Child Abusers Rarely Take Ownership of Their Crimes

If my mother were alive, and you were to ask her if she allowed her children to be abused or if she abused her children, her answer would most likely be (with Bible in hand), "Absolutely NOT!" She would then most likely go on to tell you what difficult children my siblings and I were … Continue reading Child Abusers Rarely Take Ownership of Their Crimes

Recovery Time for Trauma Survivors

You've planned all week for Friday's dinner. You don't get out much. Hyperawareness keeps you home most times. There are the buzzing hive sounds of every patron's voice. There is the echo of the hustle and bustle. Surely, everyone in the establishment is looking at you, confirmed by the moments your eyes coincidentally meet more … Continue reading Recovery Time for Trauma Survivors

Streams Of Consciousness | 6.25.15

I am here weightless. Ear tuned to every sound. The fireworks are starting. A week filled with the explosions of war. I despise the celebration of generations who've been traumatized by genocide. Headphones. I'm trying to stabilize. Can I float off away from this place yet? Work to do, but goddamn, I'm tired. Inside. Down … Continue reading Streams Of Consciousness | 6.25.15

Stream Of Consciousness 6.1|15

Where do I go on nights when my skin aches; when I feel invisible hands gently massaging my heartache. I clutch pillows, squeezing into pieces until it mimics the human form. I am so far from home. Here alone, swept into the solitary existence of the empath; seeing signs in their eyes as they die. … Continue reading Stream Of Consciousness 6.1|15

Streams Of Consciousness V 

I don't know why I'm choosing Roman Numerals. I don't know them enough to stay in sync nor do I have the passion to google them.  I'll return to regular numbers soon. Ramblings. Rapid thoughts. Dealing with ignorance is like batting flies. Dumb bitch attempted to attack me with my own disorder she claimed not to … Continue reading Streams Of Consciousness V 

Alone

Tonight we are alone in the house. The Pappa Bear has gone to visit family. It's just us and the animals. Vennie played the guitar and sang. We drifted into music dimension, wrote, painted, listened to music. Enjoyed the quiet us time. Angie checked the doors at least three times then four (the even number … Continue reading Alone