secrets

Dear Reader

Who are you?

Silent in that dark booth,

Voyeur of my fantasies,

Aspirations, Tribulations,

What kind of statisfaction are you getting?

Clicking on my confessions,

Scrolling through my history,

Do I remind that you're beautiful?

Ugly?

Do I remind you of your former self?

Before you got old and dull?

Jaded by your own amaranthine?

Somehow my flirtations with death,

Convert you back to life,

My longing heart,

Sews a stitch in yours,

Drop another quarter in the slot,

Behind your privacy glass dear reader,

Like some dutch whore house,

2am on your exotic vacation,

You reek,

Like booze, cheap ones,

Your lips are peeling white, like icebergs slamming together,

You don't smoke but you bought a pack,

Your tie is so loose it might as well be wrapped around your forehead,

Eyes red skin green,

You barely staggered into this place,

Now you're cutting through the red lights and cigar smoke,

Trying to find that door you opened last time, aren't you?

I suppose I'll never know,

After all I'm the one on display,

And we both know why we're here,

Just sit back and relax,

Let me cut myself open,

For you,

Tell me how you like it,

When I bleed.

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Prolougue - The Day before my Freshman Year Summer 2012

I just had an epiphany.

The day before my freshman year in highschool... or it might have been July third, I asked my mom to go on a ride with me. I was going to come out to her. We drove around and little was said, I cried alot and I didn't come out. It reminds me of Fun Home "Telephone Wire."  

This book is everything I wanted to say that night that I couldn't. A culmination of thoughts and anxiety that I can't keep to myself. 

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secrets.

You never deserved anything

Nor did I

 

But I did not deserve

Any of the secrets you held

And any of the things you've done

 

On your own

When you told me I couldn't

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19 and Naïve

WARNING: This is a heavy piece of writing that deals with the topic of sexual assault through relaying a survivors experience of date rape. If you are offended or sensitive to this subject matter, then please refrain from reading this particular piece. 

 

To everyone else: I wanted this piece of writing to channel the various feelings, thoughts, and overall experience of what it's like to go through such a horrific experience. It's choppy, it's scattered, and it's devoid of warmth. It's as though you're watching these events occur, but you aren't really experiencing them. You're disconnected; dissociated. To the survivors of sexual assault, my heart goes out to you and I know your many pains. For me, writing about my experiences has provided more healing than any shrink or pills ever could. 

I'm always here to talk if anyone ever needs a listening ear, or sounding board. 

You're not alone.

 

-G.B

 

 

19 and naïve

Lonely

Desperate

 

She rides the 5E down the line

It's 11 PM

Past her bedtime

Work in the morning, she'll sleep in

 

One shot,

One night,

One boy who never paid her mind

 

Cold, it's the Dead of winter. She takes off a glove and fixes her hair

 

He's finally noticed her

She's coming at his midnight beckon

 

Houses with closed blinds fly past the window

Ever closer to her destination

 

her heart beats in rhythm to the bumping of tires over potholes

 

A man boards the bus,

waves a glove in her face

Crazy wide eyes and alcohol on his breath,

insanity pours out of a poisoned mouth

 

She sidles past and steps outside,

Cold air punches her lungs and leaves her gasping

 

She's walking

Walking

Walking

 

Towards the house in the middle of the street

 

The house he's waiting for her in

Waiting

Waiting

Waiting for his chance

 

Stopping at the porch, he welcomes her with open arms,

Tall and strong, enveloping her in a disconcerting embrace

 

They enter,

A staircase leads up

 

to a room

 

The room

 

The room with posters

And a laptop

And an inflatable mattress

 

'We're going to watch a movie'

 

It's not a question

 

We are

I am

 

I sit, but he wants to lay

His voice slithers wet and heavy in my ear

 

'You want it, but I'm not giving it to you'

 

My brain starts to ache

Confusion

Throat becomes sandpaper

I've forgotten how to breathe

 

I don't want it

 

Hands now roaming my body without permission 

Shallow compliments fall on me and explode in a queasy stomach

 

I'm going numb

His mouth on mine

This isn't how I imagined it

 

Fighting back against bile rising in my throat

 

When did I become naked

 

He tells me I want it

 

I still don't

 

What happened to the movie

I just wanted a movie

 

He's inside me

Everything hurts

His face is ugly

And I think I hate him

 

He tells me to shut up

 

I can't

 

A hand strikes me

 

Shocking

Stinging

 

'I told you to be quiet'

 

Strong hands now hug my throat

A violent embrace

I want to cough

I can't

 

Squeezing

Gripping

 

Spots dance before my eyes

 

Tears threaten to fall

Please don't betray me

Trying to maintain

 

I can't

 

 

He grabs my face

 

'Are you crying?'

