You claim love equality,
With words that
match nothing
Of reality.
You still fail to understand,
I want nothing given from
A hesitant hand.
Tis not material
Items I desire,
Nor any attachments
Grand of wealth.
Reach for me just once
And tell me honestly,
That you are interested
To learn who I am,
Truthfully.
Parenting isn’t about
wealth or greed,
Or the material
That you can give.
Knowing one well,
Ignoring the other is
Just seriously unkind.
Cousins Jesse and Daisy are not prepared when the “thunder egg” Jesse has found turns out to be a dragon egg that is about to hatch.
A cute Tween book. It has adventure and a villain who is scary enough that even the adult readers will no be disappointed. The characters are rich and the descriptions are decent. This is the first book in the series and it allows you to grow with Emerald the dragon and her two preteen keepers. Very magical and a lot of fun to read. I highly recommend.
Dear Mama,
I love you. All that I have ever wanted was to feel like you were proud of me. I tried to be who you wanted. I found that didn’t work. Then I tried being myself. I found that I was happier, but you still were not proud of me. Mama I am fourty one, and I have succeeded. I am published. I am usually a happy soul. Yet when I fall, and I do occasionally fall. It is your voice in my ear, telling me you expected it all along. When I get rejected for my poetry, (as rejections are normal for the writer to recieve) that everyone else would tell me I wrote so well? I hear you telling me that you didn’t want to hear it because of how depressing it was.
Mama, I have published five volumes of poetry, three children’s books, and a novella. You know that family have hardly even acted like it mattered? I am doing what I told you I wanted to do at nine. I am a writer. So I may never be a novelist, children’s books still need written. I have never asked for much. Just a hey, that is awesome. Or even… Uh sharing it on social media that you have a daughter who is printed. So I put space between us. I admit that I was tired of feeling like you just didn’t care. I deserve to be someone who is cared about. I’m sorry that I was never the daughter you wanted, but Mama, I have always just been me.
Love always,
Your daughter.
Not everyone is healed by medicine, not everyone is healed by therapy. Don’t get me wrong, it can do a great deal. Still it is alot like an addiction, being mentally ill. Unless you are ready to heal, all therapy will do is give you someone else to depend on. Someone else to expect judgement from. This is often more detrimental to self esteem than helpful. I have been seeing a therapist since I was nine years old. For me it was just something that I had to do. I have had some good ones, ones who could make me see them as human. I’ve had a few who abused my trust. To tell the truth, I have done more towards healing when I was not seeing one. I used to dissociate. For the ignorant among my readers, the term Dissociate is technical jargon for saying that I was multiple personalities. Twenty years ago I was a true mess. Nearly twelve personalities that we knew of. I was never sure where I would wake up, and how much time would have passed. One of my personalities was cutting. As stated, I was not in a good place. When I was in control, I was having nightly nightmares. I was terrified of being put in a hospital. Mostly because I figured I would not be let free. I am extremely claustrophobic. When I was little, I was molested. I finally got the courage and told him that if he came near me again I would scream. Well I guess he believed me… But he did decide to put one last scare to keep me from talking. He locked me in the trunk of his car and told me I would die there. I am not sure how long I was in there. But I was there long enough to scare me. I was nine. It took me four years to gain enough courage to speak. He said that I would never be believed. Damn him for being right. I was told that I was insane. I showed all the symptoms of a abused child. So much so that I was put in therapy. I was put on medicine… But I speak up… And I am insane. Fine. I am fourty one. I am finally one, not many. And I am insane. He raped me at five. He raped me until I was strong enough to say no. Then he raped my mind for the majority of my life. And if I had been believed he wouldn’t have been able to rape the girls after me. He wouldn’t have been free. He is in jail, but I check on occasion. I am fourty one and I am scared of a small man who ruined my life. I am not sure I will ever not be. Ask my family… I am a depressing poet who has always been crazy. Oh wait, many of them (not all) will not even Acknowledge that I write. I embarass them. After all, I was telling the truth. I don’t lie, because thanks to the dissociation, I often have a hard time remembering things. So why lie if I will only be caught. I am not crazy. I need no therapist to hear me. I am whole. I have good coping mechanisms. And I will not hide who I have become for anyone!
Speak your own truth. No matter what anyone else thinks of it.
Last night was not a good one. I doubt that I slept even a full hour. Every time I would try it would be falling into yet another nightmare. I have had them all of my life, as far back as I remember. I rarely remember them, only wake feeling afraid and small.
