Full Circle: Still Standing (Author Interview: Queen of Spades)

Yes, we have come Full Circle.  Today is the last day of the Still Standing Blog Tour for Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes.  If you missed out on the interview All Authors Blog did with Queen of Spades in the beginning, we are bringing it back for your benefit.

Before we begin the interview, let's take a look at the book trailer:

)

As well as where you can find her:

Queen of Spades

about.me | Website | Blog | Koobug

Facebook | Twitter: @authorqspades

Amazon | Goodreads | Smashwords

Queen, as always, it's an honor to have you with us again here on All Authors Blog. I'm super excited about this blog tour that we are gladly able to host for you.

I must say that after reading “Private Pain: Amidst the Ashes” I was incredibly impacted for several reasons. The biggest one was the will to survive that rang true at the end of such a powerful complication of poetry.

I was able to relate to this composition in so many ways, however before I divulge anything, I'd like the general public to learn a little bit about what “Private Pain” is about from you.

Please, if you wouldn't mind sharing the premise of this collection of poetry with us.

Premise (The One Liner):  Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes is a poetic concoction of universal tribulations and the author’s own trials, outlining the journey from pain to hope.

Would you mind giving us some insight on the reason it's been divided into different stages of fire?

Source: turbosquid.com

Good question!  The reason why Private Pain's sections are based on different stages of fire is because I felt it was the best way to illustrate the progression of the pain. 

For example, with Stage One “Flicker”, all the child knows is that something is not quite right in her world and she's trying to work her way through all the emotions.  However, by the time one gets to Stage Three “Blaze” and beyond, all she is encountering is pain and more pain, wondering if it will ever come to some sort of end.

I believe that I was mostly impacted by the trials of a child and the hardship of growing up without the love of a mother and father, as well as the constant trauma of having to deal with bullying in school. What was the inspiration for such an inclusion in your collection?

Source: schools.graniteschools.org

I could have easily started this work in the later stages, but in this day and age, a child has to deal with so much.  Lately, you see more broken homes or single parent households, a far cry from the family structure in earlier generations where two parent households were celebrated and encouraged.   Although broken homes are becoming more commonplace, that doesn't mean that the impact is any less on a child's development. 

Bullying has not only become more vicious but technologically advanced as well.  When I was growing up, I mainly dealt with name calling and laughing at school.  Now bullies have other ways to attack you—Facebook, Twitter, You Tube, and more.  It's scary trying to survive in the environment.  Kids no longer just rely on fists.  Some carry knives or even manage to get access to that gun you thought you had successfully hidden.  It can't be swept under the rug; all have to        be mindful of when bullying has been taken too far, so I wanted to highlight it somewhat in this collection.

Spousal/Partner abuse is something that affects so many. I was simply impressed with the way that the stages of abuse shown so clearly in your prose. Can you tell us a little about that please?

When people think of abuse, most automatically focus on the physical.  Yet there is another type of abuse, psychological abuse (emotional/mental).  I wanted to mirror that both physical and psychological abuse can take place, even within the same relationship.  In addition, I wanted to outline the impact of each type of abuse on the human spirit.  Not everyone deals with it in the same way, but Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes magnifies just a few of the side effects which can occur from dealing with that type of trauma.

Another fantastically impacting theme that I noticed in this compendium was rape. Was it hard for you to write about this subject?

Originally, I wasn't even going to include the “rape” segment.  All I had in there relative to “What True Horror Is” was the Aftermath, and it didn't even hint that a rape had taken place. 

I was going through one of my old binders.  One of the binder rings wasn't fully closed, and all the material came out.  Everything was faced down except one sheet of paper.  That one sheet of paper was the prose I had written about the rape, and I felt like there was a reason that happened.  Plus, the Aftermath didn't seem to have as much meaning if “What True Horror Is” (Arrival) wasn't added.  So I took the prose, edited the presentation somewhat and sandwiched it in relative to the time it took place. 

Was it hard for me to write about?  Yes, and no.  No: in the sense that it was something I not only could imagine but it actually did occur.  On the same token, yes, because there are times when I read it, and the scene would play in my mind; I would have to fight to not blame myself or be stuck in that moment.  There is such a sense of humiliation and shame when it does happen.  Some women (myself included) don't even report when it happens because the court system villainizes you, like it tries to find justification (from the clothes worn to the way something is said) for an act of inflicted violence.

I think I've read every one of your poetry books, and needless to say, I'm a huge fan. You're greatly talented. Each one of your books has a theme and every one has a power in its words that is electrifying. Please tell us what makes Private Pain different than the rest.

Thanks for that!

Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes is different in quite a few ways.  I had to battle with the aspect of censorship because this is one of those works that really isn't for everyone.  

Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes doesn't have the constant snapshots of lingering hope like Reflections of Soul.  

Nor does it have different styles for everyone to indulge in like the Eclectic collection. 

It certainly doesn't have the same construct of expounding on different themes like
Spaded Truths: Themes and Proclamations, although they do share the air of controversy.

Private Pain: Amdist These Ashes is tightly constructed with no deviation from the overall theme.  The     language is extremely strong (it makes Spaded Truths PG in comparison) but it is because it had to be: some of the experiences are based on real events, and those were the emotions that were felt at the time.  I felt I would be bastardizing the work if I watered down the words used.  Even the way I approached the cover was very simple (covered more below) as opposed to how abstract I had gone with my others. Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes, in a nutshell, is the only collection purposely designed as a testimony to assist others who may have or are currently going through similar situations. 

Cover Concept:  I used a picture of myself, but it couldn’t be just any picture.  It had to be one with the right combination of longing and vulnerability.  Yet I still wanted it to have a bit of an abstract feel to it.  The picture shown strikes the right balance.  

I really like the color that my cover artist chose--a purple, grey type mix, putting emphasis on the closing of the eyes and the fullness of the lips.  The red and white look very stark and powerful against it: the red representing passion/pain and the white representing purity/hope.  

I want the content to be the star.  I hope I’ve succeeded.

On that note: Why "Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes"? Was there a reason behind the title?

I chose “Private Pain” because when I was growing up, it was encouraged not to let anyone know what was going on around you.  When I was hurting, I felt like I didn't have permission to really express it, so I carried it inside.  I actually got the nickname Ice Maiden for a while due to that coping ability.  “Amidst These Ashes” was because I added the fire element.  It's reminiscent of the song “Still Standing” by Monica.  It's how I feel and what the ending of this work represents.

Please tell us which one of the poems in this collection is your favorite and why?

Wow, this is definitely a difficult one, but overall, I would have to go with “Tainted Thoughts”.  It mirrors the very moment when the light bulb comes on after many layers of introspection.   The final statement says it all:

            It has taken this many years
            For me to realize
            That the thoughts of others
            Should have never been
            The thoughts of me.

Was there a lesson learned when you completed this project? If so, what was it?

I learned that the way I (and others) was dealing with pain was unhealthy.  Certain things that I did lead me down a treacherous path.  I discovered that it's hard to learn how to love in the right way when those elements weren't dominant in the beginning.  Although my beginnings were humble and my experiences harsh, they didn't have to keep me in limbo; instead, I could use them as launching pads to do bigger and better things, like I am now.

If there is just one thing that you'd wish that this poetry collection would accomplish, what would that be?

I want others to know they aren't alone in their struggles.  Pain is an inevitable and universal thing, but holding on to it is burdensome and time consuming.  Recognize the purpose in the Pain, and one will find appreciation in the Joy that follows.  Rise Amidst the Ashes.

Thanks again for taking the time to chat with us here on All Authors Blog!  Don't forget to enter for your chance to win an autographed copy of Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes!

Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes

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Blurb:  In Life, one is expected to put her best face forward, but what if the process of revealing her best face involves putting the demons on display? Would the journey continue? Or would one stop dead in her tracks. 

Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes is the response in its rawest form. It is an inside look at: in its simplest form, Life's growing pains; in its most complex form, a person battling internal and external forces to find peace in her own existence. The lines are blurred between what's real and what is embellishment in this second edition, a sleeker remastered collection that doesn't miss a step in intensity.

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This Life is worth Living

This Life is Worth Living


Hi.  It’s Elice.  You read about how I got out of my relationship, but I know you are wondering what the breaking point was.  Amazingly enough, my breaking point had nothing to do with him putting his hands on me for the last time.

I walked upon an unfortunate event.

People tell you certain things about the person you are with.  At times, it’s hard to tell between people who genuinely have your interest at heart, and people who want to see you fail.  I decided to just sit back.  If what people were saying was indeed correct, all would be revealed.

Usually, just after my class concluded in the morning, Dedrick would swing by in his ride and we would go to the cafeteria.  I thought the practice was a bit stupid since it was in walking distance, but the habit seemed to make him happy.  I waited a few minutes, but he didn’t show.

A few females I was pals with (more like class pals—shared a class together) walked out of the building. They asked me if I was waiting on Dedrick.  I told them I was, but he hadn’t shown up.  However, I was tired of waiting.  Since their dorm building was in route with mine, they suggested that we all walk together.  I agreed because I wasn’t really that hungry.

As we got closer to the women’s dorms, one of my female friends stopped short of us crossing the street.  I was busy talking to the other female, so I hadn’t been looking ahead of me.

“Elice, isn’t that Dedrick’s car parked in front of the women’s athletic dorm?”

