Wednesday, October 15, 2014

The Hands that made the Weapon

Magnificent strong an essence of armor,
his once loving hands now strive to harm her.
The house closes in getting smaller & smaller. It begins in an instant, his hands will alarm her.
As if it's a fitting desire for him,
he exudes entitlement at any given whim.
His hands are raised by his choice of course.
His pattern is clear as she now hears that voice.
What is the rhyme, what is the reason?
Is it reckless abandon sedition or treason?
Can she think through the panic?
Can she fight through fear?
His endeavor to harm her
is so very near.
He's quick and he's sure her neck's his allure as his goal is set into motion.
She tries to hang on as she can now see this danger that he calls devotion.
As no air goes in and none comes out
It's madness & horror as he slings her about.
She struggles, she fights it's the fight of her life, can't scream & can't breathe does she get a reprieve from the man who says she is MY wife?
She sees the sparks they fly in her eyes then darkness ascends like a thief in the night.
As she submits to her death her only request, is for Christ to be there beside her.
For her death begins right there in her home
did anyone know he'd not leave her alone?
For at work in her desk is a serious note.
One to convey to her friends and her folk.
The plight of the broken the battered and bruised
with nothing to gain and all to loose.
God forbid you prefer your hands as your weapon use them for love it's all your discretion.
How many nights and how many fights
How many missing or injured have died?
How many people with choice & aggression
Desire their hands be used for their weapon?
Of three of your friends it could be one or be two
As numbers compare it could even be you.

© COPYRIGHT 2010, Judy Bruton

Saturday, May 3, 2014

Currently. My therapy.

What do you do when you lose a part of yourself ? Where do you search for it, how do you even find out which part is missing?

I remember asking myself these, among other soul-searching, gut-wrenching, spirit-trembling, heartbreaking questions. They were laced with hard-to-face-truths; in that, I had to face the hard truth and recognize things about myself...often things I did not like. I searched high and low for every answer to the questions. Am I a fuck up? Where did I go wrong? Where did the person I was disappear to? Come to think of it, I don't remember what I looked like when I was in my phase of asking myself these things; I barely looked in mirrors, because I was ashamed at who I had become, scared of facing myself. Negativity had surrounded me and I absorbed it. I had stopped living, and my world had become a whirlwind of these crippling questions.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Eventually, I realized I was asking myself the wrong questions, searching for all the wrong answers. The question was not, "Where did I go wrong", but "Where do I want to go?" It wasn't, "Where did the person I was disappear to?" but, "Goodbye to her and hello, who are you now?" We sometimes lose ourselves on the journey to finding ourselves. Those transformations are what make life beautiful and worth living. The ends justify the means. It's like a slap-your-forehead moment-- like DUH, this is what all that bullshit was for? To teach me a lesson? To help me realize that this life is a journey and change is bound to happen? I'm bound to rid myself of my old, ignorant ways to become a better person?! Well, yeah, duh.

You need to die a little before you can start living again. People attribute death with sadness, decay, rot, dissolution, mortality. We often forget that death begets life, rebirth, rejuvenation, growth, vitality. The county always brings these guys in to burn the brush in the fields down the street from my home. When I was younger, I recall asking my mother why they were burning the fields. "To kill the old brush." Well, why, I wanted to know. "Because healthier, new, lusher, greener grass will grow where the old brush was." And it always did. Similar to the changes our characters, our souls make in a lifetime. Like a trail of fire and ash behind me, I became a phoenix, born of the ashes of the former me.

Don't be afraid of being lost, if you're there now. Ask yourself the right questions. Let the ashes burn off of the old you, and know that a rebirth is coming.