Dream #2 out of many
I dreamt of my life with a man I had never met
He was on the gangly side
He had the sweetest smile
and curly-ish brown hair
I was in love and for the first time in awhile, I felt peace.
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I should come with a warning sign because every time, I leave.
Day 1; Dawn
Washington finally fell. Which is impressive, all things considering. After all we are in the middle of the fucking zombie apocalypse. And you'd think at least that, hey, zombies are pretty slow and stupid. But no, these zombies had to fast, and smart, and brutal. So, all in all it was impressive that Washington had lasted this long since most of the major military bases and cities had been overtaken within the first fifteen minutes. So I guess today would be the first official day of the zombie apocalypse and the fall of the human race. Goody.
I love you, mom.
My mother was raped. Twice. Once before I was born and once after. That was all she told me that night when I was seventeen. That's all I could listen to, all I could stomach. The cold came then, a sense of shock and horror that that could have happened to someone so close to me. Someone who was supposed to be the strongest person in the world, a superhero. You hear about it happening to other people, but not to people you love, to people you depend on for so much, for so long. To people you are irreversibly intertwined with the moment you enter this world, and for the rest of your life. Before, she was a promising intelligence Marine Corp officer, after she was shunned and shamed for something that wasn't her fault but nevertheless was blamed on her. It destroyed her career, he got a promotion. He went on with his life, unconvicted, guiltless in the eyes of the government, she was left with a crippling fear of men, in the dark and in pain. She still gets nightmares, you know. And I can't do anything except try and be a good daughter for her. Anything to ease the pain. These horrible, traumatic, degrading things that happened to her fractured her soul and mind. Ten years later, she's still recovering, slowly but surely. She's started going to group therapy, but there's still the paranoia, the stigma, the helpless anger. She can't speak about these events, but I can. I can tell her story and hope that maybe, maybe someone, anyone will listen. I don't want money, I want justice. Justice for her and justice for the countless victims of sexual assault whose voices are ignored or mocked because "they were asking for it", simply because they had the audacity to be born a woman.
Svelte stomachs, tender psyches
Pitch black rambling are what you need
A cocktail of illnesses and a want for luridity
Her gasping, His horror
Their screams and My laughter
IN they go to the night
Stop, her breath is barely there
possibly love, possibly brain death
Dead roses and the thought of you
they were all I needed to sleep
A deep draught and a deeper despair for them
She's so wonderfully broken
Smoke and jagged glass,
the painful moans of buckling steel beams;
bleached blue hair, stressful writings
frenzied energy and 2 am realities
plastic fans and sweltering mornings
I just wanted her happy but she refused
Her sadness was her.
My smiling lonesome.
Maybe if I smiled it would all go away
who knows my pain and emotions
they who walk with me rarely walk among me
Mayhaps that's what I've been yearning for all along
ya gotta eat
"My first memory was mama telling me to not name the cows. "You won't be able to take them to slaughter otherwise". After all, ya gotta eat what you have. That's why you never name your food!" I finish happily as I ripped off her name tag and smiled lovingly at her tear-stained face.