He was having another bad day. He seemed to be having more and more of those. I did everything right. I made sure the house was clean, and his food was ready exactly how and when he expected it.

No makeup, long pants only, and mouse-quiet behavior always had worked before. There was a different look in his eyes this time that I had never seen before. I was worried. I smiled anyway and did my best to be as agreeable as possible. He often became violent.

My husband. His wife. I assumed that everybody had sex for 2 and 3 and 4 hours every time. I guessed that a weekly beating was because of something I had said or done. I had to be the reason this was happening. I had to try and stop what I feared the most.

His violent behavior was getting more and more dangerous. This was the night it would all come to a head.

Everything was fine and dinner was done and everything was perfectly clean. I washed my hair and began drying it. It was to my waist like he liked it, but it did take a long time to dry. That was the trigger. I took too long to dry my hair.

He leaned into the room about halfway, and I just said I would be done soon. Soon was not the correct answer. He came inside, picked me up off the floor, and threw me across the room. I was tossed into a large mirror, then slid down to the floor. I did the one thing I had never done before. I stood back up.

I can't explain why. I stood back up. He knocked me back down, much harder this time. "God...why do I keep standing up???" Yes...I stood back up again. He left

the room. He brought back a gun. Grabbing my throat, he forced the barrel down my throat until I began to choke. I knew that my life was going to change at that very moment, one way or the other. I was either going to live and survive, or I was going to die right there at the end of that gun.

He looked at me and the last words I remember hearing that day were:

"I DARE YOU TO FUCKIN' BREATHE."

(1978, based on a true story)

SOMEONE FAMILIAR

It can smell the blood in your womb,

causing its mouth to water, tongue to unfurl;

slithering quietly across the floor, searching

for you as it enters your room.

Connected to its painfully empty stomach,

its tongue is a long, scaly tube that is hollow.

It quickly burrows into your belly button,

sucking, slurping, a fetus is swallowed.

Writhing in pain, your stomach aches,

while you slowly open your eyes.

A fleeting glimpse of horror and death

suddenly changes its hellish disguise.

In order to gain access to you and all,

it reveals it has one and only one flaw.

As you look in awe, you never foresaw

the damn thing was your mother-in-law!

My Personal Ordeal (June 1, 1970/7:45 a.m.)

I had just started my first job since graduating high school and finally turning

18. My father bought me a car so I could go to and from work - a 1964 Rambler.

This car had no carpet, no radio, no electronic equipment - it was just me and the

car and the open road!

I had started working for State Farm Insurance on August 31 and felt I made

a good impression. However, the second day of my new job, June 1, would

pan out to become quite different from how that day began.

I was heading into the office, ready to work, and was on Cleveland Avenue,

which crosses Main Street in East Point, Georgia. The train runs usually from

about 7:00 to 8:00 so it was not uncommon for me to have to stop, wait for

the train, then go to the office less than 5 minutes away.

I sat there, red light, and heard, and saw nothing. The arms for the cross did not

lower. There were no bells or whistles or angels waving at me to stop and think

for one second. Nope! I saw nothing, heard nothing, and proceeded to turn

right on to the railroad tracks.

That's when it happened. For whatever reason, the car stalled at that exact moment.

I heard this sound coming from underneath the carriage of the car. The car was

shaking. I was shaking.

I turned to my left and was immediately greeted by a massive engine, running a speed

of about 15 mph for the crosswalk, and my Rambler and the nose of that train

became instantly acquainted.

Right into the driver's door, the train hit, and I could hear the sound of the metal

crunching and curling around me, placing me in a metal cocoon. The car then

began to curl on to the right side as the train continued to push my car down the

tracks. They said we were pushed 170 yards. I don't recall how far, but I screamed

until the train and car stopped.

Once stopped, the car was shaped like a "U" on its right side. I looked up to the

cab of the train. My eyes locked with the engineer's eyes. I will never forget the

look in his eyes. I was 18 then, and I'll be 72 soon. I'll never forget that man's

eyes.

The car door opened up on to the tracks and I was pulled out of the car. The gas

pedal was stuck in its position as was the clutch where I had tried to get it started

and moved. They took me to the hospital from the scene.

