Innocence Stolen

The night is silent…

I can hear him breathing out.

The darkness calls him…

Surrounding dangers abound.

I hear him whisper…

He’s calling out to me.

He says come closer…

And I turn to run.

I see a blade flash, as it goes past.

I hear him laughing at me.

He’s just toying now…

Predator after prey.

My heart’s beating loud…

The sound gives me away.

I’m in the shadows now…

Silently I pray.

He finds me somehow…

I turn to run, he’s having fun.

I see a blade flash, as it goes past.

I hear him laughing at me.

I start to stumble, my hands fumble.

Soon he’s on top of me.

There’s nothing I can do…

My life is through.

Blade pierces my flesh…

I gasp for breath.

He can see my pain…

He enters again.

The world fades to black…

I feel him pulling back.

I see a blade flash, as it goes past.

I hear him laughing at me.

I start to stumble, my hands fumble.

Soon he’s on top of me.

Virginal white now red, I have bleed.

Innocence stolen from me.

This is the end…

I wish my life had never begun.

Broken I lie…

Wishing that I could die.

He leaves me now…

His damage done for now.

He’ll be back again…

Though I know not when.

I see a blade flash, as it goes past.

I hear him laughing at me.

I start to stumble, my hands fumble.

Soon he’s on top of me.

Virginal white now red, I have bleed.

Innocence stolen from me.

My heart crumbles, my mind tumbles.

A shell is all that’s left of me.

I Don't Know

I don’t know.

I don’t know who can hear my voice.

I don’t know who would help me now.

I don’t know who would even try.

I don’t know what it will take to change it.

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know what could make things right.

I don’t know when it became so complicated.

I don’t know when it became so hard.

I don’t know when things will get better.

I don’t know where this path ends.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I don’t know where it began.

I don’t know why it is this way.

I don’t know why no one will listen.

I don’t know why anyone would care.

I don’t know how I can live like this.

I don’t know how life continues day to day.

I don’t know how to continue.

I don’t know.

I just don’t know.

Hatred

I hate you all.
I hate each and every one of you.
I hate YOU, Society, and the way you look at me and others like me in fear.
You force us to hide in the shadows, worried what might happen if we are found.
You reject and spit on us, tearing at our cloths.
You mock us and beat us because we don’t fit into your world view.
You torture us in your attempts to force us to conform.
I hate you for that and I hate everything that you stand for.
You think that we are a disease, afraid we might spread.
You hate us.
You make us weep tears of pain and fear.
I hate you for that.

I hate YOU, Mom and Dad.
You couldn’t accept me as I am.
You turned your back on your daughter.
You blamed yourself because she was a freak.
You didn’t show her the love and acceptance that she yearned for.
You told her that she was wrong and needed to be locked away.
You turned a blind eye when the gun was in her hand.
You looked away, not trying to understand.
You made her kill a part of herself, doing irreparable harm.
You disgust me with what you did to me.
You probably think you were doing the right thing.
But you broke my heart.
You left me in the dark with nowhere to go.
You thought that I would bring shame for being the freak that I am.
You told me to forget what had happened and never speak of it again.
I can’t forget and I won’t, it consumes me.

Most of all, I hate YOU, God.
You who put me here
You who made me like this.
You hurt me in ways I can never describe with words.
You brought me into this like some sick joke.
It’s ALL your fault, every last bit.
I loathe you.
I despise you.
You set things into motion.
You wrecked my life before it even started.
I will never forget what you did to me.
You made me broken, an unfinished product.
You cast me down into a world of pain.
You know I hate you.
But you know what the worst thing of all is?
I know you don’t care. 
You cast me aside like an afterthought.
I hate you so much.
I hate YOU.

Pain

I will never have the look that I want.

I will never have the body that I want.

I will never be able to dress the way that I want to dress.

I will never be beautiful.

I will never be pretty.

I will never be sexy.

I will never really be the woman that I feel that I am.

I will always be ugly.

I will always be hideous.

I will always be disgusting.

I will always be trapped.

I will always hate my body.

I will always hate myself.

I will always be male.

I can do nothing to change this, not without paying a price I don’t want to pay.

I can do nothing.

I wish I were braver.

I wish I could take that final step.

I wish I could leave this pain behind.

I wish people would listen to my cries.

