Please don’t sue me

I have read a lot about domestic violence. In some cases I find myself blaming the victim and in others I can sympathize with them. I believe it is only human to lean one way or the other with hearing of such terrible things. Yet there is one thing that pisses me off. The idea that men can not be victims of abuse. Or if they are it is only those in same-sex relationships. This is because time and time again people respond to cases with a male victim that he is just weak. Men should be able to stand up to women. Cases where men do not mean that they are weak and deserve it. So what if they got raped, they should enjoy the free sex.

Right?

It is bothersome really…no that is not the correct word. I feel a much stronger emotion when faced with the people who believe in those things. Yes, male victims are statistically lower but they are still important. Men should be allowed to come forward without being ridiculed and hated…or envied. What is wrong with people that they envy such an encounter???

I have read a lot about domestic violence. I am human in the way I judge the situation. But no matter the reason I believe that everyone has the right to justice. Everyone has a right to be heard. Everyone has a right to seek freedom without…judgement.

Thanks for coming.

Side note: Stop shitting on LGBT couples people. Seriously I have read a crappy ton of books lately and why is it that every book I have read someone is leaving an abusive relationship. Find another reason to make people break up LGBT authors. Seriously. Can’t we have them break up over something mundane like not being in love anymore. Or just like idk maybe one of them had to move away for a job. Or hell kill one of them. In the last 30 books I have read with a romantic theme pretty much 70% of them had something to do with someone leaving an abusive relationship. Granted I am reading a series where everyone and they momma got a sob story but come on!! I read a lot about domestic violence, from real life stories to fictional ones. Sob stories are kind of my thing if you haven’t been able to tell.

Apologies

“I’m sorry” but I do not think she can hear me. Wishful thinking on my part. That this simple taunt could bring her back to me.

“I am sorry’

What a lie. I know that is not how I feel but try as I might, she still will not open her eyes.

I question my motives as I lay a kiss on her lips. Another on her cheek as I think of my reasoning. Before long her face is covered with my unknowing. As if the space on her face will give me all my answers.

“I am so sorry” I lie again as tears burst forth from my throat and I lay a hand on her chest. Another comes to take my place as I slowly walk away.

“I am sorry”

“So sorry”

I mean it.

My halloween celebration

It is not a voice…more of a feeling. A tiny tinge in the back of my head. One that says I am better off dead. One that forces my attention to a blade. I bet it would be heavenly if I gave in. There is no voice. Nor any figure standing over me. It is more of a feeling that I need to bleed. It touches me with such gentle wishes. Catches my attention on some swaying bridges. Just a skip and a jump and it would be over with…done. This voice, no, this feeling, will have won… I think it would be better if it had won.

History Maker

A painter standing

Tips a brush dripped in koi blood

And dashes off the excess

Before applying a swipe of oppression

On a canvas filled with a traitors jest

He rest his hand in a still life rendition

To a crowd of a white washed plague

A painter standing in ovation

Tearing into another bottle of ink

He is not done tainting this history

A paint brush dipped in koi blood

A canvas of a nation that once was

He makes a mark that may just last

To a crowd of reflective glass

I did it

Looking back now I am not sure how I reached this point. I think apart of me is scared that this will all end up being a dream. She won’t be here sleeping next to me. Instead I will be in am empty room. In a house filled to the room with depression and regret. I would possibly…I may even be dead.

But I did it. And looking at her. I can’t help but be afraid. I do not think I am enough. But in the end. Even that fear is worth it.

I love you my sunshine.

house on the end

a blackened hole with a twisted tongue

unhinged and jaded by a lie not won

i turn to whisper at a page

i turn to shudder at the pain

because there are stories not yet spilt

on this dangerous land we have not built

ancestors screaming in distress

for they have started to fear their rest

i am nothing though filled with dread

with writhing maggot living in my head

a blackened hole and twisted tongue

ancestors voicing lies not yet won

only to turn another whispered page

and gratify myself with its rage

this is a story not yet spilt

of a cursed home i am to scared to see built

A/N Normally I do not talk about the inspiration for my post but this one I had to include. This poem came to me while looking at one of my friends creations. They had sewed together a bag that I just absolutely adore. Being able to see every step they took to making it. The energy, the heart, the literal blood at times, made me appreciate those who craft with their hands even more. Now, I am not gifted as they are, and even though I found some inspiration in what they had made, I had to show it another way. This is my creation and I am forever grateful for the support my friend has given me.

In return I am sharing Laurens work. If you like this poem please take a look at their Etsy page. They make custom work and are more than willing to work with people to get them that desire. Most, if not everything, is one of a kind. So if you like standing out and being unique, give it a go, if not, still leave them some love!! They will surely appreciate it.

And Yes, this earring combo is on sale!