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Cathartic Coercion

Thursday, April 11, 2019

It's been months, more like years, since I've sat in bed, my laptop resting atop down comforters and blankets, with the intention of writing anything of substance.

The English language has always been something I've enjoyed. Assembling syllables, words, sentences, and paragraphs, into something more than just letters appearing on a screen has always been a passion of mine.

To me it's a cathartic coercion when I'm able to achieve a melodic passage by giving my thoughts a life of their own in which the reader can engage with all of their senses.

For lack of a better term, I've been on hiatus. I feel my writing is rusty at best.

However, with encouragement from a friend, and the passage of time sufficient to quell the chaotic confusion I had been thrown into, some of my own doing and some dealt by the hands of cavalier diagnosticians, I now feel the freedom to allow my thoughts to emerge once more.

My mind is at ease and I feel no need to censor my ideas, my reasoning, or my perceptions. I have allowed myself to be freed from the confinement I once endured.

I have tamed the inner demons that once haunted me. I can now the celebrate multifaceted creation I am. I no longer feel the need to flee. I have been liberated and polished by the pressure that once surrounded me. I can now go forth smiling with the knowledge I was never destroyed.

My Creator kept me shielded from the one that was intent on incinerating my inner most being. I had to be broken, broken enough to allow my Maker to rebuild me into the woman He had intended for me to be from the beginning of time.



Did I Break My Face?

Tuesday, November 13, 2018


Why? Just Why?

Thursday, November 1, 2018


Shane Dawson, Jeffree Star, And A Conspiracy?

Wednesday, October 24, 2018


Is There A Correlation Between Tattoos and PTSD?

Saturday, August 18, 2018


OMG! Is It Possible?

Wednesday, July 25, 2018


Her Eyes Took Me By Surprise

Monday, July 23, 2018

As I wiped steam from the bathroom mirror, the reflection of her eyes took me by surprise

Big, brown, familiar, yet not

I stood staring as the air cleared

Slowly the cloak covering the mirror vanished as did the way she once saw herself

I could see the woman in front of me wet and renewed not only from the morning's cleansing

But also from breaking free from the cocoon in which she was once encased

I was mesmerized as watched the droplets of water

Fall from her body taking with them the fear she had before tightly gripped

Wet tresses of blonde, mixed with platinum, framed her face

I paused as I stared and for the first time in ages saw the essence of the one whose reflection I studied

I looked at the outward scars the ink on her arms covered

In them I saw evidence of the battles she had fought and won

Within her I knew the scars left on her heart were being healed

She stood there naked, without makeup, with ringlets of wet hair

And I saw a beauty I had never before seen in her

I saw a radiance that comes with being comfortable in one's own skin

I saw a woman with no need for affirmation, for she had fought the war and survived


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