and yearning the love that may not await him…. are we expected to do the same. Love the aggressor? I can’t say that this doesn’t hurt. Within these walls my mind gets raped with the knowledge that I never wanted to know, far most believe. I witness pain, betrayal, loss, and depression, and then feel it all inside of me. Like rocks tumbling off of a mountain into a celestial body…I feel in my stomach loads of crash, something that ought be so beautiful, just dying, and I feel it all. Perhaps if the aggressor would silence it’s indelible screams for one minute, they would be pleased to hear; the cries, the inflicted torture, and the blood dripping off of the minds of children, off of the minds of me. I can’t say that this doesn’t hurt. So fragile these babies appear to be, yet they murder, they deceive the human eye, and that same night kiss the sweet child baring lips of their mothers, kiss with the same lips that once lied and started the turmoil of it all. What happens when people are handed a death sentence? They live the last remaining time of their lives with grace and happiness, go places they’ve never seen, do things they’ve never done…why does it take death in order for us to just…live? Like a baby fresh out of a womb, everyone else thinks its beautiful, such a moving and touching experience, they are too blind to see that, that child has been forced from home, forced from safety…into this, only to feel now the tribulation of the aggressor that awaits its fresh mind. I know and accept that god is not there for me. It brings me hilarity to know that people bow down and praise this higher power and moments later get kicked, stabbed, bruised and wounded by the aggressor that god “protects” you from. Is that what they live for? I blame and judge them not but I still laugh now and then, only now and then. I can’t say that this doesn’t hurt. Do these children covet love or affection so badly that…they’d betray, lie, abuse and become a mirror image of the aggressor for it? I cannot see the love in that, yet these girls and boys will race the finish line to be disappointed each and every time just like our credulous puppy. This aggressor sets us up for failure. Leads us all down the path of inevitable iniquitous acts to come, we willingly follow.


Dear Journal,

This is just today.
At night I will be ready to fall asleep and await a nightmare
When this happens I will be ready.
I sit and wait on my bed for my eyes to heavy,
I sit in this darkness and see flames.
I sit in this darkness and fall in space waiting to land so the unbearable anxiety of when I will perish will cease.
Faces scowl at me, disappointment like I did something wrong?
“Is it so bad to notice the truth”, I asked these faces.
Next thing I know…
My soul gone…didn’t think I had one.
My heart pounds so hard, I can’t feel my chest anymore.
The faces are ripping my nerve endings and guzzling down the blood.
What have I done I cry? What have I done?
I wake up….
I can’t say that this doesn’t hurt. . Every day I wake up from a nightmare, one that shivers me, immobilizes my every movement, makes me weep and scream in terror, …but then I rise, awakened, depressed and now…I’d die to fall back asleep.





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