On Purpose

I am doing the last editing of my book and the feelings that are coming up this time are intense.  I want to feel so I can grow but the overwhelming sense of abandonment is making me want to not feel anything.  This is why it has taken so long to finish. Reliving the events that have been the inspiration for this book is excruciatingly painful.  I have made an appointment to see a therapist because I am going to need some help with this part.  At least I know there is resolution if I move through these feelings I will have gained better insight into why I keep repeating the same patterns. Applied knowledge is power.  They say awareness is half the battle.  I am determined to stay on purpose.  Hopefully I can finish this time and move on to more pleasing endeavors. So, I will leave you with an excerpt from the book that will explain some of

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no fairy tales (my issues)

i wasn’t raised on fairy tales i never thought the prince was coming i did not look or wait for him to march in on his horse no matter the color i grew up knowing i had to save myself i had no visions of royal kisses in the moonlight on a castle’s balcony i took care of myself i had no dreams of being taken care of or fitting like a hand and glove i saw the men come i saw the men go no words or show just go they were here today and gone tomorrow leaving behind sorrow tears and shame but they were never blamed it was up to the women to carry on make everything work smiling instead of cussing laughing to keep from crying all the while dying for some love


Agony my groans are unutterable the pain is too deep the cries have no sound and yet I weep the soul is bound with love nowhere found not one person to connect with “I am bound” not one person to understand that my suffering is my own conceived by a wicked plan if you say you love me why can’t I feel it why is your touch non-existent am I alone in this great big world will there be healing for this little girl How are you supposed to feel about yourself when  accused of trying to kill your little brother at the age of three or four.  You know the truth although you are only three years old.  You know that your mother is lying to cover her own ass.  She knows damn well she left a three-year old and a two-year old in the apartment by themselves.  This is my very first memory of childhood. Again, please let

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Not my blood

Every one  wants something from me they’ve taken my heart and my soul control of mind I gave now they want my blood weren’t my tears enough are not my scars the badge of honor they wear never did they care about me they take, they took and continue to take but they call me the crook memories of horror disgusting memories embed in my sinew are the etchings of abuse, misuse, rejection, oppression and now they want blood I gave my dignity and my body offered in sacrifice for their love and they still want my blood does anybody ever look outside of themselves into the eyes of hurting souls I gave years of dedication and devotion went through poverty, lack and want put up a front in front of my peers bent over backward and kissed my own ass trying to make the charade last all I got was that’s not enough give me more they said give

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