Broken Men

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                             Image courtesy of: PictureQuotes.com

We suffer at the hands of others’ inadequacies

The ones whose original wounds ferment and smolder

like cans of old fish and slow burning peat

The air is saturated with their stench of self-hate

Their fathers were tough-minded tormentors and serial abusers

Tyrants at the dinner table

They swallowed supper in shrinking, sullen silence

Broken men who turned to God or the Devil

One adorns himself with the armor of false piety

but he is a disciple of those brothers from Kansas

(He got lost on his way to Nazareth)

His aim is your body:

Submit and have children

The other is a con

A wielder of counterfeit deals

Your body is a tool to be grabbed and discarded

Submit and be paid in millions for silence

Yet they aren’t the ones holding the Aces

They are held up by others with skin in the game

Enablers and Expenders

Inebriated Indolents and Posturing Posers

Beware of the ones with more secrets to hide

They are the bona fide criminals in our nation’s homicide

Day 15: A piece grown from the word “inadequacies” that sprung from my brain while standing at the kitchen sink!

The Road to Consecration

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                                      Image courtesy of: Jenny Grant

She turned to face him:

Which mask to wear today?

It was hard to gauge his mood with the thickness of sleep still bearing its weight on her body

Her mind is murky

  She lets out a sigh

Feeling safe only if she lay on her left side curled up and in her own embrace

Much better to fall off  than brush against the beast

How long could this charade last?

Lately she had matched his deceit with her own

Not out of some need to enact revenge

She wasn’t even sure how far he had gone

But he wore his lies like an ill-fitting suit

The pants dragged beneath his heels

The jacket was two sizes too small

And the buttons were askew behind his lengthy tie

When she would point out the mismatch between one tall tale and another,

he would insist that he was misheard or misunderstood

Keeping track of  his dirty deeds became a game of survival and self-protection

His self-involvement and vanity distracted him from noticing her wily ways

Still, she was weary of feeling undone

Every encounter exhausting

Every conversation calibrated

Today would be the day

Holding her breath

 She slipped out into the early light

Suitcases already packed in the trunk of her car

The papers and house keys lay on the kitchen table

  Woman!

We have lift off!

She exhaled and let out a silent cheer

She had no compass

Just her authentic self 

The only true guide to the road within

Day 27. The word is authentic drawn, from a conversation yesterday with Emily- although the subject matter was different. I hadn’t expected this as the outcome but certainly the theme of freedom is on my mind these days.

At War With the Princes of Darkness

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                               Daring and Damned

                        Undaunted and Unafraid

                           Loaded with Grit

                Deep in the Grip of Dystopic Decisions

             Diligently Designed to Disenfranchise

                            Dreams Denied

                Dehumanized and Demonized

               Do we Demote Ourselves

                                OR

         Denounce the Dilettantes of Democracy? 

                    Deviate or Endure?

                 Surrender or Succeed?

 

Officially day 1 of the WordPress  Challenge. Day 2 for me!

 

Miss Liberty is Weeping

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Image courtesy of: AmericanIconsTemple – WordPress.com

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Can you hear them?

The thundering hooves of delusional despots

Faces with painted smiles

in a heated hunt

like hounds headed for their prey

Hell-bent on holding down the humble

Heaving them into hovels to hide-away  

Can you see them?

The circling sharks, self-serving, selling and seducing second-rate safety

Can you smell them?

The pussy-footed pustules and pompous panderers promising protection

Make no mistake, the nation will not be “ours” again

 No return to “greatness” or “glory”  

The tide is turning

The disenfranchised

The degraded

Thrown into a rip current

to be drowned

dismembered

and dismissed

While those with the skin of the founding fathers

All mighty and white

Fracture the freedoms of  females

and others lacking fair faces

We are not mere birth vessels

Your slaves and servants once and again 

We cry for our beloved country

We are gutted but not defeated

Shadows with No Light

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You were seen downtown one Sunday morning hanging out at the local cafe’ 

Pretending to be part of the beautiful people in a tony town

 Hung over from a Saturday night of shallow dinner party dialogue

 Getting wasted on wine and secretly lusting after the host’s wife

 to  alleviate the ennui of suburban existence

Your companion is a farce masquerading as a woman “Who knows Who”

 When in reality she is merely a vapid vamp mirroring a myriad of other MLFs 

You fit well with the air kissing crowd, capable of crumbs for conversation

You feed each other tidbits and then fuck each other into oblivion 

Drown your demons if you dare

But heaven and earth will not be moved by your denial

No shifts will occur in the course of your creation

You’ll just descend further towards a self-created hell

 

Day 28. A trip to the dark side of suburbia. No apologies for the epithet. It seemed to fit the message..