I wish I could cry louder in order to be heard.

I am dying inside but no one can see.

I hurt.

I ache.

I long for release.

I hate this.

I hate the jealousy I feel when I look at other women.

I hate how they can be so lucky and not know it.

I hate how I can never be like them.

I hate how cheated I feel.

I know that God doesn’t care.

I have cried out to the heaven.

I have heard the silence in response.

I don’t know what to do.

I just want it to end.

I cry in my soul.

I am tired.

I am weak.

I know this pain will never end.

Repetitious Deaths Of A Pained Soul Never End

I am killing her once again.

I should have known it would never work.

I am killing her once again.

No one understands, they grin and smirk.

I am killing her once again.

I thought I could trust the one I love to understand.

I am killing her once again.

I should have known it could not be in this land.

I am killing her once again.

I know that she will come creeping back.

I am killing her once again.

My heart will be broken, torn by a huge crack.

I am killing her once again.

This world for me is a cruel, dark place.

I am killing her once again.

This is an effort to once again hide her face.

I am killing her once again.

I am disappointed, hurt, wanting to be free.

I am killing her once again.

People just don’t understand that she is me.

I am killing myself again.

The Crypt

Alone it sits upon a tiny lonely hill, surrounded by blacked and withered grass.

Its stone is cracked and weathered with age, its roof drooping on verge of collapse.

Upon its door sits a wreath of roses, darkened with despair.

Inside its depths are blacker than black, hidden completely from view.

A cloud of shimmering mist rises upon the moor, as dark figures begin to pass.

Slowly they make their way toward the crypt, the cold air filling with dark synapse.

A body they lie inside its depths, a tangled mass of blood and hair.

They took her down, a blow to the crown, before she ever knew.

Dreams Are A Funny Thing

Dreams are a funny thing.  They can make you laugh, they can make you cry.  They can fill your heart with joy and peace as well as crush it.  They can inspire a thousand stories or they can inspire a myriad of fears.  Dreams are a funny thing like that. 

All of my stories are inspired by dreams that I have had, all of them, even the ones that I will never put to paper.  I get to experience a fragment of the life of that my characters lead and I let my imagination do the rest because soon after waking the fine details fade.  The Moonstones novels were based off of a series of dreams that I had where, from the few details I can remember after waking, I lived in the life of Sephira, Alissa, Jonah and Lilly.  As Sephira all I remember is the impression of her rape and murder as I lived through them in the dream experiencing the horror of it.  As Alissa, I experienced her wedding ceremony and the night after with her husband and the flavor of her world as she grew up world.  As Jonah, I got my gleanings of the world that these characters all live in as well as his deeply profound commitment to Alissa.  As Lilly, I got the Impression of the politics and business practices that dictate the path that society takes in this world.

For the novel, Sanguine Whispers, I had a dream where I was the victim of the serial killer who is the villain in the story.  That, coupled with the song “Jar of Hearts” by Christina Perri, led me to create that story.  Alexis, the psychic detective (she is a medium who gets readings by touching objects) who is helping the police to track the killer down, was another character from yet another dream that I had.  In the dream, as her, I was curious because I couldn’t get readings off of the items left behind at the murder scene almost as if the spirits of the victims were cut off. 

Even the stories that I have that don’t initiate by dream usually have dreams that follow where I get details and impressions that influence the story.  This may make it sound like I have dozens and dozens of dreams but I don’t.  I am someone who doesn’t often dream or, if I do, I don’t tend to remember them other than a few details and impressions, just enough information for me work with.  The few dreams that I have tend to be very vivid and sometimes it is hard to distinguish them from the real world upon my awakening.  Whenever I dream, I tend to wake up the next day in a slump of depression and continue to stay that way the rest of the day.  You would think that this would be an undesirable thing yet when I go to bed the next night I find myself hoping and praying to have yet another dream just so that I can once again escape.  I wish for this even though I know that once again the next day I will suffer even more for my reality is a painful one for me to bear and these dreams are my only reprieve from my real life.  Don’t get me wrong though, my life isn’t horrible, I have a lot of great people and things in it but despite all of the good there is one thing that always eats at my soul and that is what my dreams tend give me relief from. 

