Tag Archives: counseling

Gaze

I look into your eyes till you become a feeling and desire consumes my heart. I no longer see us, I feel the space that’s always one pulse away from something unexplainable. A place where love pales in comparison.

I keep writing in hopes of finding the words; in the same manner I keep looking deeper into your eyes hoping to find that space where you and I no longer are us. Where a minute is eternity.

Your eyes are embedded in my soul. I breathe to see you past anywhere sight could take me. Blinded by the beauty of us. The beauty of two people without a world to cloud the light of love.

I no longer look at you; I’ve seen what loving deeply means. Your gaze draws me within myself where the embers of us burn forever. Your eyes are like a soft breeze igniting memories and hopes into the fire of now.

Every time I look in your eyes is like looking into the lucid heat of a mirage. I feel the heat of our love warming my soul and suddenly the world melts around us. So I’m lost within now stretched across moments and space, hiding from time and the world, lost within you.

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In My Own Way

Neon thoughts blinking and begging for my mind to settle. Racing thoughts speed past my brain leaving my mind to a primitive state of survival.
I close my eyes and the scenery doesn’t change, it enhances the confusion making me dizzy with nauseated fear the day won’t end if night is all i see.
My ears are deaf to my surroundings and scenes of an electric existence replace the sound of the tv that sits alone repeating episodes of drama.
I hold my keys in my hand forgetfully trying to escape wondering if the hum of the car and the sound of rubber on asphalt will at least transport me to the nowhere that’s quite and relaxing.

I can smell fresh cut hay and exhaust with my memories. I can taste the straw dangling between my tobacco tax stained teeth. My muscles tighten at the memories of the work I hated that I wish I could still do. At this moment I want a field of hay, or a 60 pound ruck to sweat the world away with the calm feel of exhaustion.
I’m never in the proper tense. Then I was here, now I’m there. I travel off kilter never in the moment. The hope and dread weigh heavy on my footsteps. It’s hard to move forward while I’m trying and difficult to sit still without thinking of every move that would get me to now.
I don’t know if I should slow down or speed up. I can’t seem to have my ambitions align with my motivations. I’m intelligent, but being smart eludes me. I’m compassionate, but angry. I’m engaged, but distracted. The pace of my life is impossibly random.
So here I sit writing to you hoping I’m not the only tortured soul who’s spirit has a mind of its own. I’m thinking about the work I have to do and the words screaming to get out of my head. Then I remember my mind controls my brain that is full of experiences and dreams. My life is full of hopes and dreams. So all I have to do is move out of my own way.

I Hope!

Hope is a double edge sword tempered by fear and sharpened by faith. It matters not what we know, or learn, or experience. It only matters that we feel we deserve the possibility of brighter days and calmer nights.
Tempered emotions see through feelings of doubt. It’s the trepidation that guide each step silently through the crowds of reality. Desolate figures strewn throughout rubbles streets boil grease slicked water for a blessing.
Looking for a sign through hundred yard stares, hoping, not sure whether the sun is beating down on your back or shine down on your life. Then rain washes away the doubt leaving you shivering with the reality that hope is lonely.
Lonely in a sea of faces and exhaust that pollute the air revealing your soul in grey shadows on graffiti drawn walls. Your thoughts dwell behind the fragmented words that leap off the wall with anger. How can you lose hope to the point anger is soothing.
In this twisted state of emotion you sit in the filth of one hundred souls shedding their spirit for noodles and a God who gives that one chance to cleanse your soul and stand tall in the face of poverty.
It’s not the grime or the hunger that hides hope. It’s not the clothes or the state that sees hope is possible. It’s the mind that says “one more step is a step closer to something, and something id better than nothing”!
I hope!

Psychological Incest: Living with “Little Man”!

