Do good. Just try it out at random.

So here it is.

A man and his son are walking through the store in front of me. The man says how they have to get back to his brother (obviously his other son) pretty quick and how the brother was not feeling that well. The kid and the man are talking a bit. About how mom was possibly not coming back and the man told him not to worry about it he will find a job soon and he can take care of this. So the son asks for some crayons. The dad says not this week he only has 7 dollars so they need to make this stretch. So I start filling up my cart. Milk, Chocolate milk, two kinds of cereal, eggs, bacon, sausage, hot dogs, chips, mac and cheese, taco stuff, breakfast stuff, lunch meat, cheese, noodles, spaghetti stuff, all kinds till my cart is filled up, I also get crayons and a coloring book. I picked out some snacks and got what I came there for. Orange Juice. I look to the kiddo and to the man and told him if he helps bring the groceries out to my car I will give him a prize for his good deed.

The kid looks to his dad, the dad kind of nods, so I am checking out I toss a couple candy bars on the lane and things go by. The kids arms are getting full but he s trying so hard to carry them all. I grab my OJ, the dad begins to help as well, “no no we got it” he says when I went to reach for something else. I just smiled and told them both thank you. I walk out to my car I tell the kid the crayons are in the bag and I get in, I do not pop the trunk the boy has 4 bags of stuff the dad has 6-10 bags (I’m not really sure how many but his arms are full. ) I tell them thank you. The guy looked at me confused and I told him “I was just here to get orange juice. ” The dad goes “Are you fucking kidding me?” Then I smile he is about crying the kids happy about the crayons and not even paying attention. I say, “Be safe getting home” I start to leave the parking lot, the boy and his dad are kind of dumb founded, The kid is waving. Waving his arms high in the air as he looked at me drive by before they walked back home arms full of groceries and the dad still had his 7 dollars.

My good deed for the day. I had some free money that I probably would have spent on an amazon movie or something like that maybe some more art colors or something. I was not putting my self in debt or anything this was just my spending cash. every cent i had left in my wallet just about went to that cart of groceries.

I feel like a million dollars.

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Thinking back on Craziness.

There was a point in time where I was to young to understand the things that went wrong. My fathers issues of mental stability, my mother and his falling relation ship, and my brother not developing the way the rest of the children had already developed made understanding a very confusing moment in my life. I know much of the time I will joke and laugh about what goes on and try my best to remember the funny things that had happened between my father and I, things that scared me much as a child but as I grew older Is started understand where the break down was.

I had a discussion with my friend,  that made me think in a way that I had not before. See my father, though at times his way was not always logical. Like Captain Kirk who would save an episode by ripping his shirt talking in spasms and making out with the hottest alien he could find… it was that kind of mentality that made little to no sense what so ever. Least not to me, but looking back on this I can see there was try, but every choice he made was wrong.

Unfortunately no is alive who is able to give me the correct answer. No one is still able to tell me the truth and to be honest some times I am too frightened to think of bringing it up in fear he may have a mental break down.  So in spite of everything I put my self in my father’s position for a moment and looked in his eyes and this was the answer I could come up with, though it sounds foolish and ridiculous. I do not know the whole story, but this is how it went.

My mother and father were on the break, my mother had found out about a fling, and this fling had a name. Anyway the fling was ending the relationship between my mother and father and everything was going down hill. My brother was always so ill and so he would of never survived. But me, I was strong always strong. So I think my dad was trying to set himself up to be a hero.  There was a very cold winter in about 85 when all was said I was taken from my home and went missing.

Thinking back I don’t remember anything but waking up in the cold being in a night gown and being set in a blanket by the fire. I remember the snow falling and my dad there and he was telling me not to move. To stay put and he would be back in a few days. He left food and water and he would be back. there was plenty of firewood. I don’t know at the time where I was so I could not walk back home. I could not really walk i didn’t have snow slippers on I remember sitting and watching the stars and I felt safe only for small moments between passing out.

How many days was I missing? Some family have said 3, others say a week but I do not remember. I just remember the days went by and he would check on me, but I was cold I thought I was being punished for leaving a toy on the kerosene heater or I had burned down the house.. or something I had done went horribly wrong. It was hard to tell hard to understand at that age.

But then there was lights one late night. I could not feel my fingers or my toes, my face hurt so bad and then there were more light and talking out in the woods.  Calling my name and at first i said nothing, I did not know the voices. But then they saw the fire and found me wrapped me up and put me in the car. It was vague after that. Part of me wants to believe that he was going to rescue me to look like a hero. The other part believed that my brother and his condition was something that really damaged my father mentally. He blamed himself for the outcome of my brothers Muscular Dystrophy and it was so hard for him to be around him. So the other part of me thinks he would of kept me if mother left.

For the honest truth my dad is not a vindictive or evil man. He is loving and kind, but he would give everything to so many. However he is the first be walked on and I know this more then anyone else. I have watched it and it is slightly passed in the DNA.

