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.

Another Nightmare 4

Did he who made the lamb make me
Or was it a mistake of unseen force
Crawling along the dirty ground
Hissing, protectively, over a dented crown
Did he smile his work to see
When he first laid eyes on me
Did he dare touch in wonder
The greatest visual of his blunder
When the heaven opened up with spears
And swallowed their pity with their tears
Did they water me with grace
Or did they turn from the greatest mistake

Credit to William Blake for being a genuis with a pen and paper (Inspored by (Tyger, Tyger) . Please do not look on me to harshly for ruining a great piece of art.

Third day of Nightmares

I think I am infected

Distracted from a reality that I can’t see

Little visions dancing in my head

Forming solid thoughts about her dead

I can see her body

In this reality so terrifying

I can see her crying

Screaming for me to come save her

But I am to far away

Out of reach my soul is mistaken

Its breaking from this infectious disease

That is eating away at me

Everytime I close my eyes I can see her

Dead as the night that surrounds

These little visions are beyond lethal

And I need her, when I am sleeping

I hold her to my chest

I listen to her every breath

Her heartbeat a drug I can’t give up yet

I am infected

By a reality that can not be

A dream so terrifying

That I can not sleep

Anxiety fills my head

Hate
Can have the strongest meaning
A listless reason with deadened eyes
A hopeless feeling we are sworn to hide
Hate
Can come in shapes undone
A middle finger raised high to the sun
Or an orphaned heart with a well loved gun
Hate
Despite all its misgivings is a powerful tool
Used to spin wishes
Or to make someone a fool

I have no idea where I was going with this but here-

I must wear it like a chain around my neck


A bloody weight specially made of gossamer wings and naivety


For a split second I can see it
A tiny throne for a tiny king


Strong,

holding me upon a dirty bed


Strangers walk by with their stilted lies
throwing their red paint and holy words


A christening by those who curse


It must be hanging like a noose
This tightly woven cradle where tiny kings,
With tiny wings can slumber


For a split second I can feel it


(Tantalizing fingers glimmer, gently brushing remembering the need)


Remembering the greed
It didn’t take that long to bleed


As they tugged and pulled away my flesh
Cutting into my skin like a second dress


I remember it so clearly


Maybe that is why I wear it around my neck
This bloody weight specially made of
Gossamer wings and tenacity


Such a tiny throne for a unwanted king