Everyone on campus knew Dedrick’s car.  It was one of the few that had the deeply tinted windows and decorative writing on the front windshield.

Dedrick’s car was rocking back and forth.  I walked towards the car and knocked on the glass.  The windows lowered just enough for me to notice a female mounted on top of him.  I was stunned still while objects were flying towards his car.  The girl on top was shoved aside so Dedrick could prepare a quick exit.  The passenger and he sped down the road.  One pal traveled after the car in hot pursuit while the other girl wrapped her arms around me and hugged me.

“Elice, I’m so sorry, girl.”

I nodded, but I don’t remember if I said anything after that.  I walked back to my room.  Luckily, that was my last class for the day.  I was left alone with my thoughts.

My brain became flooded.  All the abuses and what I had put up with came full circle.  All of the shame and fury hit me at once:

From Dark Scats (Broadway Style):

Un-break my heart.
Mend it with booze.
Paste it with pills;
Put me in a permanent snooze.

No more beating;
No more cheating;
I’m on a one-way ticket,
I’m leaving;
I can’t do this life shit
No more!

Toni Braxton playing in the background.

Alcohol and pills in one hand.

Was there something in the other hand?

Everything went black.

My full fledged attempt was almost successful.  I woke up in the hospital.  My throat felt absolutely raw.  I was told by the doctor that my stomach had been pumped.

“How did I get here?”

“We got a 911 call.”

Everything was foggy besides “Un-break My Heart” and the culmination of all Dedrick had put me through. Also, I knew that no one was in the room with me.  How could anyone have known to even come there?

Looking back on that, there was one part of me that still wanted to fight.  I had taken enough alcohol and medication to have killed me, yet I was brought back in the nick of time.  At times, certain emotions wipe out rationale, and you don’t fully think about how your actions could impact others.  I had been so isolated by Dedrick.  I thought I no longer had close friends because he chased them away with his threats and his tight reign over me.  Yet when I hit rock bottom, they were at my side.  I was so caught up in what I was to Dedrick that I had forgotten what my success had meant to other people.  Seeing the pain reflected in others’ eyes was a true wake-up call for me.

Source: stylegerms.com

This Life, flaws and all, is worth living.  When Life gets ugly, a person will never know if it’s going to get better if she decides to end it permanently.  The universe has a way of handling all things, good or bad; one just has to be patient enough to see the fallout.  Whatever suffering Dedrick put upon me he has since experienced tenfold.  The darkness I went through has allowed me to appreciate life, but I would NEVER wish that darkness upon anyone.  If you even think you want to end it all, please reach out and seek help.  Don’t get caught up in what someone will think of you or become trapped in stigma; you have to do what’s best for you.  You can’t experience your best if you’re gone too soon.

My name’s Elice, and this is my testimony.

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What Love Is Not (Shared Tragedy)

Source: theerostouch.wordpress.com

What Love Is Not: Part One


There are many interpretations on what love is supposed to look like and feel like.  Yet what if you don’t have enough or no healthy representations around you?  What is your starting point?

Sometimes, it can be as small as a guy saying the right things to you at just the right moments.

It can be someone giving you the attention you’re not getting at home or positive interaction where everything and everyone else has been negative.

It could be someone placing the possessive word “my” or “mine” to make you really feel like you’re special.

Straws, even pencil thin ones, have substance.

Until those straws start to break.

Like little glimpses in Seeing the Signs:

I noticed him staring
At some girl’s chest
When he thought I wasn’t looking.
And when I asked him about it,
He claimed he was looking in disgust
Because a decent woman
Shouldn’t be flaunting her stuff.

I caught him looking
At some girl’s ass
While walking with some classmates.
And when I asked him about it,
He claimed he was looking for comparison--
To see if I would look as good
In the jeans she was sporting.

Or humming the melody of Celie’s Blues:

I am not your woman:
You are not my man--
That would mean we are partners,
That we are joined at the hip
And walk hand in hand.

But really

You are my Mister,
And I am your Celie.

Things only get done
When you want them done.

When you tell me
To call you at 5:30,
It can’t be any time before
And not a millisecond afterwards.

If I don’t call at all,
I hear your trash talk:
Your accusations of infidelity;
Your claims of I should thank the stars
That I have you
Cause no one else would want me.

Even when you have reached your limit and have received a much needed intervention, without that foundation and lesson from the past relationship, you are doomed to repeat the cycle, or even get in a worse situation.

Love does not demean and corrupt core elements of one’s self to make another self bigger.  Love celebrates and enhances the self that is already there.

But what do you do when the very ones who were supposed to foster your self love are the perpetrators of the pain?

To be continued...