I do miss him, I miss his jokes and watching him and my uncle talk to each other was the most normal moments from him. He could make me laugh for hours just listening to the two of them talk. It is so heart breaking that I never get to see those things now. Do not get me wrong there were scary times, there were funny times to. Even though I am saying these things it is not out of hurt. I was alone in a time when kids understood what alone was. I followed the rules because I understood what happened when they were broken, things were ruined people got hurt.

Setting my toy on the kerosene heater to get it warm before bed  was always my greatest sin, so many times I nearly burned the house down over the want for a warmed pound puppy. So thinking back with all that happened. I truly think my father was trying to fix things and look like a hero, though his idea failed. His chance to redeem himself was cut short. For a long long time, dad was always my hero, even if he was a little unorthodox.

Baby Steps

I am actually probably going to be killing myself. Not in the manner of suicide or anything like that. But in the drawing of change, the old me needs to die off. So with much hard work I hope the transformation I make over the next 8 months will do so. I am burning for a new life, not matter if it is hard or not. I am burning for a new experience.

I have watched the same paintings for to long, locked in a gallery that has the music on repeat and it had fried the inner working of my brain. I feel numb, the comprehension of thought has left me and I am wondering if my voice even registers to the ears of others. So often I am repeating, so often I am on constant lingering of the day before. It is as if the taste of yesterday shall never leave my tongue. Coating it in the thrush of past fungus. It is with in these days m,y determination is changing I am feeling brighter.

I have been called light. I want to be my own light. I want to shred the wooden cages from my form and burst free my wings of bliss and rapture. There is a medicine and one I had never tried. Pride.

 

Baby steps no more walking on water no more.. It is do or die. My wings are open I no longer want to drown, breaking free with wings for the sky.

 

Let me fly.

I am my own worst enemy.

I am my own  worst enemy. I tend to obsess over things I want, and there fore crush it. I tend to forget to laugh when it is needed. And my mind reminds me of humor when it is not. I have this emotion for something and I enjoy it so I want nothing more then to make the others feel that emotion with me.

Obsession and Deception play the main key and paranoia dances in to. I am nervous and lost my focus on the world and where I am from. It is often when I get horribly sad or paranoid, or filled with anxiety that I revert back to my father. I have tried my whole life not to be like him. To not flip out with the episodes he has. The violent ones, the non violent ones, laughable or tear jerking moments that are bore in to my brain.

The walls of my mind are graffiti, they are painted in a display of colors that often seem to be beautiful and avid to the times and events that I was going through. However the years of wear and tear of the highway of my emotion has left more of the stains of life traffic to cover up the beauty that was placed there by others. A simple few artists have come in to my life to inspire and create passion with in me. As much and as often as I try to hold on to such a memory it is the day light traffic of doubt and deception that others have displayed, soot and smog fills the streets of my existence and the once was beautiful inspiration is now covered in the tar of polluted thoughts. 

I walk the railway of wonder. I cease to remain the puritan of the decision crafted. My inspiration to rob me of all happiness and joy over takes me in the black cloak of regret and remorse and I can do no more then envy those who can smile. My memory is a factor and as much as I do not want the truth to come out about the changes in my life I know well I will have to. There is no way for me to shed this cloak of night off. It has been welded in to my flesh and when I feel its gone, for ever how briefly it remains and hits me so.

Earlier this year the events took place where the crate of my demons were locked away. The hinges were released and what I had through was over is far from it. My sleep has left me. Hours pass and yet my mind goes back. It is hard to be afraid of the bed. I do not think that anyone can really know that fear. That place of pillowed dreams and true relaxing, when laying upon it alone is the fear.

Not because I am alone, that is only one part, but because of events I could not end. Years of it. No matter how many times I have changed the bed, no matter how often I have changed location I had not felt safe till Pensacola. Now returning back to my habitat of the Missouri depths I find myself with the stains of tar and pollution filling my mind. The focus groups reminds me I am not the same person I was when I was a child.

Really? When had I switched bodies? When did I jump out to be someone else? I am running now more then ever, I keep running, the track of my shoes have lost the treads and my knees ache from the morning jogs. I am loosing the sight of my protection in this move. Never have I been more scared but then to return to the hell-mouth of my birth city. I am glad the world wants me there but I do not. The simple listing on the sexual assault and predators are on every single block. I can do nothing more then curl down in the unrealized horror of what may to come.

Months before I am to return, my assailants who murdered me as a teen contacted me, via the power of the net, only to remind me I have been missed. There is no justice for me and nothing can or will ever be done to them. Nothing will ever be spoken to them. As much as I cried and bled for some form of justice it was always bound to being this lie. No one could ever believe no one was bound to listen. I could show it, I could speak it. I envy the lives of the mundane so much. I would kill to have the normal life of worrying about what outfit would go with my shoes. I would of killed to be that woman who was more worried about accessorizing then the one who is more worried about her flesh being marred with something that will never be removed.

Memories, are just as deadly as blades, and memories will scar and burn your flesh and form faster then any other. . My painted walls of beauty are filling up in the flood of despair and as much as the life line I wish was handed to me it is still to far for me to grasp it. I am bound in weights and as much as I try, slipped fingers to grasp on to that line, I sink.

I drown.

I am still drowning.

