Protest

You turn my blood the color of my skin

I’m made of mud, like you, my kin

We breathe the air made from the trees

We drink the water from stormy seas

We laugh without ever being taught

We’ve all done things that we oughtn’t

I object to your hasty dismissal

which, my friend, is abysmal

I deprecate you right to your face

I am far from being your idea of disgrace

I am human, just like you

Deny it all you’d like, we both know it’s true.

The Martyr

happypeace

Come down off the cross, stand your ground

There’s no more time for fucking around.

You can’t have your cake and eat it too

Roll up your sleeves, we’ve got work to do.

This world is starving for the love you have

Quit being the electronics slave

Reach out, connect, make a fool of yourself

Dust off your “Give a Damn” from the top shelf

Open your eyes to the world as it is

Get out! Get going! You’ve so much to give.

Don’t mind the naysayers, there’s always those,

just keep on trucking, follow your knows.

Share what you have that you don’t need

Don’t give in to the excess of greed

Bloom where you’re planted from the seed

that brought you forth for you to succeed.

Get down off the cross and get to work

Enough already, your duties, don’t shirk

Rape Culture: TRIGGER WARNING

rapeculture11thprincipleconsentorg

A survivor’s observation

A short bit ago, I realized that I’d get unusually irritable or uncontrollably weepy around seven o’clock every night. My friend suggested that maybe I was running out of something, like my medication wore off, or my hormones were going haywire like clockwork. That suggestion held merit so I paid closer attention to what I was doing during the day.

It dawned on me that I was halting social media around that time each day to tend to dinner, my pups, and other things that are required for the night time maintenance of my home (closing the blinds, putting down the windows, turning on lights, etc.) But why was I feeling so much intense emotion because of setting down social media?

I’ve been diagnosed with non-combative PTSD resulting from more life events than I feel comfortable expressing in a written vomit, but suffice it to say, I’ve done my fair share of my sentence in a therapist’s office trying to sort through the violence I’ve experienced. In fact, in a way, I was brought up by therapists which is probably why I need to talk out loud to process current events, or in this case to figure out how to deal with the blasts of dangerous triggering that occurs all/every day lately.

It started with Brock Turner’s smug rapist face parading through my feed as if he were proud of his crime. That sent me into extreme rage where I relived things that happened in my own life. It kept me on edge, disrupted my sleep, caused unusual fears, and sequestered me to my home more than once because I feel safe here.

But then the “Pussygate” issue came into play, The Presidential nominee for the Republican party spewing vile nastiness from that anus of a pie-hole has made it very difficult for me to deal with things. It’s not the word that he used or even that he described in detail what he’s done. It’s that he’s still being seen as a leader.

He’s being defended because his actions and words are just “locker room” talk or “boys being boys.” This is where it starts to dig deeper into my scar tissue and wiggle around a bit to rip open some of the dark times that I have put to rest already. But his admission without reprimand disgusts my sense and need for justice. This is NOT okay.

For me, knowing that he gets away with it is the same as saying I don’t matter. It’s the same as saying that the rape kit, the hours of counseling, the ruining of good relationships because I was so broken, the hours spent crying or pondering suicide, the grappling of inappropriate coping mechanisms that cost me more than one relationship…means nothing.

Everything I’ve gone through in my life. Everything I fight against now regarding domestic abuse, rape, sexual assault, and violence is for naught. I’ve seen people posting such garbage in response to my objections that it feels as if I’m facing that nastiness in AZ where I was told that my rapist would go free because “You didn’t verbally say no.” But I did say “Get the fuck off me.” “STOP!” “I don’t know you.” That mattered not. It’s just words. It’s just another liar. Her words against his. They deferred to him.

It’s been difficult to even get out of bed most days. My people live far away from me. The only way I can be a part of their lives on a daily basis is through social media. It’s my window to a place where I felt happy, healthy, safe, and loved. But even that is being taken away as more and more stories come to light. It no longer seems safe to attend my newsfeeds for fear or tripping over another bullshit pile from Trump.

What I don’t understand is why he’s automatically assumed to be telling the truth despite the video, verbal, and written words that have him specifically saying he does these things. Why aren’t more people upset? Why are they looking to him as their personal messiah? Why are they believing him even when he denies the very words he just uttered? Why are the women that came forward get disregarded as Democratic plants, liars, or even a vindictive ex, but he is innocent?

If one person comes forward, it’s possible they may not be entirely truthful, but if 6+ come forward, there’s a pretty good chance they’re telling the truth even without him verbally saying he did kiss women without permission or grab them by “the pussy.”

When I say, “This is the perfect example of how rape culture works.” I’ve been rebuked by some or discounted because Miley Cyrus lets people touch her while she’s performing. Worse is the woman that said she doesn’t see it (the rape culture). But she was quick to dismiss me because, after all, I’m a Libtard, right? I don’t matter. My words don’t matter. My very being as a survivor doesn’t matter to them. I felt shame for them.

Someone else asked, “Well why didn’t they report it when it happened? Had to have time to make up a good story?”

WTF? Seriously? First, I’m glad you have no idea what it’s like to experience the theft of your personal control by pawing hands or smelly breath covering your face. I’m delighted you don’t know what it feels like to feel powerless under someone else. Oh, well maybe you do and thought it was normal. It isn’t.