So I have been sleep deprived and shaky… Not a good combo. Well it has had me trying to gather all of the random thoughts swimming in my head. Quite unsuccessfully I should add. So much so that I have decided to post some here to help my mind to relax. And that it is a glimpse for you of my chaos? Bonus.
1. I miss my grandmother, well both of them. But mostly my maternal grandmother. I have been trying to learn to crochet. And she was amazing at it. She was just plain amazing, but it is the crochet that is bringing her to mind this time.
2. Samhain. Yes I am pagan. And this is a time for family.
3. I am very likely not going to end up with the death of neverland as anything but a novella. The halfway point is 5000 words. So I find myself wondering if I am trying to exceed my reach. I am a poet. I am a children’s author. I apparently can do short stories (aka novella). But can I do a novel?
3 i really am enjoying doing the art thing. If you are curious about how my art is… Myne drawings album is public on my personal Facebook (Patti Harris). Go ahead, look! I would love new input.
4. My daughter is starting to get into create music. I really want to encourage that.
5. Yule. I have a idea for a few of the people on my list. Not that my list is big. I am not able to afford much for even those.
6. Butt coasters. A friend of mine on Facebook is doing novelty crocheted coasters (www.facebook.com/nothingbuttcoasters/) and I am so tickled by the pug ones… (Thinking about them for one of my list…
7 money. Always a issue.
8. After the first of the year, do I want to do another bedtime tales?
9. Zombie castaways. Android game.. The villa (a building to make needed items in the game) if you combine love and rubber… You get bedsheets….
10. I really want a small crockpot for the truck. I wonder if I can pull it off this month.
11.whether I should do a blog post about religion. Or poets that I love and why….
12 my sister’s faeries. I feel like I should help more than I do…
So much rambling. I am heading to bed soon. I hope that I sleep better tonight.
I am strong. I have not always known what that meant. A lover I had once told me I was strong, and I asked him to define what strong, emotional or physical. He said both. Perhaps because it was what he thought I wanted to hear. Truth is I have never been a physically strong person. I was a bit more then though. I was walking two miles a day in high school and lifting weights. By the time of the conversation, I was starting to be less active due to pain. So physical strength has lessened by time and disability.
However, if I am honest with myself, I have always been emotionally strong. Which takes a toll. I have had to heal. I am quick to cry, and very quick to defend my boundaries. Those boundaries don’t have to make sense to anyone else. They exist because of my life has been a mess of epic proportions.
I was born to a pair of teenagers. Mom worked all the time, she was rarely home. She managed to graduate high school when I was five. Daddy was in and out of my life. We moved alot. My parents married when I was six, which lasted about four and a half years. The first four years we moved 27 times. So as the new kid, constantly, and the shy introvert… Well I had trouble making friends. So much so that my grandmother introduced the idea that reading could fill the gap.
Which is why I was I was able to be molested. I was not a social child and he took advantage of how lonely and misplaced I was. I was strong enough to gather my courage and tell him to stop. I told him that I would scream and not stop if he came near me again. So he made sure to scare me. Which keep me quiet for four years. *not that speaking up did any good *
When I was eleven, Mom met an amazing man. She moved us, my brother and myself and her, into his place. He had six sons, though most were grown up and gone. He had his youngest two still. He lived in a two bedroom trailer on land he was buying. The trailer didn’t have running water. We lived a mile from the road, three miles from the store and six from town. Mom worked. My stepdad worked. So often it was just me and the stepbrothers.
We moved into the new trailer two years later, six months after my son was born. I was thirteen. It had running water, and I was no longer sleeping on a couch in the living room. However, now I had my stepbrother threatening to kill me, and I was expected to do all the household chores. The boys were allowed to help outside. (Mind you I am a terrible housekeeper).
My mom took custody of my son, to try and allow for all of us to grow up. During this time, because of my stepbrothers actions, she kept sending me to stay with family.I was raped during this time. I was over at a friends house with my son, and a guy who I had been seeing used it to abuse me. Him and four of his friends. So I was suicidal, because the first thing that was really good in my life was being taken from me and I was not as important to my mother as her husband’s sons, and because I was so very tired of life hurting. This is when I started dissociation. I had been told I was lying about the abuse, And I was feeling like I was losing my mind. My mom and I were constantly fighting, because of it. She couldn’t see me, all she saw was a mirror. So I moved in with my favourite grandmother. She was a special lady. She had broken her back three times and had to have it fused five. About the same time, she had been put on oxygen for emphysema. So it was a case of her needing me and I needed to be somewhere mom wasn’t.