What Love is Not: Part Two (Elice's Story)


Being single felt foreign to Elice.  Perhaps she was addicted to the feel of being on someone’s arm.  After she made her journey from high school to college, it wasn't long before she ended up in another relationship. She hadn’t intended on it, originally.  She was still hurting over her last relationship and had made up her mind to experiment in just having brief affairs.

It was supposed to be that way with Dedrick.  Just a good time.  Yet he said that their moment together was like a drug, and he was hooked on the side effects.  He ended up leaving his girlfriend, and it didn't take long for him to start pursuing Elice.

He would make it a point to find her during lunch time and would visit her at her living quarters.  She really loved how talented Dedrick was, but she always had a soft spot for musicians.  He would always compliment Elice on how smart and beautiful she was.  Most of the time, the conversation would end with him wanting a chance to have a relationship.  For about three weeks, Elice valiantly fought off his advances.

Finally, Dedrick’s persistence paid off.  He was thrilled.  Not too long after the union, Dedrick wanted Elice to meet his parents.  Elice thought it was a bit soon, but Dedrick insisted the love he felt for her had no timetable and that she was the type of woman he could imagine being with for a very long time.  The family Dedrick had was the type of family she always wanted.  His parents loved each other and seemed very invested in their children’s education. Dedrick invited Elice to his church, where he would play the piano and organ.  The whole family and community were pleased with his choice.

A few weeks after that, Dedrick popped the question in front of a multitude of people.  The college was relatively small, so it’d be safe to say in front of the entire campus.

Elice had to be honest with herself.  She didn’t know whether she loved Dedrick, but she liked how being with him, his family, and the church community made her feel.  Perhaps with time she could grow to love him as passionately as he did her.  Besides, she didn’t want to embarrass him in front of everyone.

Although Dedrick celebrated it from the mountaintops, Elice wasn’t sure how she would be able to tell her family.  She permitted Dedrick to drop her off at home one weekend to give him an opportunity to meet them.  Once Dedrick left, she wanted to gauge how they felt about him.  Her grandmother’s response, “There’s something not quite right about him.”

Elice wasn’t quite sure.  Dedrick hadn’t shown any of the signs like the previous relationship she had.  Dedrick didn’t act possessive.  He didn’t put her down; in fact, he always made it a point to do the opposite.  Their sexual moments ranged from scenes in Harlequin to episodes in some of Zane’s short stories.  Nothing was broken.

But one night changed everything.  The one night Elice dared to tell Dedrick no.

She was preparing for a test and wanted the opportunity to study without distraction.  Dedrick was hungry for sex.  His appetite seemed insatiable, and usually, Elice rose to the challenge.  But she wasn’t up to it this time and told her so.

His actions afterwards made this statement fact: You never tell me no.

That night, her fiance pinned her to the bed and raped her.  Elice was horrified.  She had never seen him like that.  Elice was heartbroken.  If Dedrick loved her, how could he do this to her?  Elice was ashamed.  How could this had happened to her?

For every woman who talks about her rape, there are so many who do not.  In some cases, the rape victim is put on trial, scrutinized from the clothes she wears to what she said to the guy and how she said it.  She feels as if she has to relive the experience all over again when all she wants to do is get justice and find a way to put it behind her.

When Elice first decided to leave Dedrick, he didn’t take it to well.  He became emotionally and mentally unstable.  His roommate contacted her, and Elice discovered Dedrick playing the game of Russian Roulette. She aborted her plans because she didn’t want that on her conscience, but perhaps it was a mind game to get her to stay.

All of the nastiness Elice’s grandmother sensed in Dedrick became magnified.  Elice was isolated from her old friends, and she was caught in a cycle of control and fear.  Whatever little regard she had for her life was washed away upon Dedrick’s arrival.

So many on the outside believe it is so easy to just go.  Yet it is not easy to leave an abusive relationship, especially when your life is being threatened.  If you have kids, it is even riskier.

But the best thing you can do for your existence is to leave.  The ambiance of a relationship isn’t worth your risking your life.

Love is not abusive.  Love doesn’t gain might by taking out one’s life.  Find the resources and utilize them.  You are not alone.

Elice didn’t have to live this way.

I didn’t have to live that way.

Elice escaped.

And so did I.

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Don't Be a Carnival Act

Source: imgarcade.com

Let’s travel back to when the rose was still a bud.  What did you imagine your first time would be like?   Was the location comfortable?  Did he take his time? Was it filled with love, pleasure, and satisfaction?

I loved reading romance books.  I really wanted the experience to be with the right person.  I wanted the setting and pace to be right.  I believed the right person would be patient with me and understand why I wanted to keep my flower sacred.

I wanted it to be Harlequin.  I admit it.

Once I got out of my head, I observed my surroundings.  

