“’Tis Apollo comes leading / His choir, the Nine. / The leader is fairest, / But all are divine.”
Matthew Arnold (English Victorian Poet and Critic of Literacy and Society. 1822-1888)
Woke up on Mother’s Day, and to her great surprise,
Was something she’d never wanted: broken ribs and two black eyes.
Christmas and Valentine’s Day brought more of the same,
Bruises and bitemarks, stitches and awful names.
They ask why she doesn’t leave, why she would “put up with that”?
Guess they don’t realize this isn’t a lover’s spat.
She’s not allowed to use the phone, the money, the car,
If she knew he couldn’t follow, oh, she would run so far.
Years went by before she found the nerve,
The law didn’t deliver justice, only papers would they serve.
She didn’t see it coming, this life after the abuse,
The spite from those around her, the friend that they would choose.
It often confused her, how far she could fall,
She’d done what they’d suggested and left after all.
Was this really better; broken, alone, and scared?
Where were all those people who had insisted how much they cared?
Every sound at night terrified her, the nasty remarks cut just as deep.
Sometimes she wakes screaming, he still chokes her in her sleep.
Now they say, just get over it, move on, let it go.
She’s told to rebuild her life, but how she doesn’t know.
Why had no one told her how long it would take to heal,
All the faith he had shattered, the joy he could still steal.
Did they think she’d just suddenly be alright?
After she’d tiptoed from the darkness, edged into the light.
Looking back, she can’t help but shake her head and sigh,
She wears a purple ribbon, but no one seems to know why.
They told her if she left, they’d always have her back,
She didn’t get support, in fact, she didn’t get jack.
From somewhere inside herself, and place she didn’t know she had,
She’s drawn strength to survive this too, pretending she’s not sad.
No one wants to hear her story, why must they choose a side?
Afterall, it was years ago; doesn’t she have any pride?
He’ll still be there on holidays, although now with someone new,
No one seems to remember all the horrors she went through.
She still must send her children, the courts say he has rights,
Because he didn’t hurt them, during any of those fights.
Somehow it’s still her fault, even after so much time,
Now she knows which was really the bigger crime.
If he’d managed to kill her, then they’d have been dismayed,
She’d lived, she survived, but no one’s throwing a parade.
The next time that you see her, consider what you say,
Your condescension wounds, your attitude dismays.
Please remember, she’s still mending, and it may take awhile,
Help her with honest kindness, friendship and a smile.
She may have made it out of the lion’s den alone,
But she needs you to be there, to still pick up the phone.
Don’t assume because the hitting is over, the journey has ended,
Support her even after the scars have faded, the broken bones are mended.
For this is the hardest part of the road, learning to live again.
For more information about Domestic Violence, and how you can help, please visit:
This winter has been long and miserable, but SPRING is finally here!!
All the makeup, your perfect hair.
The photos of you smiling brightly.
Yours is a damaged soul, twisted and bent.
In the name of love you destroy what is sacred.
Vicious lies drip from your forked tongue.
Does your reflection deceive you?
Does your mirror show decency, and goodness?
Pride and envy; poisons coursing through your veins.
Don’t mistake money for worth, dear.
You think you create beauty, but it’s only skin deep.
An illusion to hide the ugliness within.
The facade will fade and crumble with time,
And you will be left with glitter that was never gold.
This blog is about me discovering myself. Peeling the layers of me back one by one until my true soul is bared. This could be a long road, y’all. Virtually everyone has multiple sides to their personalities, and I’m no exception. Some days it’s a struggle to keep the groovychick in front, some days I fail. As much as I try to let my love light shine at all times, I can’t. I’m working on that.
So, I guess it’s time to introduce you to the rest of me. You’ve met the mom, the hippie and the bookworm. Say hi to the biker chick, and the cynic. I’m pretty random, I fully admit that. There are times when no matter how much I adore The Beatles, I just need some System of a Down, or Metallica, or Beastie Boys to put my mind right. I can headbang with the best of them, and love few things more than being on the back of a bike just cruising.
This life has been seldom kind to me, but I’ve managed to survive. I’m not really sure why I’m still here, only that I am, so there must be more for me to do. I’ve certainly cheated death enough times already to be thankful for each and every breath I still draw. I used to ask myself why the Fates had decided to test me so very often, but now I don’t care why, only that I pass. It’s not the easiest thing to balance my jaded side with my hopeful side.
“Patience is a virtue,” a phrase I’ve often touted to the Clones, is a daily mantra for me. I remind myself that though my spirit is battered and worn, it’s resilient. So long ago I can’t remember exactly when, I learned to compartmentalize. Boxing up and stowing away pieces of me until they are needed. I’ve found this approach to existence both lifesaving and troublesome. People tend to want me to only be part of myself, the problem with that is everyone wants a different side.
Like a jigsaw puzzle, it takes all the pieces to make a whole. Thank you again, for walking this path with me, and hope you enjoy journey.
I’ve been trying to make The Oracle easier to navigate, hopefully you will enjoy the new layout. I am still ironing out the wrinkles, but I think it’s somewhat better already. Please let me know what you think about my Scribbles by rating your favorite, or not so favorite posts. Thanks for taking the time to read my little blog, and as always for coming along for the crazy ride that is my life!
Have a groovy day :)
Eye on the prize. One of the grooviest things about the era we live in is the internet. Because of this amazing technology we get the opportunity to make friends around the globe. Thanks to one such friend, I now have a visual representation of my dreams come true. I’m choosing this photo as my personal carrot stick, Thanks, Sumewn, for helping me see my dreams are truly capable of becoming reality.
photo taken by Sumewn Lampropoulos Itea, Greece