 

There's amusement in his voice

It's a game to him

 

He soothes me

Wipes my tears

Before resuming

 

Mouth to my ear again

Hissing

Growling

 

'I love raping you

 

I love raping you

 

God it's good

 

Dirty whore

 

I know you love it'

 

I'm there for years

I think I flew away  for a few of them

 

Up

Up

Out of the room with the inflatable mattress

Out of my body

 

The body that rejected me

Made this happen

Nightmare

 

It's finally over

A lifetime has passed

I never knew a body could feel like this from the inside

 

I am dirty

Defiled

Hurting

Alone

Angry and

 

Betrayed

 

Now downstairs,  he pulls me on his lap

Another man is there and they casually chat

They're laughing

 

I'm sick

 

And I think he is too

 

Going home now

I'm back

I'm alive

(I think)

 

It's so cold

 

I work tomorrow

 

I'm going to sleep in

 

 

Of A Woman Named Rain

Eyes closed.

 

The distant sound of lazy, rolling waves caresses your ears. You're no stranger to patterns and repetition, but the predictable noise of the tide is somehow different, somehow comforting.

 

Inhaling deep breaths of salty air that carries the song of no responsibilities or cares, you revel deeply in the foreign sensation of utter tranquility. 

 

A bird calls from somewhere nearby and it shakes you only slightly from this dream like reverie.

 

A perfect escape.

 

You find yourself humming along to the tune of the breeze as it playfully ruffles your hair; the thought of sangria crosses your mind for a brief moment, but drinks are best for leaving the office behind.

 

And right now, you're in paradise,

no liquor required.

 

You stretch sore muscles, still stiff from sitting in that damned chair for what feels like days on end. The warm tropical air seems to breathe life back into a weary body.

 

Your shoulders momentarily shudder. The weight of your normal life unexpectedly seeps in like an unwanted visitor.

 

Guilt.

 

You fumble and struggle to push it out of your mind and refocus again on the warmth of the midday sun against your face.

 

Outside of this place, there's a storm. A relentless hurricane that batters against stability; torrential rains pound against buildings and flooded streets keep you trapped in that  office.

 

It's a dreary and abysmal existence.

 

If you think hard enough, you can recall a time when the sun would shine bright, and the sky was an endless sea of the richest blue.

When birds chirped melodies and the trees gladly borrowed  shade with leafy green palms.

 

Yet what once was life in technicolor gave way to dismal greyscale, and soon the rains came. What was supposed to be a season stretched on for uncomfortable lengths, and one day  you realized the storm was here to stay.

 

The relentless showering of water upon rooftops, and the continual howling of angry wind was enough to drive a man mad.

 

Yet you'd caught glimpses of the sun a few times- the briefest moment when the blanket of sullen grey cracked, and for those few seconds, hope was renewed.

 

Hope that the sun may yet shine again, that the birds may return; the only memories of the storm now collecting in raindrops rolling off their feathers.

 

It wasn't much, but it kept you holding on, and that's when you stumbled upon the secret place. A hidden corner of the world, somehow untouched by the storm outside.

 

It was the best and worst thing you could have discovered.

 

Each visit was a small slice of paradise, a break from watery misery, but your footprints tracked muddy reminders of bleak reality every time you entered. You feined ignorance but couldn't turn a blind eye to what was happening.

 

White sands, gradually staining with the murky darkness of the storm.

 

So often you mused to yourself if this place was your savior, or ultimate damnation.

For as pleasant and relaxing as it was, the nagging guilt of leaving others outside  as you indulged in relief left you walking back into the downpour with your head down,  and heart heavy.

 

It was impossible to tell if this tropical escape was necessary for staying your sanity, or if it was only a matter of time before it too fell prey to the swallowing blackness looming on the doorstep.

 

Only the roaming hands on the clock face of life could know the answer you searched for. And if you were honest with yourself, nothing else could quite compare to the way this beachy escape could make you feel. It stirred a long dormant part of you awake, and to lose this secret cove could feel like severing a lifeline.

 

You needed this.

 

For a man can only take so much mud and water squelching in his shoes before he slips under the same floods that have claimed so many before him.

 

"Perhaps, just perhaps, ignorance truly is bliss"

 

With renewed clarity, you dig your toes beneath warm sands  while the seagulls call, and a smile of contentment settles on your face.

 

When the breeze blows just right,

 

and the waves crash in tune,

 

you can nearly drown out the sound of the wailing winds behind you.

 

 

Black Pearl

The world is mine and yours to find.

Treasures within are secrets to kill.

Nothing comes easy, sacrifices to be made.

