I had to take a few days to reflect on my past, present and future. I had to ask myself,”At what point am I going to stop living life like a victim?” My past haunts me. I am still angry. I never got the heartfelt apology that I thought I deserved from the person that I just wanted to love me. A motherless child I am. All people have the capabilities of being Toxic. Mother’s aren’t excluded. I hate when people say,”But it’s your mother, you have to love her.” I just want to scream! I was brutalized for years. A child broken down to the point of where I felt I didn’t exist. I was empty. I didn’t understand what I did to deserve this. Some bonds are meant to be broken. Sometimes you have to “STOP”. You have to cut off that person that brings you grief and heartache. Stopping isn’t just something you do when you are driving or walking. It’s something that you have to do mentally as well. Stop letting them control your greatness. You push forward and be the best you possible. That’s the greatest revenge in the world. Just when they thought they broke you, you stand up and say, “Not today, not now , not ever.”
King, how did you let your castle fall? Queen without a castle looking beautiful in a crown thats made of thorns. Blinded by the blood, I guess you didn’t see when your king started to fall? Not only did you let him fall, but when he was down you took back your rib. Leaving him without the balance he needs to stand and rule again. When we are doing bad they sing monkey see, monkey do. But when we are on the come up, they say what the hell is wrong with you?
Author: Mariana Golphin previously published in Pennsylvania Bards- Northeast Poetry Review
You said she wasn’t worth anything. Making her feel smaller and smaller everyday. Until she disappeared. Little sad invisible girl she was. An orphan with a mother. Lights out! Click. The pain hid in the dark of her eyes. A prisoner of unchosen circumstance. A victim. A victim. A victim. Did they not see her scars? How could they not see them? Oh, I forgot she was invisible. They only saw her when she smiled. They only heard her when she laughed. They turned their backs on her when they heard her crying. They turned their backs on her when they heard the screaming. She was invisible again, I guess? So, what saved the invisible girl? Her mind. Her imagination. She would transport herself to the stars every night and walked across the surface of the moon. Sometimes she became a mermaid. Swimming in the abyss. Discovering sunken treasures, long forgotten by the world. She transformed her pain into poems and her emotions into characters. Even with broken bones, and open wounds her spirit perservered. Soon she found herself enamored with a secret garden. Overtime, she would constantly fall victim to the thorns of the roses. Mesmerized by their warm smile, kind words, strong embrace. Longing to be loved, she soon became numb to the weapons of the roses. She bled internally. She bled slowly. She bled in silence. She grew into a woman. Well, she had the stature of a woman. Inside, the sad little girl was still there. Peeking from behind a torn curtain, in an abandoned apartment. Scared to see the world. Scared to walk to the door and open it and free herself. The poor child. She lived in the shadows and watched the world from the eyes of the adult women. Until one day she awakens to the sounds of people calling her. Telling her not to be afraid, not to hide anymore. It was safe to come out. Friends saved her. Hope saved her. Love found her. Hands reached out of the darkness and tried to lead the scared, battered child to the door. She was so heavy with burdens, she couldn’t lift her feet to move. She began to cry. All the pain and torment rolled freely down her pale cheeks onto the floor. Soon she was drowning in it. The poor child. Struggling in the vicious, turbulent, tumultuous, viscous waves of dispair. Forced to relive the pain, relive the beatings, relive the verbal attacks. She almost succumbs , but then she remembers, she was a mermaid. She remembers her adventures. She swims towards the door, and grasps the handle. She takes one last look at the long abandoned apartment. This was not her home any longer. It never was. She opens the door and leaves. I am a survivor. I am real. I am powerful. I am what you said I couldn’t be. I found my voice. I found my strength. You lost. I won.