"If you are going to write, write from the heart." MwsR
"Life has not been the easiest, but it could have been worse!" MwsR
Life is about doing all you can to help others.
Don't go chasing rainbows, make your own pot of gold.
Love, Hope, Faith, the greatest of these is Love!
Today is Memorial Day. It is a time when people all over the USA share their sentiments, respects, reverence for those that have been in our armed forces, stood on battle fields, and have given their own lives to insure our constitutional rights and so forth.
I for one, have had family members that have served in the armed forces so I am a respecter of those select individuals. I believe it takes a strong person to lay down his own life for someone they have never even met. I also believe that not every one is cut out to be one of those people. My Uncle served for our country and he was even stationed over in Germany for a while. Our family never truly knew what it was that he did until his death. He designed bombs and was held to a secrecy of utmost importance. He was always someone I admired but not because of that, for I knew none of that when I was growing up, but rather for his personable self. I always laughed at his jokes and his big smile was captivating. He was special to me then and since finding out about his sacrifices he personally made to protect our country, well, that makes him even more special.
You see it all the time on our televisions, references to the people who defend our liberties and rights. You hear sometimes of their tragedies as well as their bravery. The news sometimes tells of the heroic actions of some while paying respects to those whose lives were ended in battle or certain tragedies. We hear of things from World War 1, and World War 2, and the bravery that followed all those bravery is something that we definitely can relate to the individuals that have served, are serving, and will be. There can be no doubt that those individuals are special.
In honor of todays holiday, I hope that you as well as I, remember the sacrifices these types of individuals give. It is also not only them but their families and all that love them. It is hard to pick up at the spur of any given time and just move, not to mention having the tremendous burden of worry for your loved one that serves our country. Those types of feelings and sacrifices are what helps to make our nation great. They deserve respect and honor.
Like a storm from out of nowhere
Drifting away like a dream or stare.
More scattered than the grains of sand
But finding common ground to stand.
Troubles thicker than molasses
Smears that collect upon the glasses.
Too much sometimes
Too little I find.
Promises that prick you like roses
People that will leave you in droves.
Lies without guilt
Steamy words from upon their lips.
I’m insignificant
Though I feel transparent.
Walking always, somewhere
But heading nowhere.
Jokes are about me
But I’m not laughing, you see.
Thoughts are for the things that matter
Not for hearts to shatter.
But can’t make it go
Can’t, you know?
Life and love intertangle
Circumstance and perhaps, all dangle.
Forward just one time
Backwards, when it tries to unwind.
Feelings…friends…words…and thoughts
MwsR
There was never a safe place for me when I was a child, at my home. Things that were out to get me came in the form of a parent. I was naïve to a fault. I got into the normal trouble others would at my age and always got a spanking or grounded or some form of punishment. My parents believe in the Biblical saying, “Spare not the rod, spoil not the child”, Spare not the rod and I felt every bit of their compliance to adhere to that. I thought sometimes that my parents got joy from punishing me, because they did it so much. I know now though, that was not the case. Spanking kept me, for the most part, on my better behavior rather than not. The reason I mentioned that was to say that they were strict and it mattered to them what people saw when they looked at our family, such as well-behaved kids, etc.
Anyhow, back to not having a safe place…
My parents worked a regular first shift job. They took me and picked me up from school since I attended a private Christian school. Usually it was my mother in the morning, and my father in the evening. I was never took or picked up by both. It just worked out that way for several reasons. One was that my mom went the way of my school, early enough she could take me, and my father got off first so he had time to pick me up.
I am grateful for my school, even though it was a strict Baptist one. It was really special to me because I practically knew everyone in the grades below me and most of the students in the grades above mine. It was a close-knit group. Almost everyone knew each other. My graduating class was just 13 students. It was very small, but there was other graduating classes smaller than that. I’d say the time when I attended there was 300 students from grades pre-k to senior. The teachers acted like they generally cared for us and wanted us to be good people. There was certain students that because of getting in trouble at another school, they were sent to mine. They were the so-called, “troublemakers”. I made some of my closest friends from that group, what does that say about me, haha. My school was a good place for me to be myself and feel safe. Actually, it was the only place I could possibly feel safe.
I say that school was my where I felt peace, where I felt if I needed help I could get it. My home was not like that. My home had more secrets than a mystery novel. My mom was the really hard-core disciplinary. My father was the one who sat on the sidelines until my mother sequestered his help with disciplining. So, needless to say, I knew if I wanted someone lax I went to my father. My father and I had an unhealthy relationship. I believe his knowledge of me being adopted turned him into a different kind of person towards me than a healthy father figure. He had affection for me and not the kind I wanted. This made my home life not a safe place for me. I felt trapped and scared most of the time, more than loved.
Sometimes we do what we can to cope with our worlds, for me it was journaling. I wrote my emotions in notebook, after notebook and I even color coded my “emotions”, words. I kept my journals in various places around in my bedroom. I thought I had them pretty well hid. My mother was a very noisy mother and she would without warning go through my room, almost like she was on a mission to seek and destroy. No kidding. I think my mother’s first instinct was to think the worst of me without knowing if it was warranted first.
