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crumbling grace & scoured petals

image: ghostbones flickr creative commons

i awoke to the sensation of something slimy touching me. touching me. first my hand. this pulsing, hardened thing. pulsing and slimy. and then ... then other places. i felt that slimy pulsing hard thing rub against my tummy, my chest, and .... i have this image of the thing in my mouth. gagging. quietly gagging. and i carry this image of the thing in my head. and my body remembers that i saw the thing alot. alot. and my body remembers that it hurt. that it felt ugly. made me feel ugly. inside. and out. and flawed.

i remember you sitting on me once on the toilet. you would take it upon yourself to invade my privacy every chance you got and touch me. touch me. coz you couldn't keep your fucking hands off me. and your fucking dick in your pants and away from me. were you wearing pants? i don't remember seeing them. did you visit kay's room too? (before she died, she said you did things.) was that before or after your visits to my room? do you think mum bought that 'checking on the girls' excuse all along? or is that why you liked to stay up later than mum?

image: artist unknown

i know you spied on me ... lurked about ... (among other things) while i slept, or pretented to sleep. did you know? that sometimes i pretended? i know you did things. ugly things. things involving your penis. i remember having bladder infections. severely. all the time. i remember the way of our household. doting, touchy-feely, controlling father and emotionally absent mother. and, i remember what mother said to us girls: 'i don't love you or you' ... 'i'm gonna kill myself and it'll be all your fault' ... is this why? is this why she said those things? because she knew?

i remember your rules and control. of us, your girls. YOUR baubles ... existing solely for your pleasure. i remember how your forbade us from going to sleepovers. and from having any of our own. i remember the visits. flashes. bits. shards. and the way you owned me. invaded me. violated me. my body remembers. remembers the sensation of you, violating me. scouring my tender, frail flower. scouring my insides. imagine steel wool scouring an orchid. that's what it felt like. SCOUR. pieces of me flaked away with each thrust. you erased me ... eroded me. with your slimy sandpaper thing. with your sandpaper lust.

image: flickr creative commons

pieces of my heart flaked away.
to nothingness.
again. and again. and again.
my heart flaked away to nothingness.
painful. searing. desolate.
you reduced me to nothingness.

i hold no grudge. i feel no desire for revenge. but i have closed my heart to you. and i feel repulsed by your touch. and your desperate, silent pleas for mercy. i hold no grudge. i feel no desire for revenge. but i do not surrender forgiveness. and i never will. your grace grotesquely crumbles. and i feel pangs of sadness. for you. for me. for what could have been. if only. if only. and now? what do you expect? how dare you expect anything! that's what my bruised raven heart cries out, in the dark of night, when my body cannot sleep. you took a gentle dove in your hands. and you pressed. suffocated. choked the life from it. and your grace grotesquely crumbled.

and flakes ... of you ... of me ... fall, piercing, sinking. gashing at my sanity.

eviscerating my pysche.

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/bark bark bark

grrrrrrrrrrrrrrl point me in the right direction and i will tear a throat out. grrrrrrrrrrrrr. hard to read but you write i well.


K9 is so cool!

Nothing like that ever happened to me though I have had parellel experiences. Men invade woman all the time......and often women let them. Lest I sound as though I am demonozing men I will add that a lot of this is a result of misunderstanding one another not always evil intentions by men. I don't think that men are taught enough about woman and that woman are taught enough about men. A woman has to be open to sex before it is enjoyable and everywhere society pushes woman to be sexual objects that this is part of being a woman....and pushes men to think that part of being a man is conquesting woman. I can only speak as a woman and I will say that I think many girls and young woman are pressured into being sexual before they are ready and when they don't want to and that this is very damaging. Even when the girl chooses to do it, I don't think it is always a choice from the heart and they probably don't even know this themselves. I'm sure it is very confusing to men, because the woman are sending out messages that they want it and give every indication that they do, but deep down inside they don't really...they are doing what they feel is expected of them.

Eventually a heart can feel like yours even without experiencing what you experienced. I'm not trying to trivialize what you said....of course I know that it is not the same, but this is the only way that I can relate...since it didn't happen to me. Being sexual is part of being a woman but being a sexual object and being treated by one and feeling that you have to allow yourself to be treated like one perverts it all. A woman can choose this, mindful of what she is doing and not taking it seriously, just having fun with it then it isn't so bad...I guess. If that makes sense. But a girl cannot. Sometimes you don't even realize how badly you have damaged yourself until you are older.

I work with some people who are really 'old school'. They make comments about how it is the woman's duty to take care of her man. I don't know about you, but as soon as something, no matter what it is, becomes a duty....that is the last time I will ever enjoy it! You're situation is the worst case scenario of that whole attitude...don't you think that it all stems down to this at the bottom somehow?

It's all such a mess. None of this is talked about.....not just child molestation but respecting your own body. And I think that somehow men disrespect themselves too when they are in this mode, though that is something that doesn't often get discussed. Men are often demonized and that gets us nowhere in the end because it mekes any kind of discussion impossible. Though in your case, I don't have a problem with demonizing. Sorry, I have no sympathy for child molestors. It is one of the most awful things that one human being can do to another.

Every once in awhile MTV or somebody will decide to have an awareness campaign about respecting your body and saying no to sex if you aren't ready but it is so hypocritical being that all of the videos etc....belie everything that they just said. Kids see this..they aren't stupid.

So you have all of these parents who decide to bring their children up in the church or something. "The church teaches values," they say. And I suppose that it can but this way, that causes éverything to be FORBIDDEN which is what created all of the temptation to begin with!

Parents need to be gut-level honest with their children about all of this. And they can't be honest with their children unless they are first honest with themselves. They have to really talk about what it means to have sex. And I don't mean teaching them in terms of the morals involved. They need to be taught about how indiscrimanate sex can rob you of pieces of your soul.

