Born with flesh of hardened steel and a sharp tongue

I told the imposter to leave

He was blood, but it poured over us instead of through us

A poison generations long

killed who he should have been

Hate possessed my father, and put demon in his place

I stood before him, he who wanted respect without earning it

he who hated us, blamed our mom, the breath of life for his miserable existence

and spent every waking moment sharing the misery

Mom is gone; deceased

Father alive: estranged

I have a family

I am happy

I am still shield and sword

I still protect my family

 

 

 

 

 

 

Top Customer Reviews

on May 25, 2017
Format: Kindle Edition
I enjoyed the storyline. I loves the characters. That kind of love, passion and connection is something most people dream of.

Revelation

Posted: June 4, 2017 in life lessons
Tags: , , , ,

When the good hate, evil is at the controllers.

To Whom It May Relate…

Posted: June 2, 2017 in Uncategorized

My Goddess’s idea of a rainbow is not pleasant to the naked eye, like a magnificent painting. We are harsh to observe. Contrasts that show a difference. Earth colors, natural, strong. We are, and are not flowers, virgin waters, the result of a storm. Where we come from shapes us, sculpts our attributes to survive, grow, thrive. We are given colors for emotion. Red for angry. Blue for sad. Green for envy. We don’t need symbols, we need to see, to experience, to embrace to have understanding and compassion. To voyage around outside of the world you’ve built, created, those walls dividing ignorance and comfort zone. I say Goddess, but really it is I who believes this, these things which I had to learn through hardship, fear and wonder and belonging. My parents were like yours. Biased, bigotry, sometimes harsh, sometimes gentle, loving in the way they knew how, the way they were taught, stuck in their beliefs handed down by their parents. Somewhat lost in interpretation from generation to generation, maybe you’re a little less harsh and more understanding. Or your anger is deep and the harshness you resented, as a child, is magnified in your behavior. Sometimes you can see what you feared, despised, interpreted as a child and then puzzled out as an adult, to become you. No regrets. No guilt. Being who you are. Underneath the color of your skin where your truth lies. A place others should travel to understand, to dig to feel to touch but most don’t. Too caught up in the color of their own skin. Stuck in the shell, inside their parents’ cage. Defeated or weak or giving up the search for the two keys that would surely set you free. Forgetting that we’re not alone in our misery or our happiness. If you scream, others will come, help, support your journey toward freedom. They cannot give you those keys, but understand the plight of what it took to free them from their own.
Those who believe that tranquility comes from controlling others will forever be, frowning, stuck in thoughts about ways to control, the uncontrollable. The universe has a way of helping them, too. An endeavor you must stay away from, to help from a distance by showing compassion and love and strength where it is the most depleted. All are my family. Humans’, mammals, trees, Earth. Choose to be the beautiful Rose, or the stem on which it grows, or the thorns that protect it. But don’t be the foot that tramples it, because the beauty of it all is not something you can control.

My anxiety is through the roof. Heartbeat racing. Breathing staggered. I want to punch the bag for an hour. Won’t do any good. The reason for the turmoil is not something I ever prepared mentally for. Physically yes. But that would set the ball rolling toward bigger problems and anger management classes. I can manage my anger all by myself, or let it manage me. Both are conducive to my personality.  I ask advice from people with knowledge and let their words penetrate my injured soul. A mere bandage but comfort, nonetheless. Peroxide with a sting of reality to keep my feet firmly planted in the fertile soil fed by blood and hope from a stormy sky we all see. Not easy. Easy is the nurturing in the womb. The pain from protecting the life inside. Hard is when they leave. A mother’s reach limited to the mind you raised. Love is setting them free, to think to love to be, until someone comes along and tries to cage that what you’ve created to be prosperous. To be strong and independent. Reverse religion. Where once women were property and now fight for independence, there are those who are born with independence but false love shoves them in a box with no holes. Not even to breath so they don’t see. Excuses fall into the line of truth. Once the bough breaks and the baby falls, I will be there to catch them when they fall…And to render the threat obsolete. I will stand by and watch until I won’t.

It is in my nature to protect. I did it wrong for so long, but now I, mostly, have it right. I won’t help those who lived through pain and decisions unless asked. Those who are just beginning…to know agony… to struggle with choices…I will be the better me.