Most of my friends had already had sex years before me.  Most of them said it was pleasurable.  At first, I was just listening in, content with living sexual escapades through them.  Yet, soon, I was getting asked to chime in.  Although I am a writer, it didn’t feel like I had to lie to my friends about how much action I was getting.  Then, every other day, it was like, “When are you going to go ahead and do it?”

If that wasn’t bad enough, the guy I was seeing at the time was starting to put pressure on me.  I was a bit baffled as to why.  I told him that I was a virgin.  Maybe that was where I screwed up.

Harlequin took a back seat to a dark corner and splintered wood.  Passion was swallowed by fear and dread.  Comfort was ripped apart by pain.

My flower tarnished by bullshit.

Cue Other Carnival Acts (excerpt):

Comfort took a back seat

To his eagerness to Conquer.

And the great outdoors

Became a lover’s

Playing field.

The splinters

Were the makeshift cushion,

Pushing at my skin

Until my flesh gave way.

I went to another place

As grubby hands

Tugged denim and cotton

All at once

And the sound of unzipped pants

Kissed my ears.

Latex met my sex

With the grace

Of a blundering fool,

And my eyes darkened

In fury and pain.

I’m not going to say, “Wait until marriage.”  But have this act be with someone that you really want to be intimate with.  Don’t let pressure from the outside dictate your decision.  It is a very important step; you cannot take back your very first time.  Even going celibate for a long time isn’t the same as when you’ve first had your virginity.

Sex is supposed to be art.  It’s supposed to feel exhilarating.  Don’t cheapen it into something it’s not.  The cheapening of sexual acts is one of the main reason outsiders feel as if they have the right to deem sex worse than violence.  It’s natural to have these urges; they were given to us.  Don’t let your first time and any of the times afterwards be a carnival act.

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Transformation (A Queen's Initial Darkness)

Source: newgrounds.com

Technology Has Made Bullying Easier

Just because something is increasing in popularity doesn’t mean it’s right or should be accepted.

Back when I was growing up, picking on somebody was relatively straight forward.  One kid saw something about another kid she didn’t like and used that very trait to start the tirade.  Take a peek inside XII:

Teasing before class;

Whispering during class;

Telling myself the little mantra:

“Don’t say anything. Just let it pass.”

Sitting at lunch alone;

More teasing during class;

Hiding in the bathroom crying,

Telling myself the torture can’t last.

The teasing would occur in class, during lunch, before or after school.  A few occasions, it would happen in the neighborhood.

The beef I have with technology is that it makes people too easily accessible.  A kid can have access to another kid 24-7.  There’s social networks, such as Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.  There are blogs where someone can log on anonymously and spew hateful things.  There’s text messages via cell phone. There are so many ways a bully can get at a person without even physically harming the person.

Whoever says that “words don’t hurt” has not had to move to another school district because the word of mouth became too much and has impacted the family’s dynamic in the neighborhood.

Whoever says that “words don’t hurt” has not had to see a child carry around the torment because she doesn’t want to worry her parents.

Whoever says that “words don’t hurt” has not had to stop a child from committing suicide.

Or even worse, not getting there in time.

In my observation, the technological savvy of this generation compared to the times I grew up in are staggering.  I am afraid for our young children.  No matter where you go, it’s a battlefield.  I understand why children feel like they are in a war zone, and why their childhood years feel like a never ending nightmare. I’ve been there.

When the tears stop flowing and one starts becoming numb, that is when the danger strikes.  When one’s normal reaction ceases to function, the warning signs flash in neon lights:

But one day,

When I emerged from the bathroom,

I felt different.

When the boy that walked by

Teased me about my glasses,

I said, “Thanks.”

When the girl that bumped into me

Screamed, “Fatso, watch where you’re going!”

I laughed.

When the popular kid

Sat in my favorite seat again,

I just smiled.

That day, I died,

And no one even noticed.

In my experience, I was trying not to worry my family.  Yet the coping mechanism I adopted changed me into an entirely different person, and at some points, almost cost me my life.


Motto: Parents, trust your gut.  Pay attention to the signs.  Don’t just ignore them.  You never know what can happen.

Makings of a Monster

It was at around age 12 when I made the decision that vocal conversation was useless.  Each time I used my voice, nothing ever got solved.  My pen became the might.  My teachers were impressed but also worried, since the tone of my journal writings started becoming darker.

I cannot take the things back.  It was how I felt.  

The transformation was perhaps inevitable.

For me, Queen of Spades was much more than a pseudonym.  She was my mechanism for survival.  Things that bothered me before didn't bother me as much.  I didn't take a lot of time to obsess over the aftermath.  During those days, I just reacted:

From A Queen’s Growing Pains:

I am past the point

Where my inner voice kicks in.

Too much damage

Has been done to my skin

To have any sympathy

For others sink in.

The person

You see before you

Has assumed another identity.

