Uncle, Danger

Uncle, Danger

IMG_3905.JPG

He told her it was okay,
And no one had to know,
This was their little secret,
A game- was what he called it.

And no one saw the bruises,
Or the terror in her eyes,
The tremor in her voice,
Whenever Uncle came around.

Doors were locked at nightfall,
To keep evil at bay,
But evil was within the home,
Masked as family.

Until one day, he wasn’t-
A car crash, they confirmed.
And smile as a free bird she did,
To all’s bewilderment.

Uncle…. oh you devil,
What have you got to say,
6 feet below the ground,
With all your evil deeds.

Lord- I can’t forgive him yet,
But I will try to move on,
I owe it to the little girl,
He almost… almost destroyed.

 

 

 

Advertisements
Surviving-

Surviving-

IMG_1701.JPG

Some days,
The anger seeps through
Every pore in my body,
Tears,
Sweat,
Snot,
Lessening with each drop shed.

Some days,
It builds up Inside of me
Fuelled by every thought,
Breath,
Heart beat,
Increasing in intensity.

Somedays,
I over come it,
Somedays,
it overwhelms me;
Everyday- I survive it

I Trusted you-

I Trusted you-

image

The truth is- it’s not love that screwed me over; a repressed memory which surfaced turning my life upside down; or a cry for help gone unanswered… It was just one thing, trusting you.

Trust me, you’ll say. Each time a doubt crept in me, you’d echo it. Each time my insides churned at your actions, you’d utter those two words.

Trust me… and I trusted you. More than my self, more than my gut instinct. Over any friend, family, outsider, I trusted you! How could I not. You put a ring on my finger and a baby in my womb. How could I not trust the one I considered half of me, “my better half”, we were starting a family together- I trusted you.

I should have trusted the way your eyes wandered off each time we were out together; I should have trusted the way your nose flared and your fists battled with the walls; I should have trusted the “but” buzzing in my head when it was time to say I do. I didn’t, and the should haves are eating at what’s left of my soul.

Trust me, you’ll say. And I did, when I should have trusted in the creator , the one who made you from dust. Now, I know better than to take your words for more than they truly are- a grain of salt.

The above Image is courtesy of Lovethispic.com

Just a teenager-

Just a teenager-

image

There was an empty in her laughter,
And less meanings in her words;
Her shoulders- sloped too often,
Closed posture, she assumed;
Heedless to observations,
In a bubble she resides;
Carefree with an air of gloom
Hovering above- she was described.

Lived on the notion love was but
The movies she had watched;
And somewhere In between life threw
Some sunshine in her storm;
For the downer angst filled teen
Displayed emotions ‘stead of words;
‘least that’s what loved ones hoped
Would be the eventuality for-
Anger as hers was consuming
and destroyed the light of soul.

But she’s still a teenage girl,
And lives her life without regard;
And maybe she is satisfied with,
The way her life has panned so far;
There’s lot of road bumps up ahead
The anger’s just begun;
In place of judgement, all she needs-
Is a solid rock to fall back on;
To crash, is inevitable yet the chance
To rise is greatly more-
When knowing there’s someone there
To lend a hand, as you pull back up.

I turned off the comment for this post because I haven’t been able to reply to posts much recently and it’s unfair to have you guys take the time and write such kind words if I don’t reply them on time. I’ve been wrexams since Sunday  but will get back and reply as soon as I can. ❤

image credit: Lelove image

Free-Write: Out of jail

Free-Write: Out of jail

image

You leave prison after twenty years. You were innocent. The world as you knew it has changed. What’s the first thing you would do?

I would be lying if I said I am not angry, mad. I said it loud and clear, screamed and created a scene, tried my level best to imprint it into their brains that I was INNOCENT, but, they didn’t believe. No one believed me. And now, after twenty years, they declare, “oh, we made a mistake, you didn’t commit the crime”, like it’s no big deal. Like 20 years of my life was just a few minute spent. Like the scars on my back and neck trying to fight off these jail predators was child’s play.