I am the woman who is afraid of the bed. Who needs it to be filled with someone I trust so I can sleep. I am the woman who is scared of her emotions, for they run so deeply I am always cut. I need someone to share them with and lightened the load of their impact. I want to give them to others. Happiness comes to me not by making myself happy, but by allowing my words to affect others and see them smile. I am the woman who hides her face, because her family is so filled with beauty that she is not. For the short moments I was believing otherwise and now. I am drowning again.

 

 

Reading Rainbow

Reading Rainbow

This happens to be my favorite childhood memory. This is perhaps one of the most rewarding things as a child that I could remember. To know that LeVar is working on bringing it back is such an amazing task. He had done so much he had made so many differences in so many lives I do not think he will ever understand the change for the books. Every week I would watch and hope for what book would come out that I could read or even hear about. I never was one who was allowed to be at the library often but my love of books comes from him.

 

If you have not had a chance to donate to the kick starter please do. The more donations the more schools this will affect. The more classrooms this will be available in. I do not normal ask for support but this is amazing. The Culture field trips is something I always wanted to give my children. But LeVar always did so quite easily, I was involved with Magicians and clowns and puppetry all through him.

 

Memorial Day

Momma, hey momma, come lookin’ for me
I’m here in the meadow by the red maple tree
Momma, hey momma, look sharp, here I be
Hey, hey, momma look sharp

Them soldiers, they fired. Oh ma, did we run
But then we turned round and the battle begun
Then I went under, oh ma, am I done?
Hey, hey, momma look sharp

My eyes are wide open, my face to the sky
Is that you I’m hearin’ in the tall grass nearby?
Momma come find me before I do die
Hey, hey, momma look sharp

I’ll close your eyes, my Billy
Them eyes that cannot see
And I’ll bury you, my Billy
Beneath the maple tree

And never again will you whisper to me
Hey, hey, momma look sharp

 

– – – – – – – – – – – –

I love the movie 1776, but this one song out of all them stuck in my mind. I am lucky enough to have the members of my family live through the time they served. I am more then lucky to know so many who have still survived their terms. But to know the few who had fallen in my families line. I am grateful to those who serve.

I believe in the fight for the protection of children and the education of all those who live.

Thank you for serving to give us the freedom for education and the protection for the preservation of children’s innocence.

 

My road of glass

I walk along a road paved with glass
Splitting the souls of my feet as time continues to pass
the aching walk I have done I do alone
allowing me to bleed till  long after I’m gone

I dont expect you to run to my aid
I dont want you to be there when I cave
falling to my hands and knees
where the slits continue to cover me

It is the blanket of depression
that wraps about my confession
in truth it gags me unconditionally
robbing the chords to speak freely.

I do not ask for you to walk beside me.
this path is mine alone so let me be
Maybe one day I can wander off
Finally free of this blood stained cough.

It is a mechanism
this depresionism
that covers up the soul
It is a chance of forgetting
the all brutality that conintues to eat me whole
it wraps in chains and sways it form
dangeling on thee hook
but the bait if over made
the chord is carried taunt
I want to never give a secon look

Each bloody step in its profound march
leaves me towards the light and from the dark
Something yearning in embers
 burning where my heart remains
locked in prisons only asylumn
where none can gather truth
but the guard will stare
taunt the actions of my youth

Bleed with me on willows end
 and watch the trees there weep
fight with me and to defend
the ones who carry so sweet.
for it is those eyes I gaze
unwinding and unbound
the freedom of those orbs
that I shackle my self to the groung

Suffer not the child
the coind of phrase is mine,
for I walk my path of glass
and make sure none follow behind

Carry them high on bloody steps
and let me take the pain
for thier smiles and laughter
are the memories that remain.

Drunken Poetry Contest – A riddle of me.

What I Drank:
Amaretto and Pineapple.

A riddle of me:

I remember thinking backwards
When my stories made more sense
When lyrics came out in verse
Instead of staggered on the fence.

No words have you yet you scream in bars
What ever shall you do?
When your visions begin to dance and sway
And reality has long since left you?

Ode to a Toad
You scream hey nonnie nonnie
Repeating words like the talking butterfly
Walking around befuddled and dumb-drunkie

Tipping glasses and breaking plates
No whole in the ground you’d evict
A rightful dwarf you would make.
With less dire needs nor self crucifix

Still wondering the backwards game?
Forgotten all my rhyme?
My passion lies in things I read
Without the reason of the time.

Whats printed on the page
Or in book or tombstone head
Are things for you and I
Lest we rest upon lasts bed.

But lyrics voices and words of true
remain when best they shared.
When children sing of silly games
And legends they have heard.

For give me not my ramble scramble
and mix up of different tales
Here I am as a Kitsune
all them tied along the rails.

Nine of them for you and me,
Fine breed of readers creed
have we forgotten where I was?
Oh yes, and to speak the deed.

Manners manners forget them all,
After all this you know not me
You call to old and fiction stays
Come dance in the rain and you will see.

I am small to the eye
An inch or so
best reflected on the page
No matter what page each phrase I know

As “All the world is a stage!”
From mad scientist to sultans harem
Still no bells? My Ring-a-Ding-Ding Kid?
A libraries pet, the book worm.