I became jaded in my views on Humanity.  I used to believe there was good in all people.  Yet the neglect and disrespect had weighed heavy on me, as revealed in Humanity’s Worse Nightmare:

Overall,

I think the human race

Lacks intelligence

Which is why they’d rather

Be part of cliques than independent.

They are like snakes

Hissing at those who dare to be different,

Swallowing our prides and hearts whole

Demanding that we change.

My first major betrayal by one I believed was my friend came to a nasty head in the conclusion of The Inconvenient Threesome:

I slapped you

Like a pimp

Would slap his b*tch

Who withheld

His dollars and cents.

I heard your jaw crack.

While you shed tears,

People said I laughed.

Looking back on those times, I hardly recognize Queen of Spades.  I guess you can say she’s gone into rehab.  She’s still quite introspective and fiercely determined, but she has developed better techniques in how to handle her dismay at humanity more constructively.

Still I don’t think you’d want to cross her in a fight...

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Character Interviews: Casualties of War

At All Authors Blog, we have a special treat for you.  Three people share their stories as to how they became Casualties of War at a young age.  They have asked not to have their pictures shown, and we have respected their wishes.


Abigayle

I learned early that I wasn’t worth much.  The sounds I remember hearing the most were feet running down the steps and the slamming of the front door.  I used to be in daycare but my mom stopped paying them. The daycare’s story: the checks kept bouncing.  So I got kicked out.  My mom would get anybody to watch me, cashing in a favor here and there when money was short.  If money was so short, why was she wearing designer clothes and shoes?  Why was her hair and makeup never out of place?  The rare times she and I were out together, she would claim that I was one of the underprivileged kids she would occasionally look after.  She looked like royalty; I looked like a reject.  She prayed no one would connect us being mother and daughter.

Current day: Abigayle has a son and daughter.  She learned to love high fashion even if it came at a high cost.  Her kids are lucky if they see a meal.  The kids recycle their clothing until they are full of holes, yet she never replaces them.  


Brad

Why spend money on a gym and use their equipment when he could use me anytime he got ready?  When he would put his hands on me, he’d cry and apologize.  I thought he meant it.  I mean, how could my old man intend to hurt me this way?  He loved me, didn't he?  Yet, it continued.  At first, the tears stopped.  Then, the apologies stopped.  It became commonplace for me to go to school with a black eye here, swollen eye there.  I made myself out to be the clumsiest boy in the world.  I guess the old man went too far when he broke my rib; I couldn’t come up with a good story for that one.  The authorities stepped in, and from the age of twelve until I was an adult, I was in and out of group homes and foster care.

Current day: Brad has a son of his own.  He tried to drown his pain and sorrow in the bottom of a bottle. Some days, it works fine.  More times than not, the alcohol gets the best of him.  So does his anger.  He sees that he’s inflicting the same pain on his son as he endured many years back.  He feels remorse and does well for a while, but the call of the bottle is a hard one to silence.


Chazene

I began to hate my name at the age of nine.  The girls at school had made up a line about me: “Chazene, Chazene, when you gonna get lean?”  I was fat, and I was constantly reminded of it, not just at school, but at home.  My mother’s way of trying to assist me in losing weight was purposely buying me clothes a size too small as an incentive for me to try and fit in them.  The clothes weren't even my style to begin with.  One day, all of my other jeans were dirty, and I started to put on a pair of jogging pants to go with my t-shirt.  She said, “Chazene, I paid too much money for these jeans.  You’re gonna wear them today.”  When I refused, she grabbed me, tied my wrists to the bed, slathered my belly and legs with Vaseline and forced the jeans onto my body.  I could barely breathe.  Soon, I had enough and decided to run away.  I was sixteen at that point.  My mom never even searched for me.  I think she was glad that I was gone.

Current day:  Chazene has changed her name to Mercedes.  She was able to get surgery to alter her appearance but she paid a hefty price to achieve this.  She turns tricks to repay him for his services.  At times, she wants to leave the game, but it’s easy money.  Plus, guys can’t take their eyes off of her.  She’s seen as beautiful and popular.  Also, if it wasn’t for “Big Ricky” she would still be on the street.


All of these people are Casualties of War: From the Battlefield of Human Soil.  Who is to blame? For the most part, it starts at home, and all is summarized in the last stanza:

Really, we are just

Younger versions of you,

And all the habits we pick up

Are going to come from you.

So just take your time, be safe

And use protection sometime

Or you’ll have casualties like us

Blaming you for our f’d up lives.

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Let Me Explain...

Source: imgarcade.com

Let Me Explain…(Disappearing Acts)

That was actually the main thing I wanted from him.  The man whose little swimmer was successful.  It stung when people said, “That’s definitely his kid.  She has his smarts.”

