When the screaming and yelling have ended— when they realize they really do love each other—

When that stranger holds the door and picks up your fallen groceries—

When your cards are empty— broke— and that stranger pays for your items—

When that little girl gets that gift her parents couldn’t afford by a stranger—

When that little boy finds that his best friend is that kid a crossed the street—

When the person you love says the words “I love you”—

When your best friend goes out with you— when your special someone ditches—

When your little sister hugs you—

When your life is falling apart—

and someone cares enough to pray.

That’s when they make an impression on me!

Hold me tighter—

Please don’t let go… don’t let go of my hand—

I’m falling faster than before—

Don’t leave me falling—

away from you.

Hold on tighter,

Pull me closer,

Whisper in my ear promises—

promises you have told me before.

Kiss me as if you’ll never see me again— don’t leave me falling—

Hold me as if I’ll disappear—

Hold me tighter—

And please don’t let go of my hand.

Muddy realities turn my head— from a fictional land

so perfect— where I lived.

on the lonely shores of sand,

refined like gold, joyfully sifted,

sputtering water clouding a glance

upon roaring waves entranced

upon hues of blue and sunlight

a blaire— colors like moonlight

achingly fair.

Oh and castles! And mansions!

oh the passions—

my home of grand nature,

my placement of great stature—

with silver spoons—

red and blue moons—

darkness to fight—

my heart it takes flight—

all is crashing— splashing through a sea—

a sea of realities.

I live on the sea—tossed back and forth,

the steady sway beneath me—

the salty air a sweet reminder that I am home—

You should have seen me then! I was magnificent! I had a purpose and a reason!

the people— they used me— which should‘ve been done—

but instead they left me here. To decay— to rot— away from my home…

they don’t understand that I want to go home— to the swaying of the ground, filled to the brim with matters of importance—

But they put me in a dark truck… I was sure it was just another delivery—

but they left me here.

alone.

they came back— but it wasn’t the ones who put me here— it was someone different. They took me away and dumped me with other unwanted boxes and bags.

then they left.

i still sit here—my new friends do not keep me company as my old did— and I long to see my home again.

just one last time—before I become too old—

and I’ll always wonder— why?

The screens are static—

invisible to the wandering eyes and the interested ears—

ringing loudly of harsh noises.

only a flash of pain…

gagged, touched, screaming—

and everything is gone.

reality takes a toll— surrounding one with a short burst of …

silence, quietness, no sound—

why is it so quiet?

breaking the sanity when it strikes- breathless, scared, alone—

all disappearing is flashes…

Only to come back in heat waves…

again—and again— and again—

heartless rage-colorless love-vicious heart- round and round again.

darkness mumbles— voices whisper— only to leave when light has again shone to reveal day.

threatening to be made known again come dusk.

I did it.

It wasn’t my fault though.

He should have known not to come.

It was for the greatest good-

but it wasn‘t my fault— just remember that.

I’ll tell you the story—

but you have to promise— promise… that you'll understand why I had to.

He had the worst hair in the world— ugh— it stuck up in every direction. He wore the sloppiest clothes… never ironed them… never showered—

It wasn’t my fault—

He should have cleaned up better to perfection— my room is perfectly organized, color coordinated and alphabetically placed.

His room was always a mess— but don’t worry I fixed everything.

it wasn’t my fault he should have understood— perfection is key.

Perfect.

Everything is perfect now. Don’t worry, I have made everything perfect.

His shoes were so dirty. White shoes… you should have seen how I cleaned them.

it was perfect.

Oh but he didn’t want me to—

it wasn’t my fault! He knew I needed perfection.

He didn’t want perfection.

It was quick— so quick.

don’t worry— he’s gone now. I left him stranded in the woods— I left him in many parts in the woods.

It wasn’t my fault, I needed perfection. Everything is perfect.

I cleaned his room , I color coordinated and alphabetically organized everything.

I ironed his clothes—

now everything is perfect.

perfect.

When they ask me why he went away—

All I say is: “for perfection’s sake.”

Though I am sure there is a great percentage where involuntary celibacy is a chosen line of thought and actively lived, I would like to present the small percent where this condition of thought and action are not purposefully chosen, but used as a survival method.

Abuse, including specifically both sexual and physical, among men and women has risen from 89,241 (2009) to 144,300 (2021) in rape statistics; 1 out of 5 women and 1 out of 10 men. I am referring to the 1 out of ten men. For Sexual abuse: 1 out of every 5 boys are sexually abused before the age of 18. Even more then this because 30% of abuse isn’t reported, and for every abusive action that is, two more are likely to go unreported, and 38% of boys are abused by women. These are the men I will be referring to in the small percentage mentioned above.

80% of 21 year olds had a psychological disorder because of the physical and emotional trauma, especially when abuse is started before age 6.

so where does this all tie in?