Langston Hughes Poem

Posted: May 2, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Let America Be America Again

Langston Hughes, 19021967

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? 
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

 

My daughter recommended this book to me, after I asked her what kind of books she read for “fun”. Let me say that, my daughter is not your usual, go out, party, throw caution to the wind, type of girl. She’s serious. Thinks about her future, cares for her friends and has somehow learned to balance taking care of herself and taking care of others. At the time of the recommendation, she was in Junior High, and were friends with people who were seen as low on the totem pole (I used to be one of those kids). Like me, she didn’t hesitate to have her friends’ backs and did what was necessary when one of them was terrorized by an anonymous peer. (Someone was putting little notes in the girl’s backpack, telling her to kill herself) My daughter is direct, thoughtful, intelligent, and not easily manipulated. The stories she used to come home with, were terrifying. I don’t remember life (outside my home) being that stressful.

So, not surprised she read this book.

I read Thirteen Reasons Why. Yes, I’m an adult. I absorbed the story through a mature filter, and found it to be terrifying as well as an eye-opener. The novel told a tale of tragedy from an unique perspective that forced me to change the way I think. Anything or anyone who can make me rethink a specific thought process, I deem impressive.

Why is this story important?

All of my children, two daughters and one son, suffer from anxiety, as do I, but how each of us deals with it, is different. My daughters have a full understanding of what triggers their anxiety and make a great effort, in the moment of an episode, to talk themselves down. Not easy. Sometimes not effective. Talking and or hugging helps. A change of scenery for an hour or two, if possible, or a form of meditation are some of the things we do to get back on track. Being a mother who understands is helpful. My son, though, also has depression. This is not something I personally understand.  I know depression causes both physical and emotional pain. I know that, in some cases, suicide is a result of escaping that unbearable pain. People don’t want to kill themselves. They want to feel better. The only time I ever thought I’d be better off dead, was while I battled cancer. Between the medication keeping my mind stable and chemotherapy, my emotions were ping-ponging all over the place. There were times when I felt absolutely nothing. Numb. Critical thinking and never wanting to leave my children got me through those moments.

But imagine not knowing where this pain is coming from?

Believing that horrible events, one after another, in your life, could never be overcome?

Thinking you’re completely alone?

Becoming distant because no one sees and no one will understand.

My son would come to me telling me he was in pain. A pain that burned deep inside, fueled by his own emotions, making him suffer. I thank the Goddess every day that he told me. How do I heal that? How do I fix it. He’s in therapy, sees a psychiatrist and takes medication. I was always against the use of medications until his pain was so great, he came to me crying for help. When he’s hanging over that emotional cliff, holding on for dear life, I make sure (as best as I can) to dangle beside him, holding his hand, while reaching up and grabbing hold of the rest of my family’s wrists.

I’m a little on the crazy side. I’m a very very very hands on mom. I practically (No. I do) study my children’s behavior. (This crazy endeavor of studying body language and different speech inflections, started when I was 13. Whole different story why) If I see something off about the way they speak, or act, I’m on them, asking questions. Making them speak to me or asking if talking to someone else would be better. I don’t care, as long as someone, I trust, supports them.

A couple of people from my past committed suicide. One person whom I played with as a child. It’s scary and heart wrenching at a distance.  I can’t imagine it hitting close to home.

****I haven’t seen the TV series yet. I want to. My children are young adults, but I still would prefer to watch it with them for the discussion possibilities. I’m always interested in their perspective. Their clarity about a situation is sometimes greater than mine.

Fear, anger, banning, hiding your head, closing your ears will not stop people from committing suicide. The word DEPRESSION does not adequately describe the level of pain a person is feeling, when they are considering putting a gun to the head of the monster inside, causing them this pain, to blow their head off. It scrambles sense and sensibility, has razor sharp teeth, heavy chains and worst of all is invisible to the most powerful microscope in the world (Scanning Transmission Electron Microscope (STEM).

Just because someone looks healthy, laughs, and seems sound, doesn’t mean they are. Knowledge is the best weapon in our arsenal. Use it.