Bright colored eggs everywhere, Love and sunshine fills the air. Laughter and hugs are being exchanged, Kids sneak around switching the eggs, so the original hiding spot is being changed. You hope your chronic pain won’t ruin the day, But you hide the pain at your family gathering so you can stay. Hug your family…
Originally posted on Feb. 23, 2018 on Journey Into A.
I want someone to look at me the way you once did
I want their hands to brush aside the hair from covering my face like yours once did
I want their arms wrapped tightly around me like yours once did
I want their smile at me to exude and radiate like yours once did
I want to make them laugh like you once did
I want them to say sweet things like you once did
I want to dance happily together like we once did
I don’t want to feel this loneliness when I remember that I could’ve had what I once did
Originally posted on Journey Into A on Feb. 21, 2018.
Maybe something’s wrong here
Maybe something’s right
But I don’t have you
By my side
My heart is beating faster
My hands are cold as ice
I don’t know if my head will stop pounding
What happened last night
I feel the clouds approaching
Thunder will start roaring
Maybe I will get through it alright
I hear the train’s whistle blowing
Stray cats are moaning
Maybe I will get through this alright
Well you came knocking on my door
The look on your face
tells me so much more
Where did we go wrong here
Where did we go right
Maybe I will get through this alright
i built a little wall around
a broken little heart I found
that’d fallen out upon the ground
to save it from the hurt
i patched the hurt and kissed the pain
i hugged away the guilt and shame
i helped to make it beat again
the once l’il broken heart
Trigger Warning: This poem is about self harm. Please do not read it if this is a trigger.
Cut this line upon my skin
So I can feel what a pain I’ve been
Burn this flame upon my flesh
So I can control this life a mess
Drill this hole into my thigh
To take away the numb, make me feel alive
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord nobody weeps
Laying on the couch.
Skeletal arm around me.
Sucks my soul away.
I am born in the slums of a jungle;
It is hot and I am always thirsty.
I drink water from the fountain
It has magic that quenches
My neighbors say
the fountain is
But that was before
then became now.
At 3 AM
of the jungle
jabber and howl.
“Who do you love most,” asks God.
“Jayne Mansfield,” says Max.
“And why is that?” God is cleverly
“She’s dead.” Max replies.
“View” was first published in the 1985 Pride Day Guidebook.
I found the old guidebook in the bottom of a large pine
trunk a few years ago.
The poem is since revised and renamed Ascent!
The page layout designed by Ramírez de Baca
Camera lens of happiness, to take away the grey
Cuz sunshine’s there, I see it, it’s just a million miles away.
Camera lens of hopefulness, to take away despair
The never ending fog of war, the loss of will to care.
Camera lens of energy, to take away the apathy
The never ending lethargy, the sits inside of me.
Camera lens of healing, to take away the pain
Cuz sunshine’s there, I know it, even through the rain
Driven to the hinterlands
driven to the gray
by the chemical reaction
of the chemicals I take
to balance the effects
of the chemicals I make
Just a quick poem that came to mind tonight.
To my friends who will call because they’re worried, I am fine. I promise. Mom, Chelise, Mistaken…I really am.
…Just a little bout with Specter.
But he ain’t gonna win.
I know other people needed to hear this so they know they are not alone.
Thank you for sharing.
Sometimes I miss my daughter
Sometimes I miss her bad
Sometimes I hate the loneliness
I wish I never had
Sometimes I like to be alone
Sometimes I wish I weren’t
Sometimes I wish someone would hold me
And take away the hurt
Sometimes I’m fine and focused
Sometimes I rarely am
Sometimes I shut the windows
And cry as loud I can
Sometimes I’m grey, the Specter
Sometimes I can’t bear the ill
Sometimes I think I’ll make it
Sometimes I doubt I will
This is a repost of a four part poem I wrote on Specter, the personification of my depression. With it I hope that others suffering from the torment of depression and thoughts of suicide know they are not alone. Remember this is Suicide Prevention/Awareness month. Let’s help breathe hope to those who may be in a valley.
Thank you to my readers and followers for all your support. You are special to me.
Specter, Pt. 1
Michael please save me,
deliver my soul.
Specter is slashing,
and tearing a hole.
It bites and It gnashes,
and tears open my wounds.
