Rejection : The Common Core

I remember crying as you watched

My heart aching

Breaking down and not understanding why

I trusted you

I trusted you with my soul

You broke it

It’s never been the same since you

Rejection

A nine letter word, so tiny in the vernacular

And yet it shreds us to pieces

Our first rejection shadows us

Creating the lense we see ourselves through

One rejection after the next

We conclude it is us that is the problem

We cause others to deny our worth

We cry out for validation!

Validate me! Validate me!

Again and again to face rejection

The monsters enslaving us

Causing us to sin–

They rejected us first

And we reject ourselves ever since

We are not good enough

We are not intelligent

We are not beautiful

I am not beautiful

I am the itching scabs of leprosy

Oozing from the wounds that never heal

Loving the loudest

Loving the longest

Loving so no one knows this pain

Pushing away and building the walls to keep you from seeing the wounded animal I am inside

I’m terrified if you knew my pain you’d see that I’m a fraud

I am the perception Rejection has spoken over me

You create

You sing

You play

For I am unworthy to speak the voices and sing the notes of my Fantasies inside

Rejection visited me, too, and I had nowhere to hide

Speak Out

She cared too much for the injustice
She cried out in frustrated agony for the oppressed
She ached for everyone who felt the pain
She knew their scars, she knew their brokenness
She saw the tormented, she was their confidence
She sheltered the hearts of the broken
When she defended them from those who did not know the same pain,
she bore the weight of the scorn
crying in the darkness alone for the ones with no voice that she sheltered in her heart.
Because when push came to shove, they fell down the stairs into the dark alleyways where we hide the injustice no one wants to face.
Fighting hateful words and hateful people
Fighting back with her voice, crying out for Justice to the lawmakers.
They would never stand up on their own. They were terrified of what might happen.
But she had no more fear of being scorned.
The people she protected mattered more than hateful words.

No one should ever know desperation and terror.
And yet far too many did.
The doors locked them in, they had no where to flee.
They were mocked on every side.
Break the silence! BE their voice!
Selfishness met the cries for Justice.
“IF I CAN’T, THEY CAN’T! STAY THE **** INSIDE!”
And in their homes, the oppressed would die.
Abandoned. Alone.
Watching their friends say hateful things about the people they see in public.
Watching their friends say hateful things about “taking care” of “those who mattered most”.
Knowing they could trust no one with their secrets.
Knowing there was no hope.
The words of people they trusted stung.
They could trust no one.

And so she screamed in rage at the hateful comments
She called out the insensitive hashtags.
She said NO MORE, and spoke out for them.
Because she already knew whatever she said would be mocked.
She didn’t say it for the mockers to roll their eyes at.
She said it for the ones who didn’t have a voice to say it for themselves.

What did they know anyway?
How was she helping in the background, in ways unseen?
What difference would it make, and what kind of shift would it bring if everyone saw the injustice the way she did?
Did they ask?
They mocked. As they mocked the abused.
As they mocked their friends.
And they judged.
Hateful words flood the space between us.
They would rather ignore the problem than see it called out for what it is?
Who is in the wrong? Those speaking up for the speechless? What sense does that make?

The Lover

There was a Lover who created a garden.
Perfection displayed in brilliance.
To the trees He said, “Bear fruit of many kinds, for my Bride is coming, and she will need nourished.”
To the ground He said, “Bring forth vegetables to sustain her, and satisfy her hunger.”
To each plant He said, “Bring forth vitality, to protect and heal her sickness and ailment. She will find healing in you when complication may arise, and where I destine that you cannot heal her, I will renew her body.”
Then, He created and brought forth animals to be companion and friend, for cheer and play.
He looked in awe of the splendor of His hands and said, “All is ready, and it is good.”
Finally, crafting with His own hands, He formed the Glory of His Creation, His Bride, to live in the Garden He had prepared.
Together they communed in peace and happiness. The Lover had never been so full of joy….
But soon, the Bride was deceived by a great Enemy and cast out.
The Lover, broken and filled with sorrow watched as His Beloved drifted farther and farther from Him.
To the trees her offspring said, “Your fruit is too sweet and not good for our bodies, we will not consume it.” And they limited their children from it as well.
To the vegetables they said, “You are too high in starches, and the rest of you are meager. We do not wish to consume you, either.”
Turning to the beasts given by the Lover to be companions, they ate of their flesh and drank of their milk, abusing them to satisfy their thirsts and hunger.
When they became sick, and forced sickness on each other, they trampled down the plants the Lover had crafted, and said, “We will grind the rocks instead.” Pulling from mines and refining chemicals, using the waste from different sources-even from the dead, saying “surely these will heal us!” These did not heal their sickness, and made them worse. They dug for more stones and strained through more waste, and more of the dead, to find their cures.