I have struggled to put the pieces of my life in a way that makes sense. What I have listed above is sixteen years. I am fourty one. I have not had an easy life. I doubt that it will change, but I am strong enough to handle what ever comes my way. Just occasionally I have a day when I have to say…
Okay, this is not an easy thing for me to write. I am a firm believer in teaching children about their bodies and teaching consent. What that means is teaching a child that their bodies belong only to them. No forcing the child to give unwanted hugs, no ignoring discomfort with affection. Teach girls about what is natural for their bodies. Oh I realize that eventually most have to explain the whole puberty thing. But if you make no topic taboo, then if there is something wrong, your child is not afraid to speak up.
There are several reasons why this is a tough topic , and why it is such an important one. I was molested. He convinced me that no one would believe me. My mom was so uncomfortable with some topics that she couldn’t discuss them… Puberty was not a easy time (I was given a pamphlet and told to go to my room to read it.) So when I finally worked up the courage to speak, well he was right. I was not believed. So when I had my own daughter, I swore I would do things differently. I don’t allow anyone to force affection. We don’t have secrets. If she has a question about anything, I try to answer it. So at twelve years old, I had tried to run away from home three times. She feels safe. I was sexually active at twelve and pregnant at thirteen. She has said that she is not ready for a boyfriend and really is not wanting to have sex anytime soon. She is a smart and sensitive girl who is learning how to be sarcastic and funny, not as a defense mechanism like I did….but because she enjoys laughing. I have been told that I should be less open with her because people were uncomfortable with how honest I am with my twelve year old. I let her ask questions and I refuse to lie. I will not apologize for my doing what I felt was right for any of my children. Even if I fail at all else I do in life, I have a smart funny happy girl.
Sleep sweet child, For day is done.
Rest your body
Before another
Is begun.
Calm your mind,
And enjoy your dreams.
Let all your worry
Cease and leave.
All your troubles
Be gone and done.
Close those eyes,
My sweet little one.
When with the morrow,
That sun does rise.
Raise your head,
And open your eyes.
Explore a world
So fresh, so new,
Explore the world.
It’s there for you.
I have been learning a lot about who I am and who I have been simply by talking to my twelve year old daughter. She sees things in a very straight forward way. She asks questions about life and especially about the parts of human nature that often confuses her. Her questions are occasionally embarrassing and often thought provoking. For years I fumbled through life because I was more worried about how people saw me or the way people would react to me to allow myself the freedom of being completely comfortable in my own skin. I kept my secrets; My religion, my sexuality, my survival to myself.
Part of the reason was because I was afraid. I spoke of my abuse. I was called a liar. I was told I was crazy. A heart can only handle so many blows before it closes itself off. Then as I grew older, I found that I cared less. I surrounded myself with supporters who didn’t care about those things which seemed so bad before. That helped.
I lost the innocence my daughter has too soon. I grew cynical because I needed a defense. I still clung to my desires to be a dreamer, even as I lived in a world made of nightmares. I used the ability to read to bury myself in places where the pain was not mine. I used the ability to write to speak with impunity my fear and struggle. After all, my poems didn’t have to be what I was. At twelve, I tried to run away from home for the second time. For my daughter, home is where she is certain of the fact that she is loved. I am proud of that fact. She still has many of the issues I had in dealing with her peers. She is very mature for her age, so she doesn’t understand conversation topics that amuse them. Also she has the same lack of filter I do. If it is on her mind, she speaks it. Yet for all that we are alike, her mind is far quicker than mine. She has a brilliant sense of humor and more self confidence than I ever did.
Those who know me know I am a very outspoken person. I try to be as honest as possible. Mostly because my memory is awful, i really would forget the lie. Easiest way to end up caught. There are topics I voice that I know make some uncomfortable. I refuse to be silenced because what I have to say makes any one feel bad. I was told I was lying when i first spoke my truth. Others suffered because of this. I was sexually abused. I was terrified of my abuser doing exactly what he threatened to do. So it took time after to speak. He told me no one would believe me. They proved him right. I was thirteen years old when I finally found the courage. So he was allowed to continue his life, and I was thought insane. He did to others what was done to me. They were heard and believed. He has been in jail for about six years now.
I speak now to take back my power.
I speak now because I believe the truth should be heard.
I speak now for those who may find comfort in my story.
I speak now because I survived.
I speak now because no one should feel insane for telling their story.
I speak now so that my abuser and those like him never win.
Pattimouse 