I don’t have the will,
it’ll be over soon…
Specter, Pt. 2
…And as I looked up,
my defender looked down.
Descended and thrust,
crushed Specter to the ground
His lance tip pointed,
at the devil’s crown.
Specter’s incisors and daggers
extended and grown…
Specter, Pt. 3
…Specter shrieked like a pig bled, hanging on slaughter.
Its lips ripped back over its chipped fangs,
the skin grew taughter.
He ripped and he tore,
at my back and my flesh.
He knew that his time
was limited at best.
Because the archangel had come,
and bore down on his evil.
As I rode the waves up and down,
in this life, so surreal.
Specter, Pt. 4
The Final Chapter
…And Michael roared,
at Specter under his heel,
“Thou shall not harm, leave,
you are cast out.
“From this place you torment,
I will cut you down.”
Sword raised in death thrust
The Protector bore down.
And severed the devil’s head
Throwing it to the ground.
With this month being Suicide Prevention/Awareness Month, I am reblogging my posts and poetry that deal specifically with suicide, as well as those things that often result in suicide such as (but NOT limited to) depression, bullying, etc.
This is a poem I wrote after I read a blogger’s post about wanting to die. Please share it with someone you are thinking of that is dealing with this RIGHT NOW.
I saw you THOUGHT of suicide,
I saw you wish you died.
Your loneliness and brokenness,
Were all you had inside.
The noose, the pills, the razors,
Sing songs OF sweet respite.
I know my friend, I’ve been there,
I tried too, to end my life.
So hope I send my warrior,
My majestic, fighting friend.
You will not give up that easily,
You’ll fight it to the end.
When life, and friends, and family,
Jeer and taunt YOU to the last.
Hang onto life you solid rock,
Someone needs you now, not in their past.
Someone was preparing to end their life.
You prevented them from doing that without even knowing it…
Please pass this on to someone who is struggling with thoughts of suicide this September – Suicide Prevention/Awareness month.
I held a jar of emptiness
Lonely, full of gray
It sucked out all the sunshine
It took the joy away
You came and said hello to me
You put some brightness in
I will not forget your kindness
My thoughtful, loving friend
In this poem, I wanted to interpret how words and tones can impact a person’s spirit.
I wanted the words to this verse to create an impact in several different areas…
I wanted them to speak to bullying – in both a child’s and adult’s lives.
I wanted them to speak to abuse – physical, emotional, spiritual…
I wanted them to speak to the injury we may haplessly create regardless of our intentions.
I wanted them to serve as a reminder to myself and others of what we say and how we say it, can impact a person’s life right now.
Words and Tones
Their hateful words and tones of voice, ripped into her heart.
They ripped a life in two that day, they tore it right apart.
Ripping flesh right off the bone, of that 10-year old someone’s girl.
Their ignorance and self righteousness, broke her little world.
Their callousness and piercing tongues, broke the boy that day.
At 12 he never imagined, to see his self esteem thrown away.
Their burns and punches, curses flung, did his spirit break.
Leaving memories and happiness, destroyed in terror’s wake.
And when our tones, and little words, enter others’ ears.
Are we sending kindness and caring, or terrorizing little fears?
We can make or break a spirit, we can build up or break down.
It all depends on what we say, that make them smile or frown.
How do you relate to the people in your life with PTSD?
This post is part of a series of poems dedicated to my girlfriend. She has PTSD and severe anxiety and you will understand her story with each post. Each time I learn something about the mental conditions she lives with, I add a “part” to the series.
History becomes Her story-
She’s a beautiful soul, trapped deep in her keep,
In a place she won’t let most inside.
So I’ve entered slowly and cautiously here,
Not breaking the trust she confides.
Her levels and layers, her pain and her hurt
Run as deep as the red in her blood.
And I sit and I listen, to all that she says,
Which comes from her core that is good.
She tells me of rape, of the breaking of bones,
And a tear glistens down over my cheek.
For I’ve known the warrior, the battle hardened victor,
Not imagining her soft soul so meak.
Sometimes she gets up, in the middle of the night
She says that it’s just too hard.
She’ll leave then apologize because she’s flashed back
I’m not angry, I’m honored ’cause she let down a wall.