I have known parents who teach their children that having sex is natural and nothing to be ashamed of....tell their girls that they will buy them the birth control pill if they want to have sex. But children are different than adults and this seems to me to be assuming that the child has the same understanding that you do. I do believe in getting your girl birth control if she decides to have sex of course, but there is something a little off about that whole approach too.

Well, you are very gut-level honest. I'm not sure that I could write like that...it would pull up so many painful memories...but maybe purge them too? Is it purging? I hope I didn't talk around everything that you said...go into a big intellectual thingy that somehow ignored the heart of the whole matter. If I did, please excuse me...sometimes it's hard for me to talk about stuff like this....so I take it up a level I guess...so I don't have to feel it as much. BBE

k9 - :D ... thanx k9. i know its hard to read, and i thank you for reading... hey y'know i finally matted and framed that picture you drew ... it looks awesome ... i'll take a picture of it soon and send it to ya ...

bbe - i get what you're saying ... thanx for your sentiments ... i think writing about this stuff is, indeed, a purging.

i am guessing most people don't necessarily want to read this sort of stuff, but its liberating to get it off my chest. the secrecy of it all is the main thing that i find so suffocating about it all. i don't mean to flog a dead horse ... just liberate myself of the flashbacks when i get them.

i think men that do this stuff are twisted control freaks that thik girls like me are there for their pleasure. they believe they are entitled to what they take from us. i still have a relationship with my parents. distant ... very distant.

but i cannot bring myself to burn that bridge. they have grown ultra devout as old age creeps over them. i see this as a way to allay their growing guilt. i know my mother carries much guilt about her role in the suffering of all 7 of her children at the hand of 2 men. and, well, my dad somehow uses religion similarly.

i remember him telling me stories of how he used to sleep with his younger sister (he was in his early 20s and she, a child) ... hmmm - how many other victims were there? its not for me to question or stew over i guess.

i really had no emotion writing this. the emotions i wear at the moments in my daily existence when these flashes of memory return to me.

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    scribbles & scratches



      afghan hound

      yes to madness





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    velvet poetry

      bell jar dreams

      you held me in your arms,
      my trembling alabaster fruit
      and savagely,
      you trampled me, underfoot
      as master of my shattered freedom
      you - the twisted and beautiful lord
      who sealed me in a windowless bell jar
      with anguish and solitude,
      as my only companions

      captor! my demented master!
      my withered soul screams for you
      it howls for the soothing barbs,
      hidden, in your voice
      and your frail, orgasmic vulnerability
      my withered soul screams your name,
      raging delicately,
      for the gaping hollows of my existence,
      which melted into yours:
      dessicated dreams,
      vanquished innocence

      this sick hunger in my heart for you -
      will it ever ebb?

      copyright ROXI G 2006

      your grace grotesquely crumbles

      your grace crumbled
      into grotesque flakes
      as your fingertips slashed
      my tender silken face
      with rage and vengence,
      that drench my frail child-spirit

      steeped in self-loathing,
      you infected me -
      my gauzy soul
      on your poisoned barbs
      of hatred and lusty greed

      once, i loved you -
      worshipped you, adored you
      and darkness
      eviscerated my heart
      as i watched this adoration stream past
      your inert, stoney heart

      my trembling eyes splinter
      into a thousand tears
      when i look upon your face -
      my reflection - in the looking glass
      you, who deserted my child-trust -
      remain, achingly, ever present

      this dark riverbed of adoration
      that flowed in my viscera for you
      has dried up; my heart --
      which once glistened sublimely inside yours,
      now lies in eternal anguish:
      dessicated, petrified, searingly denuded

      your grace crumbles
      into grotesque flakes
      of grief, rage and greed,
      soaked in the brine of remorse
      you beg, like i did, for a morsel of mercy
      but -- i will STARVE you of forgiveness

      copyright ROXI G 2006


        "there's no way around grief and loss: you can dodge it all you want, but sooner or later you just have to go into it, through it, and, hopefully, come out on the other side. the world you find there will never be the same as the world you left." (johnny cash)

        "i wore black because i liked it. i still do, and wearing it still means something to me. its still my symbol of rebellion - against a stagnant status quo, against our hypocritical houses of god, against people whose minds are closed to others' ideas." (johnny cash)

      poetry masters

        if only you would touch my heart
        if only you were to put your mouth
        to my heart
        if only you were to put your tongue
        like a red arrow
        there where my dusty heart is beating,
        if you were to blow on my heart
        near the sea, weeping,
        it would make a dark noise,
        like the drowsy sound of train wheels
        like the indecision of waters,
        like autumn in full leaf
        like blood,
        with a noise of damp flames
        burning the sky,
        with a sound like dreams
        or branches or the rain,
        or foghorns in some dismal port,
        if you were to blow on my heart
        near the sea, likea white ghost,
        in the spume of the wave,
        in the middle of the wind
        like a ghost unleashed,
        at the seashore, weeping.

        ... Pablo Neruda, from 'Bararole'

        By a route obscure and lonely,
        Haunted by ill angels only,
        Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
        On a black thrones reigns upright,
        i have reached these lands but newly
        From an ultimate dim Thule -
        From a wild wierd clime that lieth, sublime,
        Out of SPACE - out of TIME.

        ... Edgar Allan Poe, from 'Dream-Land'

      anais nin

        "and the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

        “i do not like to be just one anais, whole, contained. as soon as someone defines me. i do as june does; i seek escape from the confinements of definition.”

        “i speak of relief, perhaps when i write; but it is also an engraving of pain, a tatooing of myself.”

        “we are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.”

        “life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. this is a kind of death.”