Stories

I consume other people's stories to avoid my own. Is my existence too real? Has me by the throat snarling in my face demanding attention? There are times where that escape is a blessing. The emotions are so real -- so raw and so deep. Let me borrow the feelings of another for a moment to catch my breath. Let me feel something I am not responsible for breathing. If a tear should fall or a smile cross my lips, let it be provoked by a delicious story that will drown out my own.

I consume other people's stories for the fun of it, for the thrill of it, for the joy and nourishment. It breaths a life into my soul that reality just siphons away. I can reflect on my reality from a safe distance and wonder where I am going. I can build friendships without uttering a word and demand justice for those who have no voice.

I consume other people's stories so I don't have to write my own.

The Escape

She dangled over the cliff while Alan and Ken talked. Her hands ached. She had carefully slid over the cliff to run away from Ken. She figured he would think she was too chicken to go near the cliff - with her fear of heights and all. She was lucky she made it this far. Usually her attempts at running away were stopped before she even had a chance. But Ken didn't anticipate the screwdriver in her pocket. And when he was settling-up for a "ride", he didn't see it until it was sticking out of his shoulder. Alan knew she was there, he saw her put herself there. He did nothing but watch. Ken made himself comfortable on the ground, no more than five feet away, while Alan mended Ken's wound.

She couldn't breath. She couldn't risk being found and dragged back to the house. He did things to her, even to Alan. That's why she wasn't angry at him for not throwing Ken of her trail. Ken had a leash on both of them and punishment for running away was worse than dying.

She had a choice. She could easily pull herself up and go back to the house. She knew that life.The life wasn't one worth living, but it was the only one she knew. The cycle of abuse was never ending. Her grip was slipping.

Or...

She released her grip and kicked off and away from the cliff. She fell into the unknown with fear and a bit of hope choking her heart. She took a deep inhale waiting to feel the water surround her body.

Home invasion

I've built a home of mud and stone
But someone is trying to break in.
The door is pounding
The windows rattling
And the earth shakes beneath me.

A voice demands, "Let me in. Let me in."
I know if I do
Destruction will overwhelm
And my home will crumble from within.

My heart races and fear blankets the rooms.
I can not shout Leave me alone!
Or stand up and fight them off.
I cower in the corner waiting.
Will they enter or grow tired and leave?
Will I be able to live in my home of mud and stone?

Sometimes

Sometimes I look in the mirror.
Sometimes I can't stand the sight of
the creature looking back.
I want to love and be loved
By me.
I want to say
"You're beautiful!"
"You're wonderful!"
"You're perfect just how you are!"

The voice doesn't allow kind words.
The eyes don't miss the blemishes.

I'm prefect, but with imperfections.
I'm wonderfully flawed.
I'm beautiful with that one exception.

Can I live this way?
Can I love with the beauty and the beast?
Can dark and light reside in the same form?
I don't know.
I wish I knew...