We tell each other, “You get me.” “You understand who I am”,
And we hold each other tight.
And I’ll hold her and treasure her, ’til peace arrives,
And helps her sleep through the night.
She’s grown on me, and taught me her life,
My mouth hangs open in awe.
For I’m getting her condition, her PTSD
I’m beginning to understand it all.
Do you have suggestions for supporting people with PTSD? Will you share them with us?
Reblog this to someone who may need to hear it today.
Let’s reach out to our friends who are hurting.
He took a little piece of him,
and placed it in my hand
I was hurting, sad, and broken,
and I couldn’t understand
Why he gave so selflessly,
and cared to share a part
Of him so free and graciously,
a portion of his heart
A little brick of hate was laid, down into the dirt.
Along with words of callousness, and spite, and wrath, and hurt.
A wall was built that housed mistrust, by someone I loved dear.
It grew in strength, brick by brick, each year it grew in fear.
All I could do was sit and cry, and beg that it’d come down.
But each day mortar, stone, and hate, solidified it with the ground.
I saw the light begin to fade, as it closed against the sky.
I hung my head in deep despair, in hopelessness I cried.
Then one day a dove appeared, against the blackened grey.
It chipped the joints, and broke the bricks, and toppled them away.
It pecked, and chipped, and split the wall, stone by simple stone.
For love and peace had reached a soul, that never the soul had known.
And now a garden there exists, in place of deep despair.
No brokenness, no sadness, no signs of disrepair.
For what was once a wall they made, was used to shut me out.
Love had now transformed through healing, and brought the rampart down.
Do we each have the moral courage to stand up for those whom are bullied?
I promise to answer the call.
WILL YOU JOIN ME?
Today I saw her spirit, crushed and tak’n away.
The Punisher thought it funny, to treat the girl this way.
The target of repression, he labeled her downcast.
And struck her with his names and stones, and with his fiery blast.
And to the silent, brittle girl, I lunged to take the fire.
To shield her from the dragon’s heat, to help the flames expire.
And all the dragon did, was turn and walk away.
Because someone stood up to the beast, and saved a soul today.
Survivors Blog Here is breaking out our best disco moves. Daniel has his well-worn Saturday Night Fever white suit, to match his personality, shirt buttoned to the top. He can’t get down like Travolta for fear of splitting his pants. The team is offering support for Daniel to “do the splits” Robert looks quite distinguished in his white suit and the splits, no problem. Why you ask? We’re excited to announce Chris from Surviving the Spector www.survivingthespecter.wp.com has joined our team. He is honest, funny, raw and leaves you waiting for next post.
Chris’s talent includes poetry, humor and writing. His site is laid out nicely, topics are easy to find. Chris has recently reconnected with his faith. He’s challenged everyday to leave negative feelings behind to move forward with a positive attitude.
Chris blogs to share and offer support. Comments provide important feedback the good, bad and ugly.
Welcome from the Survivors Blog Here team!
My Angel, Oh My Angel
I spoke with my angel as she cried today.
Her heart was ripped in half.
Her relationship with her mom had tumbled.
And hope was at best a laugh.
“My mom made me, feel like a fool.”
I can’t take this anymore.
It hurts too much, it pains my soul.
It breaks me to the floor.
“And when hope comes back to fill my mind,
I want to run away.
She’s broke my trust, that’s it, I’m done.
I quit, that’s what I say.”
And to my friend I listened, her heart was ripped in half.
Her gentle, fragile soul was spent, hope was but a laugh.
I hugged her through the mobile line, as kindly as I could.
And loved her, held her, heard her,
standing by her through bad and good.
If you could reach out to this angel, what words of comfort and insight would you be able to share?