I was having a conversation with a friend about relationships. We were talking about the stereotypical “little man” or “bad boy” situations many woman find theirselves in. These often co dependent relationships leave many woman confused and hurt seemingly never being able to do enough, or the right thing.
On the surface you think, “why doesn’t this person wake up and find a man, instead of chasing after boys, or dudes acting like men?” It’s obviously way more complicated than that.
“Little man” in many cases has been manipulating women since birth. The absence of a male figure leaves them psychologically stunted in relationships when they’re older. Their experience tells them they act out, the woman responds with guilt or anger, then she makes excuses for his behavior to make him feel better. This rubric may have been in place for 18 years and your daughter may be the unlucky woman to encounter this guy.
She’ll spend most of her time sacrificing her own needs to create peace within the house. When he acts out because he wants a motorcycle, or a bag of weed, she’ll sacrifice getting her new outfit, cause he tries hard, but just can’t catch a break. She may lie to herself to the point it’s embarrassing and awkward to keep the hope that it will all turn out in the end.
This is the dangerous place for her and the advantage he will take. He’s already learnt from Momma to keep their business in the house. So she distances herself from friends and becomes reclusive because it’s too embarrassing to have people see life ain’t quite working out the way she planned. He gains more influence over her perspective because he’s the only one she can talk to without accepting she is ina failed relationship. Now she’s stuck.
At first she has unrealistic expectations and you cannot say anything without becoming the enemy. She will defend the person who is psychologically abusing her to protect her dream, or hope. Meanwhile things become more turbulent in the home.
By the time he has recreated his childhood in his new house norms have become dysfunctional. She may feel like she is the mother one minute and the spouse the next. This “psychological incest” he is perpetrating solidified his role as the man and the child in the home and she learns to adapt to which person she is dealing with.
When money is tight or kids act up he’s the child who needs space or quite. He may need dinner or a drink he has worked to hard to fix. When the check rolls in he’s the man who has the plan to come up. He’s gonna pay to get her hair done or take the kids to Chucky Cheese.
The set up is; half way through the week when he doesn’t have money for lunch and has to make his lunch he’s the victim. Maybe he can’t afford beer or weed till payday, but he works so hard, he deserves to kick back and get a buzz. Now he’s suffering for her and she better respond with sacrificing her needs for him. Eventually the entire house revolves around his needs because he’s manipulated everyone into thinking he is the center of the household, like when he was younger with Momma.
“Little man or “bad boy” are portrayed too positively in our culture. I’m raising another little girl and I think real hard about the mistakes I’ve made and how I can do better for her. First off, I ain’t raising a victim or a wife. I’m hoping my daughters find men who are their friends and that they keep each other as priorities. I hope they can call each other out and be more empathetic, than sympathetic to each other. Of course we all want our kids to have lives filled with challenges they conquer, but raising “little man” or “bad boy” is on my list of “no no’s”. I can’t control who they marry or date, but I can make them aware so they know that I know it’s a choice they’re making. We won’t lie to each other.
They’re are hundreds, if not thousands, of characters in the relationship game. Family, friends, and co workers are just a few. I focused on “little man” and “bad boy” because of how prevalent they are in our society and cultures. He travels across race, ethnicity, and culture creating havoc and leaving families in turmoil for his own gratification. I hope my daughters stay clear of this minefield and writing this was my first step in preventing them from trying to raise “Momma’s Boy”!

Her sense

Listen to her words, don’t just hear her
She’s speaking to her own heart for you to hear

Why do you speak to her in that tone which is yours
When all you have to do is whisper to her pain and sorrow

So take the time to feel her soul with your hand in hers
Not pulling or squeezing, just patiently awaiting that moment she knows

It’s easy when you put yourself aside for one glorious moment and you realize time is the elixir that soothes your desires for her needs

Then, the beauty of her scent reminds you of past passions and future dreams and you can taste tomorrow in all the sweetness that comes with inhaling her breath as part of your life

Angela

I’ll write till I die with a pen in my frozen fingers and never find the words to express how anguish pales in comparison for how I feel about missing your childhood.

It’s past sad into a realm where violence is emotion, not an action. I feel the lighting strike my soul at what we lost on my account. I’ve spent years thinking and erasing the futility of my pain, it’s selfish, but hopelessly true.

I have no right to your sadness or forgiveness. I fell aimlessly grasping at what could have been while I free fell through memories only I share. On the other side of the veil I screamed at smoke figures of impossibility.

I’ll always be stuck in that space with your memory. The images are no longer important, the feelings are what haunts me. Indiscriminately they strike like streaks of lighting across the ocean between us, and I wonder if you see, or even look anymore.

I know it’s just selfish pain looking for broken souls in the darkness of past storms. I know you’ve tasted the sunshine of life and I watch now from afar as you soar through darkness and light seeing sunshine and moonlight with the same joy; and then I wonder if your journey ever really included me. Maybe I was just part of the scenery along your path to a higher journey.

It’s here I understand the age old adage, “if you set something free…..”. You may never return, and if that path is too dark, I’ll continue to look for you in the light of day and night knowing I once held the most precious thing in the world, my child, and now she is free!

Modern Madness

Truth is real as reality is true
For those who enquire
Bidding ignorance adieu

To move along in the realm of subjection
Denying what is objective
Is a grammatical prison

So move past the post modern
Into a new reality that’s old
As the books you burn
Where truth is real and told

This ain’t no microdot mishap
With melting doors and walls
Oozing memories like sap.

It’s that one exception that gives you away
The one I have to ignore
To believe what you say

That’s the point of no return
For sanity and coherence
The truth of you
And a trail of ignorance