Your body is YOURS. Nobody else has a right to touch it without consent. It’s not theirs. It’s yours. But to excuse it as a fabrication because it may change your views is not only disturbing but disgusting. Why would anyone, considering the way these women have been treated since the story broke, come forward if it weren’t true? It’s a far more courageous act to stand up to someone whom violates my personal space and safety with lewd and irresponsible acts against me than it would be to allow that person to harm someone else.

Despite all of the negative rhetoric towards women** just like me, women who have survived being sexually assaulted in the many layers of legalese, I feel more resolve towards educating the ignorant. I feel that if my voice is loud enough, maybe I can help someone else not feel the ostrasization, shame, or guilt that commonly follows an assault. I can’t in good conscience give up the mantle that was forced on me from nearly day one. I will, however, tell every woman or man that shares their story:

You are NOT alone

It wasn’t your fault

I believe you.

It’s the very least I can do considering they’re also seeing what happens when a victim/survivor comes forward with their story.

**Yes, I know that men are raped. I know that they are sexually assaulted. I am in no way discounting their trauma, but I am speaking as a woman with intimate knowledge, not as a male.

End War

​Will you take me to the river?

Will you take me there today?

Will you wash away the blood?

Will you join with me and pray?
Pray for peace among the suff’ring

Pray for tragedy to end

Pray for their sweet comforting

Pray for love till world’s end.
Will you join me at the river?

Will you meet me there today?

Will you help me cleanse the blood?

Will you meet with me to pray?

Late September

leavesdried

The late September thunderstorm drizzles gray on dark pavement.

The wind physically throws a tantrum of plants, chimes screaming alarm.

The trees relieve themselves of dead branches onto accumulated decayed leaves.

Darkness portends a bitter battle but refuses to acknowledge the calm.

The cars slide by with deeper tone, like a man’s voice taking over a woman’s.

The blinds clap merrily against the windows as I rush to keep dry beds.

The thunder is unexpected, rumbling like bowels filled with beans and broccoli.

A flash, a roll, a grumbling of disturbed pressure pockets, then wet, dripping, silence.

 

Community Prayer

My neighbors,

We are gathered here today in peace

We honor the truth of the word love

We strive together to build a better community

To promote and create our neighborhood

That takes care of one another through

Respect, compassion, courage, and vision.

For anybody that would not honor our covenant

We will lead them by our actions to the light of love in your name.

Hear our prayer so that we may be one people, your people.

Thank you.

Aleppo, Syria

Omran Daqneesh
There is a little child in Aleppo born
Exploding waves of violent storm
Raging fires silently call harm
Yet the tiny child raises no alarm.
Ali Daqneesh
This is our child. Our daughter or our son
Our children have now become only one
Innocence bombed in a dawn of mourning
We heard the cries, refused the warnings.
Now we witness our barren crops dead
Help them! Somebody!
We are not what we said.

Cost of Living

Candle of Hope

How much am I worth to you?

Another theater, another school?

Another place where people gather

Out in public, or doesn’t it matter?

How much can I pay you for

your children’s blood on classroom floors?

How much is the fiance’ worth

if she’s wedding before the baby’s birth?

Tell me, because I don’t want your guns

you can keep them, I’m wanting none.

If you collect or if you hunt

I have no interest in killing your fun.

But any sane person should agree

that these “daily” mass killings are a spree

With romanticized violence the law of the land,

as responsible owners, please take a stand.

Show them what it means to be smart

Give us something, someplace to start

 

I don’t want to be afraid to go to the store

become another pawn in this domestic war

If it happens to one it’s a tragedy

but if it happens to more, a statistic you’ll be

Terrorism doesn’t have the brown skin like we’re told

It’s the murderer’s body count, sin chillingly cold.

Do not be afraid

As you are an ocean of tears, so are you a world of forgiveness. A haven of justice filtered through human imperfections that allows opportunity for love with each challenge to your comfort.

You possess free will enough to elect whether you embrace change or if you allow fear to petrify your heart into jaded segments. How can you gaze upon a child’s pain with no desire to make the world innocent for them; for yourself?

It is inevitable that your faithful trust in your brethren will be accosted with confusion or anger towards your generosity. But, the price you pay now, will be small compared to the cost of refusal should you deny your righteous compass.

Turn to your true north, even being different than your friends, to find what makes your spirit, your very essence scream with the ecstasy of rapturous delight. Give permission to yourself to be extraordinarily outstanding in a world that only allows what is nurtured to bloom and grow.

If you find yourself in the forest of darkness with bruised, bloodied, or damaged limbs falling from your own family tree, notice where they’re planted. See how shallow or how deeply those roots linger in the earth by releasing your primal self to its care.

Drink from the knowledge of the river bend that granted your ancestors life to flood your own flesh. Sing in the voice of your grandmother, your grandfather, and those back to the beginning of time’s pacing.

Decree your path without word because what you say can be erased, what you do is how you progress through your life unhindered; calling like-minded to your shores. The shores of the ocean of tears that surrounds your world of forgiveness are yours for the sake of personal redemption.