Sunsets, like childhood, are viewed with wonder not just because they are beautiful but because they are fleeting.” ― Richard Paul Evans, The Gift
Sunsets, like empires and memories of love long ago, fade slow; first brilliant, then warm, and finally passing to silk brocade on black velvet. How much more beautiful they are in memory when the busy moments of planning and passing through life have stilled. Continue reading “Sunsets and Memories”
One’s dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered. ― Michael J. Fox
It’s my pleasure to bring you another poem submitted by Topaz Winters. Her poem takes us inside the maelstrom of a wounded spirit stuck between feeling the reality of unrelenting anguish from abuse, trauma, abandonment, and the dream of love and life as first imagined. The journey to healing is never swift or without setbacks captured in the line, “I sometimes pretend I’m a phoenix.” Topaz’s advocacy for survivors and awareness is greatly appreciated. Topaz offered her poem as a tribute to the readers and authors that know abuse and trauma all too well. Thank you for your continued support, Topaz. And now, dear reader, I submit to you, Sticks and Stones by Topaz Winters. Continue reading “STICKS and STONES by Topaz Winters”
Love is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it enslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost and confused. ― Paulo Coelho
Love is an untamed force. Indeed. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to understand it and in the end realized that the torture of asking why, what if, and if only served to deepen the wounds of memories whose sharp rusted edges tear and bruise one’s heart and spirit each moment they live above the surface of that restive cauldron that never cools. I’ve realized that it’s the mind that eventually falters and in time the pitted patina of our youthful losses fade into a gray-blue surreal scene with black edges and dark contrasts. Peace comes when the mind hears and no longer recognizes the sound of that first anguished cry. Continue reading “LITTLE CREEK”
I would like to introduce to you, dear reader, a gifted young lady that I’ve followed since I began blogging. Topaz Winters is a young novelist, singer, and song writer whose contributions to the world’s music, literature, and poetry is indicative of an ancient and wise soul. She works tirelessly at her passion for the arts while balancing a busy life. Recently, She dedicated her poem, Midnight Letters, to the writers on Survivors Blog Here and our readers. Continue reading “Midnight Letters by Topaz Winters”
“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” ― G.K. Chesterton
In flames and rivers of blood they lay,
With weary eyes, they saw their fate.
As the chaos of war reached for their souls,
Courage bid them rise and fight that day.
When the battle raged and wounded fell,
Death threw open the burning gates of Hell,
And good men carried the Brave away.
Remember Our Veterans
“Words dazzle and deceive because they are mimed by the face.But black words on a white page are the soul laid bare.” ― Guy de Maupassant
Fostering strong beauty
What have I learned this week?
- That I have to be my own steward and treat myself with kindness even when I don’t feel I deserve it.
- I have to be mindful of the thoughts I keep company with.
- I have to remember that breathing is necessary to life.
- That sometimes things aren’t as bad as they feel.
- That being different is okay.
What have your learned?
“Watch out for each other. Love everyone and forgive everyone, including yourself. Forgive your anger. Forgive your guilt. Your shame. Your sadness. Embrace and open up your love, your joy, your truth, and most especially your heart.” ― Jim Henson
Joy and Shame
The voice of Joy and Shame,
Forever call my name.
I hear their pleading day and night,
Step from the shadows into the light.
Come to me, the voice calls;
One rises, the other falls.
The touch of Joy, a fleeting game,
The rival player, a crying Shame.
I love them both, I cannot choose;
Side-by-side, they play my Muse;
At the end, I turn away,
They’ll be back another day.
Neither hopes to ever win;
But, they know; I’ll play again. Continue reading “Of Joy and Shame”
When I was a child,
There was a mare;
She waited for me each day.
With her, I rode to far off lands,
And dreamed my life away.
As I grew, she stayed in place,
Her eyes straight forward, her mouth agape.
I no longer noticed her wild-eyed stare,
Neglected by my hectic pace.
Then, one day, I returned to her;
Sadness and wrinkles upon my face.
One last time, I hugged her neck,
And together we rode away. Continue reading “The Mare”
as the thoughts
that fuel them
a mind creates
as a means
in the background
How much easier it would be to live in a dream of your own creation.
Wait, maybe we already do? 😉
I lived for the wind upon my face.
Rain and sun cleansed me;
But, the wind was my fate.
No storm pushed me from its path.
I stood steadfast and strong.
In time, the work I lived to do,
Nourished the soil and did no wrong.
My toil was the measure of my worth,
And all rejoiced in song.
I turned to the wind and gave my life,
My reward a productive earth.
But, then I aged and skipped a beat,
My body bent and worn.
I’ll not die an untimely death,
brought down by grueling pace,
My value from me torn.
I’ll stand erect, locked in my stance,
And weather every storm.
I shall simply live for the wind upon my face.