Ink Stained Soul…

Sleep was about to claim me.
The dream realms where I gain wisdom, beckoning me in.
Your voice screamed in my head.
Jolting me back to life the way that only your presence can.
My phantom demanding my attention.
But he goes silent once more.

Life is only partly about choices. You have to factor in things happening beyond your control.
I wasn’t given a choice as a child, my rapists they gave me no choice, being beat and held against my will wasn’t a choice for me. Having developmentally disabled children was not a choice. No being with someone that I love, never my choice.
All the choices I have made have been to find a way to have joy and love inside of my circumstances. It was my choice to always choose love. Love for myself, that part of me that is broken, my beautiful tiny humans, and to allow my love to live for another inside of me like a secret oath. I chose to find my way to make some of my own dreams come to some form of life. I chose to allow myself to live and not let my light fade away.

All I ever wanted was to be loved. The kind where they fight for and beside you. So I loved myself and stood alone.

It wasn’t toxic.
No, but it was messy.
A tangled web of half truths.
Fear and damage blocking.
The downpour of brokenness we both carry from before we met.
Neither needing fixing, just being.
It wasn’t toxic.
It was everything I never knew I would ache for no matter how much time had passed.

Sometimes what we thought was lost was there all along.
Hidden under our mess. Unable to see it through the clutter. But there it was all along. I just had to be patient and trust I would be okay. Life has a unique way up showing up when you let go and that’s beautiful.

Confessions of all things that come to mind. Basking in the wonder around. Blanket fort secret keeper of  mysteries of the imagination. Devotion, obsession, passion aligning with support. Dancing a delicate dance with every complexity. Feeling experiences the way music makes me soar. Making the most sacred of pinky promises with the same fingers digging in your body as I cling to it.
Rare.
That is how I must experience love.
Because that is what I encompass; Rarity…

It’s so amusing for me when people want to play. Thinking they can manipulate or deceive. Being myself, I have this twisted game where I let them think they’re in control, just to watch what they will do. It’s how I observe to see the good, while allowing the shadows have their way. I walked through hell and emerged many times over. Such a game as this you can not win against a Queen of both realms. May the best version of you win in the game of truth.

He didn’t care about you.
He didn’t even like you.
His power wasn’t even his.
It was relient on you not seeing yourself clearly.

All that you felt, that wasn’t him. Your magnetic field cloaked him until you remembered yourself.

You didn’t deserve to share my bed.
Words, pretty words.
That was your one and only skill.
Any boy can put a stick in a hole.
Such a shame no one taught you the sensuality of a woman’s body.
The manner in which in can entrance you.
Men know a woman’s body is an alter.
One to be taken in and devoured.
That’s why your body count is so high.
Death by a thousand unsuccessful ego driven nuts.

How clever that the singular being who calms me, consumes me, inspires me, and makes me more of who I am. My muse, desire, safe place in a storm. Witty and iconic. Wrapped in charisma, humor, and brutality. I do find it comically ironic that this enigmatic man is also the one that holds up a mirror to my deepest wounds. Forced to see all that is him and me as both individuals and when we come together. Captivating me with a journey of how far this can push me and help me become who I’ve always been.