Sense is a gift yet humans are numb.

Pets you are for puppets in the light.

Open your eyes for days turning to dark.

To those who are ignorant, sorry be my lust.

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tags:

Parade of Despair

Through the wet and rainy streets,
Cloaked in the liar's contacts. and bloody sheets
You know not of where you go,
But the blood you walk over and sew.

In this time, you believe you are okay,
Okay with murder that goes throughout the day
Through the homeless cries and terror
It's not your life or your own error

What's another's heart to hold in your hand mean?
If it doesn't give you the satisfaction and the attention of a queen?
Maybe somewhere, within your sickest dreams
Perhaps piercing the thickness, you can hear humanity screams
and in some part of your mind you care,
Or fail again, laughing maniacally as the blood drips in cold despair

Somehow, their commotion to you is entertaining
The bickering and troubles all the more sustaining
and yet somewhere, deep down, you realize it's not right.
But the sickness blinds you again, back again in the fright

Morality is like your brother, inside your mind, telling you it's wrong
But your voice cries out more louder, constantly crying, "But do I belong?"
and the shadow creeps in control of your hands and strikes again,
Like an old friend you've parted with that was poison, comes back attempting to explain

They say you are fine and you will be okay.
Like you say, except you are actually mentally astray
As the hand of sickness inside your mind plans out the next move
In reality you are empty, she says you have nothing to prove

The disgusting woman that is called society
Bringing forth what you tell others is anxiety
She holds you tight, like a incoherent mother
Whispering to you as she smothers you "There is no other"

Somehow throughout all that you have, depression calls,
Your father, comes to tell you "Despite the beautiful colors, you live within empty walls"
You cry for them to stop speaking
But they stop for none, they continue their horrid shrieking

As you fall to the ground, you try to escape by sleeping,
But it's only for a few hours, and time is weeping
You try to deny the things that you have mean and done
You salute to the cracked, and broken blurred skies of failure, and with it a black sun
Forever bringing a slanted shadow, that was once you, pleading "Bring me back, this wasn't really fun"

You yearn for something deep down, but without purpose for some reason
and your faces change again and again, like the months and the season
You know not anymore of what the world means to you
Forever alone you will be, cursed, trapped in your built igloo.

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Honesty

Miss yall guys ! We can just pick up where we left off! I can make food and yall can finish opening presents 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I'm burnt out on work. I feel frustrated with life. There's nothing that fills this emptiness inside me. I want my first love of Christ back. I want to feel free. My chest, heart, soul aches. Im deepened with a real sadness that penetrates the depth of my being. I try so hard and am a good person. I always try to act as if God is always watching. However, I feel like I am misunderstood. I don't like but only a few people in my life. And really it's only a few. This world is not my home yet I continue to allow it to be. I'm caught up in a life that feels like it's for all the Wrong reasons. The things that really matter to me and the desires I have in my heart are being put on the back burner. I want to live a life of holiness. I want to spread the word of Christ. I want to feel his presence all around me. I want fellowship of brothers and sisters in Christ. I want to be around people who live life according to his purpose. . I feel like I'm wAsting precious time. Lord awaken me from this deep slumber! Bring me to your throne! And let me find and follow the path you drew out for me many many years ago. 

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tags:

Curses Too Kritic/ Invocations From The Soul- Part Three

These curses I evoke are the

words spoken by angels,

toking knowledge and wisdom,

an invitation to eat from the

tree of life...become a God; the

difference between a schizo and

I, a schizo does not believe I

am God-

 

I cannot pray, the tongues I

speak are not angelic...my

language is unholy; time after

time temptation became a friend

too trust, my life balances on
different scales now; what I

knew and the unknown-

 

The end of my journey began

the day I was born...invocations

of death at my front door, I

welcome her in, stays for awhile

then leaves in an uproar; she
says I am conspiring to kill
her from my existence...she does

not know death/her is more alive

than me-

My curse is poetic, too narrate my

life with pain and roller-coaster

emotions; an empty feeling without

being empty...became a father only

too miss my daughter daily, if I sleep
tonight I will shed tears of sadness

before I slumber-

 

Broken, yet stronger after each fall

too stand tall again, take a few steps

and fall again...judges keep your jury
silent, throw away your verdict;

judge my soul, critic my efforts when

I am standing up...everyone falls!

 

Outside my window the wind blows

and whistles, tree leaves rattle,

whispering; no vacancy in the

gallows, fire away...my ammunition

are these words I convey, "While
you creep, your soulmate sleeps

with the poet unknown, daydreaming
unknown dreams, consciously lost in

lust."

 

Soulkritic® 2014©



Author's Notes/Comments: 

Curses and Invocations....

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