What is it that plagues me in my life so?  Well, if you have read all of my blog posts on this blog then you should already know.  When I was thinking about this post last night before heading to bed I wished for yet another dream, another escape.  I had dreams the previous three nights and due to that my depression was really acting up.  I was planning to just come right out and spill my deepest heartfelt secrets about myself to the world through this post.  Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, I didn’t have a dream last night which has given me a bit of a clearer head and state of mind for writing this.  I probably shouldn’t really be worried about that since no one reads more blog anyway.

Now (and I don’t know what I am going to do this nobody ever reads this but I am going to do it anyway) I have a question for all of you, my non-existent readers.  Do dreams influence your writing?  If so, how?

The Exercise in Futility

What is it like to be me?  So many of you just do not and cannot understand.  It’s a struggle daily that I go through just to be me.  I wish I could make you feel the way that I feel in hopes that it would give them some insight into what I deal with day in and day out, yet that is beyond me.  How can I articulate my version of reality to the world?  How can I make you know a tenth of the pain I feel so that you would understand and not lash out at me from fear of what you can’t truly comprehend?  Well, the closest think I can think of is to try to present an analogy that will hopefully demonstrate what everyday life is like for me.

To start off, close your eyes.  Now, imagine yourself, or rather, your self-image, got it?  Good.  Now open your eyes and go to the nearest mirror and look in it.  Does what you see in the mirror look at least similar to your self-image?  It should at least be close to what you saw in your mind’s eye.  Now imagine that instead of seeing yourself in the mirror you see someone of the opposing gender. 

In this scenario you are still yourself, in all regards, same personality, same likes and dislikes, same preferences, but whenever you look into that mirror you see the other person.  Now because you see that other person in the mirror, you know that that is, for all intents and purposes, how the world sees you despite that in your mind’s eye and even your dreams you see yourself differently.  This is what you look like physically.  Since this is what you look like, people are going to treat you accordingly and expect you to act accordingly, if you do not, then you are a freak and a danger to society, therefor you are under threat of attack if people find out about the inner you.  So you learn to play the role that fits your outer shell in order to hide who you really are inside.  You do this every day of your life, day in and day out, never letting that inner you out even though you only want to be able to be yourself and be accepted for who you really are.  You keep him/her caged inside, locked away for your safety and sanity as you play the role that has been dealt to you by God.  You are never able to freely be yourself or express yourself, you can only be the person that society dictates you must be whether you like it or not.

That is an idea of what my life is like.  It sucks.  It has sucked ever since I was young and started getting my behavior corrected by the people around me lest I stand out too much.  That little exercise pales in comparison to the way it actually feels to live my life, but I hope that it helps you to understand the pain I feel.  So, what is it like to be me?  So many of you do not understand but maybe if you try then the world will be a little bit brighter for people like me.

My Voice Has Been Stolen

Why can’t I say what I mean to say when I speak?  I try to convey my thoughts and feelings in an effort to express myself through speech yet only incoherent noise escapes my lips.  No matter how hard I try, how hard I struggle; the words just don’t come out right.  All I want to do is speak my mind, to let people know who I am and what I think, yet as always it comes back to the fact that I cannot speak. 

I think it comes from the need to hide who I am from the world.  All my life I have been told that I had to conform to the role that society has set for me.  When I was growing up every time I did something that did not fit into the role that someone thought I should fit into, I was mocked and ridiculed, told I was a freak.  Overtime I learned to fit into the role that had been defined for me, conform lest I be destroyed.  Because of this I am an actor, an actor of the stage of life, one of the best actors that have ever lived.  I have the whole world fooled.  They look at me and they see exactly what they expect to see, the person that they think I should be and it only cost me my voice. 

The world sees the shell, not the person inside.  If they could see to my core they would see that she is screaming in frustration, desperately wanting to be heard, yet I keep her locked away as the thirty two years of my life have told me I should.  Her eyes are filled with tears of frustration at not having a voice, being able to watch life go by but not able to do anything to affect it.  If she were to show herself, and the world was to see her, then all the hate, all the pain that led to where she is now would be heaped once again upon her shoulders and it would break her. 

