A. B.

scary twitter.pngPhoto ~ my own

I know a she-zero that takes pleasure
in stealing human treasures
from women she can never measure
up to, ever.
She brings one-hundred-fold of her own jealousy
and hatred back upon herself and her cohorts
for generations
and generations.
God/Karma have pity.
I don’t.

CAREGIVERS LAMENT

clarity
Photo ~ my own

My day is so full of countless incongruent pieces that slip off the table.

It is like being in a nightmare where you are running as hard as you can, but the landscape doesn’t change.

Then the fear chatters at me and I do wonder if my mind is sifting away bit by bit . . . .

 

 

 

Lonely women: A totally fictional post about a totally fictional love.

lonely woman pixabay
Online image — Pixabay

For almost 4 years I tried to win your heart, invisible man. It has been a rough euphoria. Many times I have been shot through by doubt, attacked by ageism, sexism and hatred of foreigners. But I soldiered on, believing that love conquers all.

 

Are you a man who wants me but does not want me? Is there any other kind of man, my shadow love?

I wonder why I am drawn to shadow lovers. Perhaps there is a part of my heart that believes I do not deserve to be adored by someone who is actually here. There is also part of me that believes I am a siren. What in me are you attracted to?

I understand that you have seen my full humanity, and it has angered and frightened you. You have angered and frightened me. I have felt the same things you have felt.

At times my feelings have been totally disregarded, but my love has been strong. (Or maybe just stupid.) Sometimes a woman needs reassurance of faithfulness. (I believe, however, there is no such thing. It should not be an issue for me. How I wish I was free of caring too much.) I truly wish to believe in faithfulness and at the same time to detach.

I am foolish-renegade-wild brave, but I am not stupid. This can be exhausting. On the other hand, I am watching your bondage to obsolete and cruel traditions destroy you. Or me. Destroy us, for sure.

I realize now, dear shadow, that I cannot take on an entire nation. I can no longer win millennia of hollow hearts with wise words, charm, ambassadorship or arguing. There is no jump-starting hearts that have been dead for five thousand years.

And so, in despair, I back off. I give up.

And forever long to hear the vibration of the damn I phone.

 

(This fictional post regards lonely women who are victimized by online predators.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

At Age 69

The mad woman in the attic 

who has been held captive all these years

has busted down the door,

is stomping down the stairs,

and screaming,

I WON’T BE PRISONER TO ANYONE

EVER AGAIN!

 

~ Idea from Erica Jong
~ Photos my own
~ Angry Indian Goddess online art. Thank you unknown artist.

 

 

THE TRIUNE GODDESS: Her Personal Thoughts on a Man’s Sense of Entitlement

Art ~ Susan Seddon Boulet

My Dear Self, I need some answers.

From ego driven self:

How do I handle this being hot as coals on my head angry? I feel kicked to the curb. I have been used. I have been made promises that were never intended to be kept – misled — probably laughed at. Now my pain is being used against me. It tastes bitter. I invested self-consuming love and trust. Now I am cast aside.

 

From Truer Self:

Remember. It isn’t like I went in sightless. Is it wrong to choose to love someone? Is it dishonorable to give, even to someone who is giving little back? I knew. I chose to love based on examples of those who suffer for others and give, give, give. So, there are false promises that were believed at the time they were given. Big deal. No denying this person is delightful company. My joy is real. Even if someone else’s joy is not. That is punishment – for them to never feel genuine joy. I was sincere. No one can rob me of that. I built another’s new life for them. Their choice of dishonesty carries its own punishment. For me, no fear. No authentic loss. Maybe disappointment that turns into a lesson learned.

 

From the Divine Witness:

This has no importance. The True Source of You is present in, with, before and behind it all. Your serene power is forever protected. Deceit gains nothing. It cost you nothing essential. You are not harmed, but helped. You are not weakened, but strengthened. Your love has grown more fruitful. You have not become more imprisoned, but more free. Rest. I protect you from “being taken” – there is no such thing. I give you freedom to love. No hate can poison Me/You. It is all harmless.

Love and unified life win.

 

 

 

The Eternally Lucid Adulteress

angry Indian goddess
Kali ~ internet art

Please.

Do not tell me your family is my family.

Your family is not my family.

They are her family.

I have no family.

 

 

Please.

Do not tell me your family loves me.

They fear me.

When they saw the care between us,

they could not marry you off fast enough.

“Aha. We will be rid of that powerful, influential, golden devil.

We will not lose our control over this useful, servant son.”

She has the love of your family.

I have no love from your family.

 

Please.

Do not tell me your house is my house.

It is her house.

You are building that room with the arched window for her.

That room is not for me.

I will never see it.

I will never sleep in it.

I have no room.

I have no house.

 

Please.

When you look at your first newborn daughter,

you will know her name is Rajjean.

Without Rajjean, you would not have been eligible to marry.

Without Rajjean, you would have had no life.

But she now owns Rajjean.

I have no Rajjean.

 

Please.

Be rid of Rajjean?

I am etched in your soul.

I am the shame and salvation

of you and your family.

 

Please.

I do not have their naivety.

I do not have their fear.

 

NOT POLITE AND NOT SURPRISING NOTE TO THE GROOM AND BRIDE (but mostly to the Groom)

agonizing wolf
online howling wolf tattoo

On your arranged wedding day she will appear before you like a vision —

carried in a carriage on the shoulders of four men ~

bedecked in colors, adorned in jewels, chains and piercings.

. . . . Bright virgin . . .young stranger flower.

No one will be able to take their eyes off her.

You will be intoxicated by your weariness, your horniness,

the loud drums, your ownership of her.

She will be timid.

You will not be timid.

 

Your friends will revere you like a home-returning warrior

after his conquest.  You will seed many babies into your

chaotic, over-populated, hungry nation

with its holy history.

Sacred people will stand near you during the ceremony

(men, of course) extracting meaningless promises for a non-contract

with sole purpose to breed like cattle exchange and please

the obtuse, old and obsolete in attendance.

 

You might love her at first sight.

She will certainly love you at first sight.

But the festivities will be distant, empty-eyed —

the dances heavy-footed burdens

for the sake of enchanting Home land and its faux survival.

 

Then will come the time for the climatic conquest,

when you can remove her heavy coverings and

she will shed her jewels one by one — for you.

Her skin will be amber silk, her breasts will be twins,

her vagina will be tight, tight, tight.

You will fuck, fuck, fuck her until she begs for mercy.

(There is nothing quite so enticing as fucking a total stranger.)

She will weep and bleed for you.

And you will be in love.

 

You won’t notice or remember the old bitch

sitting on her haunches in the corner of the room —

howling and snapping at the universe with slicing cries. . . .

. . . . Without tears.

She will be there through the entire ceremony and

eternal nights to follow — moaning,

cursing her whiteness,

cursing her agedness,

cursing her high meaningless intelligence, degrees and wildness,

vomiting up bloodied pieces of her shredded heart,

vomiting up her own bones — one at a time.