The Lover watched as His Bride trampled down the beauty He had given them, overcome with sorrow and anger. He sent floods to wash out their crops, frost to ruin their trees, fires to burn their vineyards, storms to display His glory – but His Bride made excuses, “It is us, we have done this, our hands are causing this to happen.” Some yet said they themselves had managed to create these disasters to destroy each other.

So few turned to Him, delighting in His gifts.
To those who did He blessed them with health and peace, for they looked to Him and said, “Your Creation is enough for Me, and I will Delight in you, all of my days. I will eat and make use of your Garden. For you created the world in Perfection and I praise you for providing for My needs, and designing them by hand to prepare a place for Us, before you even made us.”

All That’s Left

Tear my heart out, rip my soul in two.
Then rebuild me to the image that best suits you.
I’ll hide away all the parts of me that hurt,
I’ll wrestle my soul down to convert.

I’ll pretend to be who I’m not until night has drawn.
Cry alone until another empty day will dawn.

Take away the illusions of love inside my head.
Remind me dreams of romance and hope are dead.
I’ve got nothing left to offer that hasn’t been torn apart,
What am I supposed to do with the rest of my broken heart?

An Adverb To Fall

Surely your piercing blue eyes desire the image pop from the dreary page, as the ivory cannot display so clearly an image as the words printed carefully on it!

Embrace the hues of brown and green, which is the forest background. Autumn has come, setting the forest aflame with color!
The canopies are tinging in yellows, oranges and red, before dropping lightly.

Vibrantly, softly, gently they fall and utter not a sound Leaving the trunk breathless and bare, shuddering naked.
Frigidly it is laid waste, with no comfort to protect from Winter’s flare.

Suddenly, longingly the trees wishing they had their delicate blanket to protect from the winds.

One last, lonely leaf flutters by dead…..

Oh well, he shall make new ones next year.

Acoustic

Cheyenne sang loudly with the small group sitting around the room, as the melodious reverberating sound of an acoustic guitar filled the space around them.

It brought warmth and a deep-seeded joy to hear the sound of Austin’s voice singing as he played. His eyes closed, his head fell back occassionally as he bobbed his head and body in rhythm to the music.

Cheyenne felt the presence of the Spirit stirring in the room as they worshipped in song together.

Tonight was simply a night of reflection and worship, to the glorious sound of an acoustic guitar, with their closest of friends. The fellowship that drew their hearts together like nothing could ever break them apart, was overwhelming in the deepest of ways.

Austin began to slow the tempo and his strum became gentle as the song came to an end, right before the next started.

Nothing in the world brought more delight to Cheyenne than hearing an acoustic guitar fill the expanse of a small room. It was certainly her most favorite sound in all of the world. Nothing could compare to it. Each chord humming in enchanting rhythm with the next, sustained evenly as a sound that pleased the ears, with gentle vibrations she could feel in her chest.

Closing her eyes, taking in the moment, Cheyenne was at peace, and all was right with the world, in a supernatural way that only the presence of God could provide.

In this moment she thanked Him for the guitar, and for music. For the mystical way an acoustic guitar could romance the soul, and for the talent God had given to Austin to master the technique.

And then she praised God from the depths of her soul, taking nothing in the moment for granted, knowing that this time she spent with her dearest of friends and the mingling of the Holy Spirit was special. She hoped the others felt as connected in Spirit as she did.

They spent time together long into the early hours of the night enjoying each others company, singing together, praying for one another, and abiding in love and joy, comforted to know the things that mattered most to their broken hearts were easy to share with one another, in a way that brought healing and hope.

And when they had said goodnight, Cheyenne curled up in bed content, reflecting on the time they had spent together, still filled with peace and joy. Still remembering the enchanting lull of the guitar as Austin played for them.

And it was the sound of the acoustic guitar seered into her memory as she fell asleep.