She wants to be free… I want to be free.  This life of hiding is slowly killing me.  I am tired of hiding behind this façade I put up.  I am tired of having to fit the role that people have thrust upon me.  I am tired and I just want it all to end.  It’s not fair that I was forced to live this life.  I didn’t want it.  If it wasn’t for the one that I love above all others I believe I would have chosen to end this long ago.  She is the only one who has ever listened to me and accepts me for who I am.  She doesn’t judge me.  She makes life bearable when I think it is getting to be too much.  Yet, despite the fact that I can be myself around her, even in her presence I cannot speak.  The struggle is still there no matter what. 

The struggle is still there, no matter what.  I try as hard as I can, yet I struggle still.  It makes me want to scream, to shout, to cry and to lash out to try to force it due to the frustration that I am filled with due to my inability to express myself.  Sometimes I just don’t know what to do.  I just want to be able to be myself without fear of the world and the people in it.  It is enough to make me wish that magic were real so I could just magically correct the issue that has led me to hide myself.  Unfortunately that is not the way reality works though. 

Perhaps if I were braver then maybe I could present my face to the world for all to see, yet I am a coward and I know it.  I see other people that are just like me that are willing to do what they feel that they must, opening themselves to attack, and I am jealous of them and the spine that they have.  I want to be them so bad.  If I was them then I wouldn’t have to be me, I would be braver and not have to live in fear… at least that is what I think.  Sometimes I wonder if they had to deal with the same kind of thoughts that I deal with in this regard. 

But, as much as I sometimes wish I could be them, that doesn’t change the fact that I am me.  So I hide, I cry, I hurt and ache.  I struggle daily with these thoughts, knowing that nothing will ever change because of my fear and cowardice.  I know that with what little I have said here I still have barely scratched the surface of what I wanted to say but, as I have mentioned before, I cannot speak.  I have tried to speak my mind and use my voice but I know that I have not articulated even a tenth of what I feel.  Oh well, life goes on.  Maybe one day I will find my voice once more, but till then I hide, I cry, I hurt and I ache. 

Message to God #2

Have you ever seen a sky so blue as the one we lie under right now?

I feel it calling to me, reaching out to pluck me from this earth.

Have you ever seen an ocean so clear as the one we are floating on?

I hear the depths calling my name, calling me home.

Have you ever seen a night so black as the one in my soul?

It grips my heart, clenching and squeezing, consuming it whole.

Have you ever heard a cry so sad as the one to pass from my lips?

It aches and breaks me, ripping me down to the moment of my birth.

Have you ever felt so betrayed as I do because of you?

You broke me before I ever had a chance, no choice was given.

Have you ever cursed someone as I now curse you?

You did this, you will never make it right, you just don’t understand.

How does it feel to know that I am your mistake and I hate you for it?

I hope it burns you to your very core because you deserve no less.

How do you feel when you see me, knowing I will never forgive?

I hope it hurts you in a way that you will never recover from.

Regret

No postings about my book today, sorry, I have been lazy this week when it comes to editing.  I do however have a little piece I wrote to share with you.  Sorry if it is a downer but that is the way things are sometimes.

Regret.  That is all that there seems to be in life sometimes, regret.  Should have, could have, would have.  I find myself saying those phrases over and over when looking back at the life that I have lived, a life of regret.  Oh the things I would have done differently if I knew the things I knew now.  All those times that I froze up when instead I should have spoken up to let people know how I truly feel.  Now all there is regret.  Regret at times long gone, that will never be returned to me.  Regret for never being able to be who I want to be due to my choices in life.  Regret for all the opportunities I wasted to become what I have always desired yet never had the courage to make happen. 

My life is regret.  Time is too late now to change a thing.  Sometimes I pray to God that he will take me home just so I won’t have to suffer with these feelings anymore.  It’s not that I have a bad life; I actually have a rather good life considering all the things in my past that I regret.  But in looking back I also see the fact that if I had done those things I regret not doing when I had the chance, I would not be who I am today.  Am I doomed to forever feel regret for my past that will forever prevent me from being who I always wished to be?  Or will I, one day be content with what I have now due to those past choices that have led me to where I am in my life? 

The Fire

As the fire consumes my soul again,

Why do I feel so cold?

I want to feel your warmth once more

I reach out, for you, to hold.

But I feel that there is only emptiness,

no warmth upon my soul.

I miss your feel, I miss your touch,

I ache to feel whole.

In the end all I feel is loneliness, despair,

as this fire consumes my soul.