They didn’t even let me hold my baby after 9 gruesome months. They didn’t even… Even a single glance was denied to me. Where do I begin? In search of the murderer who framed me for the death of my husband, or do i search for the child I bore in jail who doesn’t even know who his mama is.

But I’m out now, that’s a start. Two choices, neither easy, heaven help my soul. I feel like a stranger in the world. A world I knew and love. My child lived without me for twenty years, he’d survive without me for a little longer. I have to this for his father. I have to find the murderer of my son’s father. My twenty years in jail would not be in vain.

This is a battle I have to win, and I will win.

Times up! (10 mins) I hope this story makes senses because it was all I could come up with in ten minutes. This challenge was forwarded to me by Juliet of Juliet’s journal. Thank you so much for the nomination and I had fun doing it. Read more

When does it end?

When does it end?

When does it end?
Till we get numbed to violence;
Thickened to bomb blasts;
Cold to tears shed.

When does it end?
Till our hearts get empty;
Our nerves get numb to-
The violent messages.

When does it end?
Till the throats of the masses,
Gets sore from screaming-
For help from the government.

When does It end?
When our hopes are buried,
With bones under soil;
And this generation withers.

When does it end?
Till all our kids can think of,
When asked ’bout ancestors-
Is violence and bloodshed.

When does it end???
I can’t help but ask this-
In lines and verses
The only way I know how,
So Please tell me, when does it end!

Are we Free?

Are we Free?

image
Image courtesy: http://theartsentrepreneur.com/?p=750

We live in a bi-polar world,
With freedom ill defined;
They urge for you to speak your voice,
Yet shut you the moment it’s out.

They say you’re free to speak
From within-
The words burning deep in your skin;
So You spit them out expecting appease-
That moment, they break you
And your humanity.

“But freedom of speech is what we practice”-
Oh honey, they chew and sweeten their speech;
And try yes they will, to numb your ‘will’-
Your speech ends up just how they will;
Oh yes there’ll be expression,
Loads of them;
But the freedom in question?
Has gone in despair;
So you speak bulk of thoughts
But with a seasoned prisoned mind-
And the freedom you once had,
Had been lost in the wind.

Words will be said;
Thoughts expressed;
With lack of freedom-
Bare as stiff air.

Words do hurt.

Words do hurt.

image

You know the saying “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words would never hurt me,” yeah well it’s crap. Words do hurt and they hurt real bad.
Recently I was told something based on assumptions and even though it was said out of care, it hurt me. It didn’t hurt me but more like angered me in a way. I have been eating healthy for the past few months. Dumped the cakes, sodas and chocolates for fruits and fresh juices and healthier alternatives. I wouldn’t say I didn’t snack, I did, but just on a regulated basis. Rather than take 3 drinks in a day, I down sized to one.

But this month, I have been eating. Especially during my last period, I ate like a hog (well almost like one). And, I didn’t really mind. I mean, I believe it’s okay every once in a while. Yet for some reasons, the weight isn’t showing on my body (which I also don’t mind 😉 ).

So a friend of mine, “suggested” that I was conscious of my weight and drastically losing weight and I look Sick. She didn’t say it that way, these are my words but that was what it implied. The statement flared up some emotions in me because, one- she didn’t live with me so she wouldn’t know and two- it was false. Some may say if it isn’t true then why the emotions, trust me, if I knew, I wouldn’t be writing this. The thing is when I was slightly overweight, it didn’t really bother me (and this is a fact) so, why should my weight bother me now.

Read more

The Cruelties Of Man

The Cruelties Of Man

image

It kills me, a little bit at a time-
The cruelties of this world;
The cruelties of man;
The harshness we ooze forth.

We judge a man by his color-
His tribe, where he’s from;
He’s wealth and all his worth;
The Lord he worships at dawn.

And the heart beneath his hide of skin-
Isn’t enough to save him from
the wrath employed by man;
such is the injustice of this world.
And it kills me… A little bit at a time.