But I never really knew who he was, and she never talked much about him.  He was the one who was her first; the one who had her heart; and the one who betrayed her.  

Early in life, I was asked, “Did I love him?”  I always answered, “No” because I didn't have the chance to really get to know him.  He was just this figment that other people tried to convince me was real.  I first started to wonder about him in Far From Father (excerpt):

While you wandered on to live your life,

I wonder if you ever gave me a second thought:

If you ever stopped to even think to yourself-

What happened to that one half of you

That you left?

Did you ever give any thought to what you’ve done;

How you can caress women’s hearts,

Rape their souls and run:

Leaving two children’s lives socially undone;

Do you ever think of your son or daughter?

If so, which one?

Source: comptroller.tn.gov

At this stage, I wasn't angry.  I just really wanted answers.  I heard one side about what happened. Actually, many people collaborated that side of the story.  I just wanted his take.  

Then, around my college years, he expressed an interest in connecting with me.  I hadn't thought it that far yet, but I wanted to give him the opportunity.  The opportunity was conveyed in Said You Loved Me (excerpt):

We even talked of a meeting

The next time I came home.

You told me you were living with your mom

To get away from the city demons

And make a fresh start.

I made the necessary preparations.  I knew my grandmother didn't share my enthusiasm because of his track record in the past, but I respected that she stayed out of it.

I called for you,

But no one picked up

Or you just weren’t home.

I cancelled plans

With some old friends,

Wanting to stay close to the house

So I wouldn’t miss you.

But you never showed.

And after school resumed,

You never phoned.

This lesson I want to share to all the absentee parents:

When a child is giving you the opportunity to return and explain, seize it.  She could have easily not been open to accepting any type of correspondence with you.

If you give you word to appear, keep it.  The moment you renege on that word, you are only giving credence to the negative stuff that was said about you.

You have to make a choice.  If you are going to be gone, stay gone.  If you are going to be active, stay active.  Don’t keep going back and forth.  Your uncertainty causes damage, but you want to act hurt because the relationship isn't lovey-dovey or nonexistent.

Source: iconfinder.com

Fast Forward

Would I have liked for the ending to have been different?  Sure. It would have been cool if it was like those reunion shows on TV--with the excitement and happy tears.  But it would have been worse if he reappeared and then bailed once again.

Perhaps he had his reasons for not coming through.  But now, I will never know.  And unfortunately for him, now I don’t care to know.

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Actions & Their Impact

Dinner Conversations and The Child's Perspective

One day, I was at a restaurant, and I overheard these two teenage girls talking.  One of them hadn't too long had a baby.

“Girl, I thought you would be trapped in the house with the baby.”
“No, I need my freedom.  Why does my life have to stop?  I still hang out and party just as much as I used to before I got big.”
“Your mom’s at work now?  Who’s watching the baby?”
“My cousin, Lexi, and her husband.”
“Mary, they party as much as you!  They don’t know anything about raising a kid-”
“The kid is not going to know.  As long as the baby is fed, what difference does it make?”

It may make more of a difference than you realize.  There’s a misconception that just because one is very young, he has no memory.  Or if the event happened when he is too young to form words, that it has no impact.

One never knows when remnants of the past may pop up in the present.  It could be a smell or a particular sound that can take you back to images you thought you could forget.

I tackled this concept in Shattering the Mindless Myth (excerpt):

Since I was a baby
You didn't think it mattered
What you did;
You could do what you wanted
And I wouldn’t be affected.

Yet, a child can tell when she’s being in care of the parent and when she’s being cared for by someone else:

Dirty clothes,
Soiled pampers,
Tummy grumbling
Because folks forgot to feed me:
Instead, in the background, humping.

The child doesn’t have a choice in being brought into this world, yet some people they can go back to business as usual once the child is born.  Just because you think your life is back to normal doesn’t mean the child is adjusting to the changes.

I would have rather
You slit my wrists
Than for you to have the right
To treat me like this.

A child needs more than food, clothing, and shelter.  The child needs love, especially from the person who gave him/her life.  You never know what type of devastation you can leave behind:

...you subject me
To a fate worse than death:
Selfishness and neglect.

Faulty Existence

It’s one thing for someone to get upset at you when you’ve done something wrong.  It’s another thing entirely when you know you’ve done nothing, except exist.

Perception and reality do battle in the piece My Fault: Her Perception.  There are situations where the young parents blame the child for not going as far in life as previously envisioned:

It’s my fault that she fell in love

With the first man that came along.

It’s my fault that she stuck with him

Despite all the warnings

He was stringing her along.

It’s my fault that she decided

She didn’t need birth control,

And it’s my fault that he decided

Not to put the condom on.