Never Ending Fantasies

What do you do when you figure out you missed it?
How do you pick up the pieces when you realize it’s never going to be the same it could have been?

Trust is meaningless. Hope is frail. Illusions of a dream never meant to come true.

Prince Charming is a joke. Love is elusive, meant for tales we weave beyond our woes.

Dreamers exist to brighten the world with fallacies. We lose ourselves in the romance of fantasy.

Dreams and wishes our hearts make put us fast to sleep, slumbering in clouds to escape reality.

Reading ourselves stories to brighten the night, where every happy ending is true. For who reads to remind themself life is frail?

And now broken love remains. A light to shine out to the others, perhaps someone might be cheered from this endless gloom.

Take heart, hope at least burns for someone. It doesn’t mean reality gets better. But at least you know someone cares. I can care enough for you when you lose sight of yourself.

Dream, Love.

**This was written over a year ago, and accepted to be published.  It never published, and there is no sign that it will ever be published.  So I finally decided it was time to put it on my blog.The theme was “Write a piece inspired by a song”.

The song I wrote this to was “Alive” by Jose Gonzalez.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tick. Thump. Tick. Thump. Tick. Thump. Tick.

The sound of your heart echoes the rhythm of the clock.

Comforted by the rise and fall of your chest in steady breaths, I know I’m safe.

You work so hard, with very little return. It’s apparent in the way you sigh tonight.

You hesitate. You forget to breathe.

Gently squeezing your hand, I nestle closer. Beside of you, I know it’s going to be okay.

Do you know how much I love you?

Does my love help?

Does it ease your weary mind?

It isn’t fair the way life jades us. Breaking our spirit so we give up chasing fantasies and childhood dreams.

What once brought joy, brings tears.

What once caused your heart to flutter, now leaves your heart broken.

Darkness settled, and it swept away your smile.  It took your soul with it, leaving your voice hollow.

I remember what your laugh used to sound like.

I remember the glint of passion in your eyes.

I miss the warmth of your smile.

My fingers brush gently through your hair as your eyes move under tired lids.

It comforts me to know you’re dreaming. Whatever are you dreaming of?

Am I still in your dreams?

Rushing from one thing to the next leaves you tired and aching, longing just to sit and clear your head.

The stress of the day stops melting away, instead it festers and gnaws at you, dragging you down a lonesome, tired road of anguish.

It shouldn’t be this way. Seeing it manifest causes my heart to break.

What can I do? What does your heart need that I can give?

Can I alleviate the burden long enough to give you rest?

Do you remember how to rest? To give in to the refreshing tides of sleep.

When it seems the money is always needed, or the stack of bills won’t shrink any smaller, and nothing is going your way, reach out and take my hand. It’s not moving from where I left it.

It was promised to you. And you keep it.

I’ll be here when you come home. Rubbing knots from your neck and shoulders, soothing the tenderness with a gentle kiss.

My arms might be frail, but they’re strong enough to hold you when you can’t hold yourself.

Let me carry your burdens. Give me your broken dreams, let me help grow something new. When you lose sight of tomorrow, let me hope for you.

I need you. I need your warmth. I need your life. I need your smile.

Night only lasts for a moment, and then the sun peaks the horizon again. Gradually, as though giving hope to the world, with a dimly lit break of dawn.

It just takes time. To everything, there is a season. This too shall pass.

Remember this when it seems to never end.

When the world caves in and all you hear is seconds ticking away, remember my hope is drawn from the rhythm of your beating heart.

 