As an abuse victim, during abuse the child (he, she) will find any way to protect themselves. Whether drugs to numb the pain, voluntarily sex to forget forced sexual experiences, walls to hide behind, withdrawing away from all and anyone. Severe trust issues are common, emotional instability along with (sometimes severe)constant panic and anxiety attacks, suicidal thoughts and/or suicide.

Cloud this with the grief mad fear some experience by losing to death someone they love because of abuse, (1,708 in 2021 children died of abuse) plus more because of unreported abuse.

Now I am not saying that we cannot hold people to their actions, but by doing so, we must take in consideration of why.

For example:

Problem: A thirty year old man kills his mother.

Why: His mother was sexually abusive in his teenage years and was the cause of his sisters death.

What he did wasn't right, we could call him a murderer, but isn’t the mother also a murderer? We could sentence him to prison, rightfully, but wouldn’t counseling be also a better addition to prison?

We may not be able to stop those who choose this line of thinking, but we can save those who turn to it as a coping method of trauma and survival method of their instabilities and psychological disorders.

Abuse is common. Sadly most people don’t realize it happens so frequently, in any socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines, and within any religions.

And we can’t stop all of it, but we can give these victims the gift of understanding their why, and helping them.

Note: If you are in an abusive situation, tell someone. Trust me, it is not worth it and you don’t have to protect anyone. You don’t have to just survive, there is a freedom to live on the other side of this valley, all you have to do is tell someone. ( preferably the police, especially if you or your family is in danger)

hotlines:

Child Help USA: 800-422-4453

Covenant House Nineline: 800-999-9999

RAINN: www.rainn.org

The National Sexual Assault: 800-656- HOPE

Victims of Crime Resource Center: 800-842-8467

Youth Crisis: 800-448-4663

Perfect walls surround the walls of my heart.

A heart of glass—

So fragile, so breathtaking—

So unique.

The walls are made of pearls and silver,

Melted together with sapphires and emeralds,

Blended with jades and rubies.

It’s sparkles different colors, shimmering in-

The sunlight— and the Moonlight.

The inner wall inside this beautiful wall

Is made of refined, pure gold.

Sunstones are scattered across the top edge.

Written unto the very center are words—

Words of such beauty and love,

They ring of joy and meaning.

Yet there is another wall that surrounds both,

It is made of white stone,

Unblemished and pure.

In these stones are engraved names,

All who are named—are allowed to enter.

Thriving green vines grow across the stone,

They produce bright colorful flowers,

Flowers that have never been seen before.

And unto the very center, inside the last wall—

There lies a beautiful crystal room.

There is a light coat of untouched snow that lies on the ground.

The columns are made of ice,

Carved to portray the most beautiful memories.

There is a table, it is made of water,

It moves yet keeps its place and shape.

There also, were three doors.

The first door was made of pine,

It was painted in shades of colors never seen before,

And it glowed in the shimmering light like a rainbow.

It was unlocked, and inside every happy-

Joyful, beautiful, lovely, pure memory was displayed.

The second, which sat at the far right,

Was made of stainless steel,

It was coated with the night sky,

And the stars were displayed across it.

The door was also unlocked,

And inside lay every beautiful—

Good, awe-inspiring, joyous thing ever to be done.

The final door, which lay between the two doors

Was made of tar.

It glittered with black diamonds,

And there was a lock of iron.

Nothing could get in—

And nothing could get out.

Yet if one could see inside—

They would find a room so dark…

Filled with every sorrow, grief, pain, and confused thought.

Jars of tears were scattered across woven shelves,

Nightmares and memories of hurt were written on the walls.

If the door had been unlocked,

One could have shed light

On the memories of and in the dark.

Yet the door remained locked.

Trapped inside a crystal room,

Behind a gold wall with sunstones scattered across the top edge,

And a silver wall embedded with

Pearls, and sapphires, and emeralds—

And jades, and rubies, and sparkling with-

Hundreds of different colors.

Behind a wall of pure white stone—

Scattered with flowers never seen before—

Along the unblemished wall with names yet to be- carved in it.

Visible to any who are permitted to enter.

I taste the bitter sweet

of life surrounding me—

drowning in these thoughts—

like icy waters crashing—

crushing—splashing through my sanity.

I hear fallen memories— hitting-hurting-flirting with my mind—aching to be played again.

Vile drinks—smoke rings flying through the air— in the trash—

in my bedroom— laughing—falling—screaming—until it all fades away and I am

left to think.

Broken shards of glass, scattered—shattered— clattering through my mind. On the ground-crying.

Whispers— they last through the night—sweet words—

running— running away from you in circles— an endless pattern.

I can taste the sweet chaotic fragrance of my tears on my pillowcase.