Tuesday, October 16, 2012

The over and over and over of it.

Another one.
I can't get past the over and over and over of it.
So many...so many broken fucked up lost 'kids' coming out of that fucking oppressive mission, all for the sake of a few lost souls that may or may not be saved, after so many years and so much damage and so many kids being thrown away, and then the lost kids are losing their own kids, and there's no end.  And the missionaries perch up there, on their self-made, church-made pedestals and feel proud of their accomplishments and their fucking sacrifices, and ashamed of the way their kids have turned out.  And their kids carry guilt for that shame.
 And the kids are this quiet group who only have each other because only we can understand how it is, while our parents are being applauded by the churches, and their kids are being crushed.
 And the kids begin to self-destruct because what else is there, with that guilt and shame so crushing, and in our self-destruction we destroy each other, and our parents stand there on their towers waving and smiling and shining for the churches, acting humble but holding their pride so close to themselves that it's blinding to them and they can't see us, really see us, even if they tried.
And once in awhile they blink and see us for a second and try half-heartedly to reach out and call us their own, but we aren't. We haven't been for so so long.
 And no matter how much I desire to NOT be defined as an MK, that is what I am. It's where I came from. It's what I relate to. Not a victim, no. That part is gone. But being thrown away.... and knowing that so many, SO MANY mk's have been thrown away.... that part is so hard. And it's always there. And seeing the affects of it in other people (and myself) over and over and over again.... every time, it brings it all back, and I am angry. I'm so fucking angry.
I don't cry when I'm sad, most of the time. I cry when I'm pissed. And I'm sitting here just bawling, feeling this fireball inside of me, wanting to explode, wanting to scream at all of the people like my parents who are so blinded and so PROUD and tell them exactly what they've done to their own children.
 And knowing that I could scream it at them and show it to them until I'm dead, and they STILL WON'T GET IT. Because, you know. There are all those lost souls, and god's work is so important. And they are so important, making their sacrifices and going out into the world to preach a gospel that they don't even fucking understand. 

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Braver than Loneliness

“We must become so alone, so utterly alone, that we withdraw into our innermost self. It is a way of bitter suffering. But then our solitude is overcome, we are no longer alone, for we find that our innermost self is the spirit, that it is God, the indivisible. And suddenly we find ourselves in the midst of the world, yet undisturbed by its multiplicity, for our innermost soul we know ourselves to be one with all being.”    
~Hermann Hesse

“God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of "parties" with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter - they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship - but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness is horrible and overpowering.”
~Sylvia Plath

Wednesday, October 10, 2012


The glow of skin in the light of the setting sun... like warm, smooth gold.  The sun, it's lower half resembling an egg yolk as it hits the water and melts into it... sand-covered feet... clothes soaking wet from the surprising splashes of waves... breeze lifts arm hairs... smiling... letters etched into the soft, squeaking white... footprints... spiraling... balancing... spinning... breathing... feeling... The water is pink, now.  It's pink and gold and dark blue... gentle.  

I don't want to leave this place... I want to build a little house from driftwood and decorate it with seaweed and shells, and it will be my castle, and I will be the queen... my subjects will be the sky, the sun, the water, the sand... but I will bow to them.