Writing Exercise – Temptation

Greg found his cousin amusing. Karissa had shown up early in the day to visit their grandmother. Greg was currently living in their grandmothers basement biding his time through life, however, currently trying to clean it up. Well, as much as he could while working in an adult superstore.
Karissa’s quirky attitude, and cynical sense of humor was interesting. She definitely had become different than the girl he remembered. Although, he didn’t know how he felt about her current choice of fashion. Was she supposed to be some kind of hippie?
The way she dressed aside, her presence tonight screwed with his head. The first thing he had noticed was how her figure had blossomed since she had finally grown up. There was nothing left of that awkward kid he once knew. Having a baby had gently spread her hips and nicely bulged her breasts.
He shook his head, attempting to rub the sudden image of her from his eyes.
They’d all gone to bed hours ago. After watching a movie, he hadn’t been able to sleep. Currently, his caffeine addiction had him drinking energy drinks like water. It didn’t help that he hadn’t had sex in ages, and here was the perfect opportunity to indulge and relieve his aching body. Or was it so perfect?
There were too many variables. First, their grandmother was sleeping in the next room from her. Second, her infant son was probably snuggled up in her arms sleeping next to her.
If he was going to do anything, it was roll over and go to sleep.
You could always just rape her.
“Where the hell did that come from?” He asked himself, his eyes popping open.
Think about it. You know she wouldn’t consent, that’s crazy.
She was sleeping right above his room, tucked into a large, beautiful bed. Probably sleeping softly and sweetly. A gentle inhale. A gentle exhale. A gentle inhale. A gentle-
“STOP IT!” he internally screamed to his brain.
Sitting up in bed, throwing his legs over the side, he felt that familiar, aching urge for a cigarette. Giving up every negative stimulant in his life was hard enough, and his body did starve desperately for a woman. Choosing between the two in this instance, the cigarette sounded better.
“God, cleanse these disgusting thoughts.” He prayed. “I want to give this habit up.”
You’re disgusting. Look at you, what would God want with you anyway? You make money selling people porn, and indulgences in sick fantasies. You give people the opportunity to cheat on their spouses. You give people the opportunity to hurt and bruise and bleed. You give them the chance to pursue their darkest dreams. You can’t even quit smoking long enough for God to save you.
Greg accepted those thoughts, gnawing his teeth. “I just need a cigarette. That’s it. Just one.”
Giving up smoking was the hardest thing he had ever struggled with. Sure, porn and sexuality were battles every man fought, right? Smoking, however, was a crutch. Soothing. Relaxing. Suffocating. Sex you could have once and relieve the body for a moment. Cigarettes gave, and gave, and gave.
Just go up the stairs.
“No.”
Go.
“Stop it.”
You. Need. This. She won’t press charges. You’re family. She won’t tell anyone, nobody would believe her anyway.
Balling his fists, Greg got up to pace around the room. His own dark fantasies swirled through his mind like poison. It made him feel dirty, thinking about Karissa that way. She was his kid cousin, he remembered holding her as a baby. And here she was, married with a little one of her own.
It wasn’t the sex he wanted so much right now, as it was the cigarette he was trying to be free from. “Just one. I just want one.”
The hours crept down out of the night, and Greg won the battle against raping Karissa.
The next two days he avoided her like the plague. The fact that his mind had so thoroughly explored her made it awkward for him to be around her. He didn’t even want to see her after that. At least, not for some time.
Memories of that night plagued him for the next several days, and the urge for a cigarette never went away.
On Friday, once his paycheck hit, he stopped at the first convenient store and swiped his card without a second thought.
In the protection of his little car, with nobody around to hear his thoughts, he opened up the box, put the roll between his lips, shakily lit the end of it, and lost all of the ground he tried so desperately to cover in the next inhale of pure, sweet, nicotine.

Blank Page

Hello white screen.

I’m here to stare at you again.

I have hopes that your magic powers of illumination will draw the Words from my brain.

Pulling them from the core of me, as my eyes stare beyond you into Universes still unknown to the world.

Yet you sit there.  Empty.

You are the one with greater power, scaring my ideas away.

Intimidating me, with your flashy white teeth, the ink wont bleed and discolor your face.

Perhaps we need to chat about my pursuits.

You see, I am trying to write a story.

As you flash the cursor line at me, blinking anxiously as my fingers wait to patter away at the keys…..

This is nonsense.  I should be greater than you!  I can slay you with that tiny little X at the top corner!  I can will you to go away!

……however, this causes me more problems than it does you.  You will smile one last time with a wicked laugh as you flash away victorious.

How do we meld our minds so that we might summon the words peacefully?  Drawing from my inner pool of creation as one might a fountain?

Blank page, I think of you all the day long.  I think of the words I might put to you.  The stories I anxiously wish to tell…..

And yet you remain.  Here.  Untouched.

Intimacy we should share!  My heart would overflow to you in a precarious romance, in which I slaughter my soul at the eyes of the world.

Summon from me words.  I beg you.

Draw each of them out.  Rend my soul if you must.  Just let them flow.