In the making

Faithless in the making

I pray for help from above

I want him to stop hurting me

But I fear I am in love

Wedding bells in my future

White dresses painted red

I can tell he loves me

But maybe it is all in my head

I can hear her scream

From just down the hall

I can hear his laughter

Right before she falls

But I know that he loves me

And wants me forever more

It isn’t my fault that

My daughters such a whore

A/N

People always talk about how a parent should always know if a child is being abused. That as a parent, we have this built-in clock that lets us know if something is amiss. This isn’t true at all. But for those who do know, and ignore, and blame the child…I hate them. I despise them with a passion. How they sit and pretend that everything is ok when it is not. How they make the child out to be the criminal. They are disgusting people and deserve all sorts of pain…..

Yet

In some cases I believe the one who listens and does nothing is often hiding something. They must be sick in the head to let something like that happen.

Yet

Can they be helped?

I wrote this because I wanted to show the world how twisted the brain could be. Here is a mother listening as her child is being hurt and all she can think of is being in love.

Yet

From the words I have written you can tell there is an innocence there that makes it seem like she is not all the way there. Something must have happened to her.

Yet

There is no excuse for this. There is no excuse for allowing your child to be abused. But I fully believe that people need to try to understand the motive behind a crime.

I often think of why my grandmother sat and listened to what happened. I don’t recall her turning up the TV so she must have heard it all. I remember her warning me about it hours earlier. But me being 8 years old, I figured she was lying. grandpa’s aren’t suppose to hurt. They most they should do is tsk at kids. They aren’t suppose to do those things to kids….to anyone. Yet it happened and she sat and listened. I often wonder if she blamed me for his attraction. Did she hate me? Is that why she lied to the police when I finally told. Is that why she still tries to call me and tell me that he misses me and wants to see his granddaughter?

I want to know what she was thinking. I want to get a clear understanding of what was going through her head. Maybe I can properly hate her if I knew. Possibly even forgive.

Yet

There is a part of me that believes I am better off not knowing.

Drinking Daiseys

I wonder if she can see the shadows

If they keep her up at night

I often think it is from my own doing

That I am the reason she feels such anger

It must be my fault

That she can’t seem to shut her eyes

Without whimpering out loud

Sometimes I think she can hear the whispers

Voices telling her it is ok to die

Creepy little people who just love to lie

It must be my fault

I can’t protect her from the pain

I wonder if she tastes ashes

Whenever she greets the sun

Does it drive her insane to stand outside

Feeling all of those eyes

Hearing those screams

Tasting things that will probably never be

I wonder if it is my fault

That she is drowning on her own

A Mothers Love

A baby bird with broken wings

Listen softly as mothers scream

She is distraught and filled with rage

Was forced to carry this vicious egg

Failure is what failure does

Something to which she can never love

Little bird with a broken wing

Such a pitiful and unwanted thing

Gives a whistle to hear sweet sounds

Mother hurries to the ground

Kicks up dirt

Rocks and

Leaves

She is filled with terrible things

But the little bird sees none of this

Moves its wing in for a kiss

A Hug

A gentle touch

All ignored

By the hateful bird

But baby bird does not notice

Filled to much with hope and purpose

Mother bird shudders and drops

Gives a tweet and then flies off

Impressions

I do not hear voices I hear impressions. Emotions without words. I can feel it all bubbling behind my eyes. I don’t see figures but I get the sense that someone is watching me. I can feel them follow me. I can there eyes and every blink they make is registered in my mind.

But no

I do not see or hear people. I never have but how do I explain what I do go through. How do I tell people about my pain? They will judge me harshly and think I am lying. They will take away my daughter and tell me that I am unfit to be her mother. How do I show them that she is the only person in this world I care for. That even as I am fading she is thriving. I give all my enegery to her. Yes, I am dying. Not in the way others may think but in a way that says my body is deteriorating along with my mind. The illness I suffer from is in my head…not in a way that makes it unreal but in a way that shows that it is unseen. I am dying slowly and she is the only thread keeping me intacted. Without her I will die all the sooner.

But how do I ask for help without the world trying to kill me faster?

Thieves cant

The language of a liar has always been good to me.

Recently I have discovered something about myself. I love Chaos…well…not really. I guess what I really love is the idea of chaos. I am the type of person who sits and thinks of all the dark and twisted things that go on in the world and wish it would happen to me.

I am the type to romanticize a kidnapping. When reading books I often wonder why no one falls in love with the villain. I mean sure he is evil but he isn’t evil to you.

There was a movie I watched many years ago where a guy kidnapped a girl and a women in hopes of turning them into a family. At the end they get away from him but I remember being 7 or 8years old and mad at them for doing that. All he wanted was a family. He took care of them. Sure he was a little angry and did some shady stuff but he never hurt them. They should have just stayed and listened.

As an adult I learned that this type of stuff is wrong but I am still drawn to those types of characters in books and movies.

But..when it comes to actual life, I try and stay away from people like that. I am still attracted to dominate people but there if a difference between that and just plain crazy. If a guy yells at me in anger it is over. I lose my shit and will yell at him back. I have been with some guys who liked having control and I don’t mind giving it. But I am truly submissive and will fight anything I do not agree with. I have broken up wirh people because of stupid, controling, and manipulative stuff they have tried to do.

So why in the world am I drawn to these types of stories? Why do I find myself angry with people who don’t stay with the obviously toxic people?

I honestly can’t answer this but it is something that has always bothered me.

I beg your pardon

Excuse me!

Yes You!

One who dares to take a glance with a decent hello.

I dare say I am offended

Because you never say a word

Just look around without a care

Not a word to those who sit here

As though we are invisible

Well screw you.

Well…Not really

I wouldn’t say that

But I would if I wanted to!

I mean…probably not.

I could never be that mean.

I beg your pardon for being obscene.

Just go on about your day

And ignore me