We Are People (sonnet)

We are not things, we are people you know.
We have feelings and thoughts all of our own.
We have things to do and places to go.
We have people to talk to on the phone.
You are no better than some of us are
But for a twist of fate you would be here.
Some of us are born under the same star.
Some of us just wander throughout the year.
It isn't what you have that makes you glad --
It's what you have that you didn't before...
It's what you do with all the things you have --
It's making the best of a complete bore.
So just don't fight the way things seem to be.
What's true will come to light eventually.

Real Men Don't Rape (collage)

These days there are no words for what I'm going through.  I've found it helps some to make collages, so here's the one I made today:

Survivors with a Voice (sonnet)

He took my body from me as he liked.
He made my very life a living hell.
Now, it seems, I have to stand up and fight
So I don't lose my mind to him as well.
Though I feel the gears slipping a little,
I'm holding on with all that I have left.
Though my soul's scarred and my brain is brittle,
I will fight this to my very last breath.
I'll be damned if I'm going to give up now,
After all the hell he has put me through.
I'll stay together, though I don't know how.
I won't give up. I've got too much to do.
Take the mem'ries and flashbacks and shove them.
Survivors with a voice, gotta love them!

Welcome to the Jungle (sonnet)

So welcome to the jungle, this is just
A taste of what awaits you in the weeds.
I'll let you have a sample, if you must,
I always have what everybody needs.
If pain is what you're seeking, I have it.
Stored up inside by the bushel and peck.
Just look down the hole, follow the rabbit,
And soon you'll be in hell up to your neck.
If love is what you search for, look elsewhere,
For I'm not even certain it exists.
I've been hurt so much by people who "care,"
But I don't know if there's something I've missed.
Won't you join me here in the jungle now?
I'm all alone here, waiting, anyhow.

An Army of Many, But One (sonnet)

The war's been over for many years now,
And most of the troops have long since gone home.
A few soldiers still remain, though, somehow,
And continue to battle on their own.
I don't remember when the first draft was,
Or just exactly why it was needed.
I thought the cadets all went home because
The last of the foes had been defeated. 
But apparently the news never reached
The deepest part of my fragmented soul.
Some must have missed the sermons that I preached.
It may take some time until I am whole.
The war's over, but the work's just begun.
I am an army of many, but one.

New Artwork - Comfort

My therapist told me last week that I need to imagine what it would have been like if someone would have comforted me after the abuse, to imagine what "comfort" would look like to me. I told her I wasn't really sure, but that I'd always imagined how nice it would have been to be wrapped up in my mother's arms and cry on her shoulder, to have her say "it's okay, it's not your fault," etc. So this picture/project is very different from most that I've done recently in that it is more positive and potentially inspirational.

What I would say to survivors of abuse is this -- maybe there wasn't anybody there to rescue you way back when. Maybe you were afraid to tell anyone. Maybe you DID tell someone, but weren't believed. Whatever the case may be, it's NEVER to late to be comforted . . . even if you have to do the comforting YOURSELF.


In my case, I'm simply trying to learn to nurture that part of me, my "inner child," so to speak . . . to hold her and reassure her that everything's okay now, that she's special, she's safe, and she's LOVED.