I remember this one day I walked into my room, and was wanting to write in my journal when I noticed it was not where I put it. I frantically looked for it. I had noticed that my room was moved around some. My thought went to , “uh ho!” I just knew my mother had it. After looking for my other journals, I could not find them. What I did find was my mother standing in my doorway. She had a look of anger on her face. She proceeded to tell me that I needed to stop writing lies in my books about my father and everyone. I was in shock. Without hesitation she started asking me what the different colors of ink was for. I told her, when I was mad I used red. When I was sad I would use blue. I said that yellow was for feeling sick inside, and pink was for my favorite things, etc. She looked through my journals that she had and started ripping out the pages where she saw something she did not like. I was devastated.
All the stuff I had so meticulously wrote in them was gone. I felt betrayed but mostly hurt. I think I will never get over that feeling of being completely and utterly exposed as well as betrayed. I don’t think my mother ever felt the same about me after reading my journals, in fact, I am sure of it. From that moment on I was a good for nothing liar and in her mind I hated them both. I have not kept a journal since, instead I write poems and quotes and short stories. In doing that, I can again express myself but never again will I , in a journal.
“What I have learnt from that chapter in my life is to find a way to express your pain, your fears, your thoughts if you really need to. Find a person you trust and talk with them, but be careful not everyone wants to hear about the true life you lead. Remember not everyone is your friend. Also, if you are being abused, mistreated, or you are scared of someone or something happening in your life, talk to someone, or seek help. Don’t let anyone keep you silent.” ~MwsR
From time to time I share my own thoughts or my expressive self to others on my Facebook page. I like sharing because if it can help another person or touch another person , well then I have done my part in contributing to this world we live in.
I love encouraging others. I think my need to encourage, comes from my own experiences that I have had in my own life. My life was not always easy, kind, or nice, but I have learnt that we are what we want to be, not necessarily what we were taught, or shown in our childhood. If I can show anyone, even if just one person that their life can be better, can be different, that they have a fighting chance in this world, I will do it.
Forbearance has always been a part of my life Enough that I can wear it like a second skin. There is so much that I don’t share Simply because there is no one who really cares. Oh, they say they do But when they find something they don’t like or want They waltz back out of my life the way they came in. There is a part of me that wants acceptance That same part though, never ventures to. It feels like I stab my own self Over and over to make myself hurt. I know that sounds absurd. But truthfully, I can say it is true. Nothing hurts more than wanting to be something you are not. No magic pill to take and make it happen No individual who can fix you. In blue I can see, I can feel. I know that color and feeling oh so well. How can something that seems so beautiful to some Make me want to cry? When the things I cannot bear anymore Brings me to my knees That is when I truly feel. If I were happy I would not see, I could not fix what is broken in me. But seeing in blue I can focus on what I should do What I should be In blue I can see, the real me.
“I am determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may find myself. For I have learned that the greater part of our misery or unhappiness is determined not by our circumstance but by our disposition.”
There is a saying, ” Don’t assume, it makes an *&& out of you and me”. Well, I am not going to type out the word but it starts with an “A” and ends in double “S”. I think it is safe to say that not everyone knows everything about another person. I certainly don’t and I can almost bet you don’t either.
How many times have you watched someone from a distance or maybe not a distance but never less you observed them and what their actions and words were about? I have some but honestly, I learned a long time ago that people will seldom voluntarily show you their true selves and more than not what you see is not the inside of the person you are looking at. It is almost certain that we all have things we do not want anyone else to know about us, am I right?
There is something to say for the outspoken ones, you can almost know what it is they are about. Now that does not really tell you what is in the inside of them, but you could have enough to make an assumption. It is the quite ones you need to be careful trying to make assumptions about. I think that there are some spot on things you can assume about. Like for instance, if you see someone who is holding up a sign and it has a clear and direct message on it, you could assume that is the way they really feel. Why else would they advertise and make a public stance , right? Still, you don’t know all about them. Think about that.
If you want to assume something about someone, it is best to try to gather facts, rather than speculations. That is if you can. Somethings are not really clear. This all brings to my mind a story I heard once. I am going to share a link with you. You can read it for yourself, but here is the short version.
In this story, a kid named Peter watched over some sheep for his village. He liked to keep himself busy, one could say. In other words he got bored easily. He pulled a prank on the villagers a few time, yelling out that he saw a wolf who was going to get the sheep. Each time the villagers responded to his cries and came running with sticks, and weapons to fend off the “wolf”. Peter would laugh at the villagers because he thought this sort of thing to be amusing. Each time he was punished by his parents. It did not change his pranks though, until…
On a particular day there was something making the sheep nervous. He thought at first, he had better handle things for himself, as to not make the villagers mad at him again. He saw that it was a big scary wolf. He shouted out to the villagers, but no one came. The villagers heard him but assumed he was doing his past pranks and they ignored his cry for help. Can you blame them?
The next day the villagers saw that Peter was hiding in a tree and there was dead sheep everywhere.
So from this story, one would surmise that the villagers were justified in their thoughts of Peter and in assuming he was still pranking them, even though he really wasn’t. See assuming is part of the course when a person has repeated the same kinds of actions, or comments, or what have you. In this kind of situation that Peter was in, it would be the thing to do, to assume. Although in real life one cannot just simply gather concrete knowledge or absolutes from assuming.
My thought on the topic of “ASSUMPTION“ is one in which I say that …
“Just because it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, doesn’t mean it is a duck.”
Mws R Writings 