Times Before

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Leafing through old photographs

Images of times before the times before

Young ones captured and captivated

in moments of absolute innocence

Times before the times before

Blond curls and waves crown wide open smile

Big brown eyes and chubby cheeks bursting with laughter

Times before the times before

Pure and unconditional love between father and sons

in the Times before the times before

the times before you lost them both

 

 

Day 22.  My oldest and I set about organizing old family albums for the move.  It’s astounding how many photos of the boys I took. Mostly simple moments in the big back yard.  This one came easily for some reason

Mistaken Identity

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An All-American look

An A-Frame Shape

Ass-Kickin Abs

Strong-shouldered

Sleek-skinned

Strapping in Stride

Your Youth Yielded

to the Years spent Yearning

for Daring and Dastardly Dreams

Groping towards Goals of Disingenuous Grandeur

There is Little Left of your Lofty Life

The Face that once glimmered with hope

and turned many a maiden’s head

is but a sunken ship

Moored in the Muck

Wrinkled and Wretched

with the scars of brokeness

etched across your bow

What About Forgiveness?

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I’ve been thinking a lot about the concept of forgiveness lately. I’m not sure I fully understand what it means or maybe I am on a journey towards getting a grip on the whole idea. I am sure that I have practiced it. And I am equally certain that I have been forgiven by others.

I have heard time and again of the importance of forgiveness as it frees you up to let go and move on. But I’m not quite in agreement with that advice.  We are told if we don’t forgive that we are holding onto a grudge or anger or allowing ourselves to continue to be a victim. No, no, no!

Forgiveness is a weighty matter and depends upon the circumstances of another’s transgressions.  It is equally dependent on whether the other party has sought to make amends, take responsibility for the pain caused to the aggrieved party or practice redemptive actions.

If someone has not actively done any of that, how can we really forgive? We can accept what has happened to us, grieve and live the pain for a bit and move on to a new and perhaps (if we are lucky) an even better life. I believe acceptance of what happened to us is not passive in nature at all. My current life is living proof of this fact as many of you who have been following me well know.

Here’s what I can do.  I can compliment my former spouse for making two good decisions in his life: marrying me and divorcing me.  Because he married me, I received two gifts that will last a lifetime and beyond: my sons. They are living proof of two decent human beings who understand life’s purpose and bring joy and steadfast love to their world.  Moreover, because he divorced me, I received a second chance at a better life. Everything that has happened to me, the experiences, the people, the places I have seen and the joy I have known would NEVER have occurred if he did not choose to go. Both my sons and I would have missed out on the riches that all these things have brought to our lives. Imagine that!

So here is what I can forgive: his inability to fundamentally commit to family life. The man just does not have the capacity because of his family of origin’s extreme dysfunction. His original wound has not healed. I have genuine sympathy for that young man who suffered because of one parent’s indiscretions. At the beginning of our life together, neither one of us would know the degree to which this informed our marriage. Over time it increasingly held me hostage and spilled over until it took the form of neglect as well as emotional and verbal abuse.

And that is what I cannot forgive yet.  Do I expect an apology? An acknowledgement?  Maybe. Or perhaps if I saw glimmers of hope in his relationship with our sons I could take that step. So far not so good.

In the meantime, I continue to live out loud. A free woman. Let loose from the chains of harsh criticism and passive aggressive behaviors. Walking lightly-some say floating- on this good earth.

 

Renewed Liberation

 

Haunting Thoughts…

Ruminations and Deliberations …

Affirmations of His Implosion 

His Dearth of Self-Examination 

And Unending Needs for External Gratification

Just  a Twisted Quest for Self Satisfaction

A Mere Existence

Never Present

My Fertile Heart

Unearthed

Revealed

A Treasure for Mine and Another’s own Good Keeping

My Soul once Secluded

Pummeled into Submission and Secrecy

Sings without Restraints and Restrictions

My Mind once Sculpted So as to Please

Unselfishly Speaks for Itself

 A Voice Resonating and Resounding

My Body Once Picked Apart

Used and Discarded

Now  a Scrumptious Delight in the Tender Hands of Another

Where once My Very Being was at Stake

Torn Asunder by the Winds of His Words

I Reemerge Retooled

One Righteous Babe

Ready for Reckoning

 

 

Tilting at Windmills, Still

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A reluctant visit

An obligated progeny

You don’t want to know, he said

The shirt a dead give away

A tidbit told

More evidence of the continued decline and aberration of your soul

The story spins

History repeats

You cannot connect

Instead you show and tell

Gifts for yourself that accent your wealth

While your heirs labor six days

Scrimping and saving

They are neither envious nor angry

Merely filled with abject apathy

And a lack of respect born only

through the silence of their responses

Your brackish bravado

Your quixotic quest to fill the hole in your soul

An obvious attempt to hide from yourself

and the endless moral lapses that once cast a pall and plague

over any who dared to trust you

Void of remorse

Spinning a prevaricating tale

Unaware, Unrelenting

in your pallid pursuits

Practicing your art of deception

with the vapid Senorita at your side