I had no broken bones. I had no scratches. I had one really big bruise from my

left hip down to my left ankle - but other than that, I had been untouched. My

car took the majority of the impact. I complained about not getting a new car.

The old car had the frame still built in it - and that is what saved my life. I'm

grateful I had that old car.

The insurance company came to me about the accident. I knew this was coming,

I worked with State Farm! When the man got there, I was told that the settlement

could be as little as 1,000,000. I was 18 and in the state of Georgia. I would not

have kept any of the money. Had I known at the time about the man driving

the train who hit me - I would have taken the money and given it to him because

the day after he hit me? That man quit his job. I didn't know any better, so instead,

I refused the money.

Yep folks, I honestly did. I was disowned a short time later for doing that deed. It's

ok. My car saved my life and I'm alive today because of divine intervention? The car?

The time of day? The driver? Or a combination of them all?

I survived a direct impact of a moving train with my car on the driver's side on

morning in Georgia in 1970. I'm not a millionaire, but i've had a very full

life. I knew I would have this great life - I couldn't let a train stop me , now

could I?

Kaleidoscope Brain

Colors dancing on glass, reflecting patterns

in my life of ongoing change.

All illumination melts then merges, creating

new combinations for my imaginative,

kaleidoscope brain.

GONE

Another day has arrived.

No life behind these woeful eyes.

I still refuse to say goodbye.

I don't want to believe that you died.

A shell I am, inside a shell of a home.

I'm barely here because you are gone.

In a musical at Carnegie Hall, in the leading role,

playing a wicked cello that was black and gold,

was a witchly kind of woman whose music was intense.

She was playing for a girl named Dorothy in the audience.

Monkey-like men guarding exits seemed quite detached,

while this bewitching woman made music that she scratched

out, with her long nails, she began creating a hypnotic tune.

It all seemed at first like a normal afternoon.

But...then the cello broke strings, began to scream and whine,

while blood-tingling music paralyzed your spine.

This wicked music echoed in the hall and went on and on

while Dorothy was forced to listen even after the music was gone.

On April 1, 2016, it took one word to end a life. I was the person who used that word

against my better judgment, that resulted in the death of a small creature that left a

huge impact.

For months after she was gone, I contemplated suicide on a daily basis. All

that is left is what's inside of me, inside my soul. So, I started writing in a way

to beg for forgiveness - hers and mine. I needed to find a way to free my soul,

if that was even possible.

My regret is it only took one word to end her life. Now, I'm using all the words

I can find, create, use, explain, talk - to beg for her forgiveness.

Words are what I used as a weapon and now, I use those words in the hope

that each word left behind will be a bread crumb filled with love that she will see

that all my words aren't meant to harm but to lift my spirit now so I can see

hers.

I keep writing to live, to ask for forgiveness. I write to show the world that I

might be worthy of a love that is invisible to the eye but felt with each

heartbeat.

How I wish I could have not used that one word. Just one word that destroyed

her life and mine as an after thought. So, I send all my words to heaven until

we can be together again.

She had tried to abstain from her poison,

but there just wasn't enough space

between her and her liquid friend.

Years of struggle can be seen on her face.

A mutual friend shows up

to show her a new beginning.

She refuses to stop, another life ruined

by doing the bottle's bidding.

She made her choice to stay

in a bottle that nurses yesterdays.

Her friend may return one day

to help her live in a brand new way

one day.....maybe....one day.

Bouncin’ around in my brand new shoes;

life is great. I’m not singin’ the blues.

As the moon rises, in all its glory,

what happened that night - IS my story.

I’m all alone in town at night.

That alone should give you a fright.

Suddenly, my teeth hurt, so much pain.

God, I hope tonight I don’t kill again!

My bones break, my spine gets long.

Fur covers my body, right down to my bum.

The moon’s color matches my animal eyes.

Looks like I’m going to give someone a big surprise.

I’ll sink my teeth into your face.

You’ll regret the night you came to this place.

My freedom in a single silver bullet lies,

while I walk on all fours and at the moon -CRY.

Once I drink all of your blood,

nothing is left where you once stood.

I lick my lips, put lipstick back on.

I admire my new shoes again as I go home.

The moonlight fades on my way back.

I’ll just be a boring housewife til my next attack.

Nobody knows but I am bound by hell.

For now, that’s the most of my story I can tell.