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.”

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.

What Love is Abuse?

Which is better?

To be berated, blamed constantly for choices not your own?

To be neglected, questioning your worth?

Which is easier to overcome?

The mental anguish that riddles you with anxiety?

A twisted power play that rattles the cage you can’t escape from?

How delicate the balance that establishes our worth.

Tormented, forced to be reliant.  Dangling on broken strings!

Insufficient, forced to drown even when you were sitting still.

Who can allow such evils to exist in their brains, destroying the ones they love piece by piece?

Or is it love?  What IS love?

Anger at insufficiency, frustration at lack of progress, neither of these are love.

Berating and blame, neither of these are love.

Tearing down the worth of another, to mend your own inefficiencies, neither of these are love.

Abuses the world does not recognize as dangerous, these things kill even the strongest of people.  Their hands have not hit you, but their words will make your soul bleed 

Of the Oppressed

So this is hell, where I should die

A grave I dug for myself

To lie down and slowly fade

All that I am to shift and suffocate

Dirt heaped in abusive piles snuffing out my life

The airs toxic, my lungs ache from holding my breath

I deserve it.  I am the coward who ran away

Running to safety, or running to death?

Who of us can tell.

I will die here, gasping for air and sweet release 

Alas none shall I find, for true freedom is not my Fate.