Let Me Take A Look

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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

Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline Information

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Quotes Of Mine





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.


In blue I can see…

In Blue I Can See

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.

Continue reading In blue I can see…


“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.”

― Martha Washington


Daily Prompt-Assumption

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?

“When someone shows you who they are believe them; the first time.”

― Maya Angelou



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.”

Thanks for reading.




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Maya Angelo

Disappear-Daily prompt

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There was a place I went to frequently, back in my younger years. It was a place I felt I could sneak to and where I could DISAPPEAR. This place was a secret, no one knew about. I went there on days when I was feeling “blue”. Often times it was a place that I could hide and cry if I needed to. I was amongst my dolls and things, a place I felt that I was meant for me. This place was my closet.

My closet has louver doors, that opened and closed with wheels at the bottom that followed a grid, much like an accordion.  There were 2 sets. I loved them because they slid and because while inside the closet you could peer out through the cracks in the louvered doors. They were painted white on the outside, as well as on the inside. I guess the only thing that was wrong with those doors was if you accidentally pinched the skin on your fingers or hands trying to use them. This happened quite a few times to my recollection.

My closet was filled with my clothes, toys, and dolls, not to mention book bags, and forgotten items. I fixed my closet so that I could go inside and stay for a spell depending on my reasons, which were usually to DISAPPEAR.  See, anytime my parents were upset with me, or I was in trouble, I found myself longing to be inside my closet and hidden away from all the things that upset me. Often times I ran to my closet because I was wanting to be safe, safe from situations that made me uncomfortable and  seemed to diminished my smile.

For a kid this was a great place to go to. A place surrounded by their favorite things and yet hidden away from the turmoil outside in the real world. I loved my closet, it saved my spirit on many an occasion. I often feel myself wanting to gravitate to a closet similar in nature, on certain occasions, still today. Oh, if things were that simple again! Now, I cannot disappear when I feel sad or upset, but once it was what “saved me’.


Continue reading Disappear-Daily prompt

The Past Counts

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How can a person think that your past is insignificant? I’m not saying every single facet has to be recorded somewhere, and kept track of. On the contrary, the past is irrelevant, to the point of having it brought up, when it’s a person’s future they are trying to better, or improve upon. For example, a person who was a liar or stole something, and now they are trying to be a better person, in that they do not do those  types of things anymore. This is where remembering or keeping track of one’s past might interfere with the present person they wish to become.

There are other things though, in one’s past that have played such a role in whom that person has become. If you don’t think of their past as significant then you might dismiss their struggles, their journey, or their pain and joy. That would be sad. A lot of people spend a bunch of time, energy, soul-searching, to make their lives better. If we overlooked that part of them,  yes, their past, we fail to see the true them. In my opinion, that’s like an injustice to them.

My hopes in writing this short blog is that next time you look at the whole person rather than a moment of their lives. Everyone has a past, and sometimes we need to lift them up for surviving, or applaud them for changing.

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