words, words, all around;
what was lost, now is found,
I took off the shroud
that’s how my spirit feels;
diving deep, keeping it real,
my heart offered, your next meal
devoured with skimming eyes,
white lies, no replies,
the ‘like’ a disguise, bleeding me dry
why?
sometimes I drown in this digital sea;
can’t see the real me,
lungs choking on hyperbole
-image via Pixabay
“If we can share our story with someone who responds with empathy and understanding, shame can’t survive.” ~Brené Brown
“No.”
He’d heard her, she was sure of it; his face was so close to hers, she could feel his whiskers on her cheek as he moved, like the stab of needles tattooing her skin with unwanted ink.
“No,” she said, again, a little more forcefully this time, the word scraping the inside of her throat, which was beginning to feel constricted, pure panic coiling itself around and around, from the inside out.
All she saw was his eyes. Blank, as if he was looking through her, his eyes spoke for him, they gave his response.
Pinning her down, one arm crossed her chest as the other pulled down his own pants and ripped her black panties aside. His full weight upon her, he pushed her back further into the couch. She tried to push back at him, to wriggle beneath him to get away, but her own muscles weren’t working like they should.
Her body went cold. She could taste his scent in the air, a toxic, slur of smoke invading her lungs, fighting for what little air her lungs would allow. Absorbing his vile presence, it was black sludge melting into every pore, her stomach twisting and wretching. She could feel her body’s resistance in the rigid freeze between them.
But, she didn’t scream, even though her friend was just upstairs with the other guy. She didn’t struggle. Fear kept her quiet, and not just fear of him. She was immobilized by her own voice.
Fear of her own voice.
Jerking his head upward, he looked into her eyes again, and she felt his muscles tighten even further.
No,” she whispered again, reminding herself.
He invaded her. His hips worked ferociously, grinding and impaling, his elbow digging into her chest.
He took without apology. He took and took and took.
Behind her eyes, it all slowed, each slam into her, every recoil, in slow motion, his elbows becoming knives, his arms boulders, and his incessant body the evil, leaded blanket reminding her of her own silence, of her smallness.
He took what he wanted.
When he finished, she stood and quietly adjusted her clothes, never looking at him or speaking a word.
Walking up the 18 stairs, her feet made a shuffle-scraping sound, and she knocked on the blackness of the wooden door until her friend answered. Thank God, the look on her face must have spoken for her, because her friend followed without her ever needing to speak.
She walked back down the 18 stairs and out the front door. Automation took her feet toward home, still in silence. She was halfway home before she realized she was only wearing one shoe.
Along with her shoe, she’d left behind the last of her voice, the one which spoke up for her.
It would be years and years before she began to find it again…..but she did.
~image credit waleoladipo.com; #metoo
“Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren’t always comfortable, but they’re never weakness.”
“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.”
Quotes by Brené Brown. Let’s kick shame’s ass, Warriors.
the voluminous moonlight shouted from the blackness of the quiet sky,
it’s breath reaching the gray drapes in a billowed, flowing sigh,
coming to rest on the rooted, age-woven fabric of you and I,
and casting its healing shadow over worn flesh and entangled, tired souls before retreating in a silent goodbye
-image via Pixabay
I hear my weary bones a’creaking,
the slap-flapping of valves
working overtime,
‘cuz they’re leaking
I feel the slowing tempo
of waves receding,
the acquiescence
of my spirit weeping
I hear my weary bones a’creaking,
but I can’t give in –
my soul’s still seeking
-image via Tumblr, source unknown; written as part of dVerse Poet Pub’s Quadrille prompt
they say all that will ever be
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried
my soul became raw from fighting against itself;
everywhere I walked, my fate walked with me,
dragging along, crashing into my heels,
a suitcase with two broken wheels
they say all that will ever be
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried
lugging around that suitcase,
I told myself fate was that which nestled itself inside,
and the only way to outrun it,
was to keep that zipper closed tightly,
and to fight like hell
they say all that will ever be
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried
what they don’t say,
is that fate is a living, breathing thing,
which is not static;
it grows and evolves along side us,
wisdom lying in wait,
a fairy godmother with no wand
they say all that will ever be
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried
what they don’t say,
is that truth and love are magic,
and seeking it is our fate,
and the only way to find it,
is to stop fighting against it,
to unpack,
to listen
they say all that will ever be
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
so I stopped trying
-Image via Pinterest; submitted as part of the dVerse Open Link Night #207
once, her world sagged
under the weight of the storm
today, the storm is finally receding;
rain’s long, wet fingers caress,
hope falling in chilly droplets,
cleansing in goosefleshed trails
there is something peaceful about her,
as if snow has settled inside her soul
-image via Pixabay; created and shared as part of dVerse’s Quadrille Monday
I felt the flushed ripple of heat permeating my cheeks,
the not-familiar-enough flutter inside my belly,
the kind that tickle-squeezes, sending waves of hope up, up, up –
so I caught it by its wings;
it was lovely,
the kind of lovely that it’s always too soon to leave
-image via Fanpop.com; shared as part of dVerse’s Open Link Night
“I was beautiful, once,” she said,
shame and remorse filling her eyes,
and hope, reluctantly, causing her hands to tremble
“What happened?”, he replied with a snicker,
a complete lack of anything resembling a feeling,
which hung in his eyes like a vacancy sign
-image via Pinterest
it closes in on you, the silence,
the pressure of it robbing all the oxygen,
absence coaxing a primal voice to arise that is something no one can imagine until it’s heard
twisting and splintering as it rises,
it’s wicked tongue lies to you,
convincing you, corrupting things,
loading itself with shrapnel from dark crevices and welding it all together into sharp ammunition
it fires and fires, stealing from you,
leaving you without a single word of comfort
only smoke, wafting in its wake
-image via Pinterest
Heart Breathings 