The logical component and the emotional tirade proves to be mentally exhausting.  The length of this piece illustrates the back and forth--the composition of what a child can deal with, even when not being fully aware of the circumstances.

In the end, the child comes up with the only question that makes sense:

So if everything

Is my fault in her eyes,

Then why does she keep me alive

To continue her demise?

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Daydreaming, and I'm Thinking of You

As the melody of this resonates in my mind, I think not of a guy but of something missing in my childhood.  I began noticing that the composition of my family wasn't the same as other schoolchildren.  I allowed my mind to travel and daydream--to venture outside my reality.  That premise was the foundation to That Are Not Mine.  Here's an excerpt:

That Are Not Mine

I'm glancing at the sky and feeling time pass
While I'm lying on a blanket of grass.
In my book bag, I proceed to fetch
My favorite pad and begin to sketch.
I'm struggling to think of the better times,
But instead, think of the moments
That are not mine.

I'm envisioning myself with Shirley Temple curls
And wearing a colorful skirt that flares and twirls;
I'm yelling gleefully, “I'm on top of the world!
Finally, I fit in with the other girls.”
I'm wishing I'd experienced these magical times,
But instead, these are the moments
That are not mine.

Yes, I was daydreaming.

Source:  yourhumblelittlenarrator.tumblr.com

Before I started going to school, I never ventured to know why or find out the true story.  Yet, I soon began asking because others began asking.  I didn't know what to say when someone asked, "Where's your daddy?" or "What happened to your mom?".  I didn't know how to embrace being different back then.  All I knew was that I was different, and that being different equaled being stared at and made to feel uncomfortable.

I thought the daydreaming could make me feel better, but in the end, I was really making myself worse.  That Are Not Mine wasn't a sweet dream but a beautiful nightmare I kept on replay.

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Is Private Pain an archive from the Devil?

Disclaimer:  This post reflects the views of the author and aren't affiliated in any way, shape, or form with All Authors Blog, its sponsors, or associates.

Did you get the giggles as you read the title? I almost did but I have to address the possibility there may be some people who may answer that title question with a resounding “Yes.”

I did warn this work wasn't for everybody.

The reason why some may think “Yes” is because there are instances where the write may be accused of blasphemy.

Blas-phe-my noun \ˈblas-fə-mē\

        ●     great disrespect shown to God or to something holy

        ●     something said or done that is disrespectful to God or to something holy

Each section in Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes starts off as a stage. That stage is usually accompanied by some random thoughts or by talks being exchanged with God.

           

It starts off simple enough. A little girl is praying. It's not the fact that she's praying but what she's praying for that one should notice.

           

Stage One-Flicker (excerpt):

Dear God, 

All I want more than anything, is a Mom and Dad that consider me their Pride and Joy.

What happened to the standard, “God bless Mommy. God bless Daddy. God bless me.”?

That prayer didn't live there.

Then as the stages progress, the tone begins to transform, and by the time one gets to Stage Three (Blaze), there are some people who will be hotter than the Hell they will be commanding me to go to.

Stage Three-Blaze (excerpt): 

Instead of closing this with an Amen, I'll leave You with this: 

Why am I still praying?

Source: quickmeme.com

If something doesn't make sense to me, I ask questions. 

Yet, Religion seems to be people's ultimate exception. If it was any other topic, one would be deemed foolish to not ask. It's the whole, “If John walked off a cliff, would you do so, too?” Most wouldn't volunteer to walk off a cliff, yet we are supposed to take certain elements in religion at face value, even if they seem in contradiction.

If this question was about any other subject or placed in a different context, not too many would be offended at all. I'd just be an explorer searching for answers.

Once a person gets to Stage Six, there is a single statement that covers everything:

Please let there be a Purpose to this Pain.

There is a Purpose, and sometimes to get to the Purpose, one has to go through the Pain. Yes, we can all wish that our lives were trouble free, and that everything should have the feel of Paradise. If things were going wonderfully all the time, how much would we really appreciate it?

How long does it take a person to stop appreciating good deeds when they are getting done all the time? Soon, you may think, “Why should I keep giving props to actions that should be performed anyway?” It is why the person who's always had one's back gets slighted while the person who rarely comes through (and then does) gets praise.

How long does it take a person to tire of the latest technology? Sure, your son or daughter may love the newest iPhone, but how long before he or she wants to cast it aside to get the next best thing?

Private Pain: Amidst These Ashes isn't an archive from the Devil. 

It's an expression of confusion and rage—real reactions to things that have occurred in life. It's exercising the inclination to question, and I believe that everyone has done this at some point and time, but not too many are brave enough to admit it and put it in print for the world to see.

It is the ultimate celebration of being appreciative.

All I can do is hope that people go beyond their inclination to judge the journey and view the end result as a testament.

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