Welcome

Say a few words. ~ Rachel

A search for happiness is nothing but finding a home in a hearts of few so safe..that you cant help but keep trying to stay in. Hope yall still want in.
~Shraddha

In a while,looking at a few old words you wrote once,
some being those, which makes you wonder how you wrote it,
unless you got that ardour , that small drug you were addicted with,that small shelter, that old family. Makes you silent.

In a while, now writing a few words. And that exhilation to share it,ain't the same. And you think about the old time.
Makes you silent again.
~ Manisha.

One day when I get superpowers (ahem), I'd ask you to hold my hands and I would make you see what I see. Feel, How I feel. I would want to have you look at the world, the stars, the moon, the ocean, the way I see them. And in that maelstrom of visions I would get to see the world in your image. Experience this sanctum through your eyes. And then when I write, that would be my greatest work ever. Because It would have been written by all of us and none of us. But I don't have superpowers, so lets make this place, the sanctum in my dream.
~Sharad


Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Print.

Do you want to hear a story? It's a Love story, I promise. Once upon a time there once was a girl who knew Love just about as well as any other very young girl. One day everything changed, and she became aware of Fake Love and Abusive Love. The girl became a victim of child abuse at 7 years old. She never told anyone, yet everyone knew from her broken bones and surgeries. Years later she'd realize she had discovered another Love, Shamed Love (although at the time she didn't understand). The many people she Devotedly Loved, and would continue to Love, yet still never said a word to her about what she went through. It's okay. By then she was very good at pretending nothing was wrong. Some say it was because of this that she is the way she is. She disagrees. Her Guardian (Angel) became her brother. The only one to stand up against her abuser. She went to live with him. However, she only discovered another Love. Desperate Love. She so desperately wanted to be saved she lived in a house full of young alcohol and drug abusers, all whom searched for Love at the bottom of the bottle. This desperation began another tale. She would be quite a different girl. From her eyes to the way she spoke. She had plenty of time to grow up, plenty of time to think. She wasn't like the other girls. Not so good, and not so bad. However this difference led to fascination. She was becoming of age where boys found attraction in those silly words she said, and other things. She would have 3 proposals before she hit 18 years of age. She'd break many hearts and have hers confused many times and broken as well. Worse she had never successfully became numb. She didn't feel like others seemed to feel. She felt each pain she hand served so much deeper, while looking like a warm heart breaker. She saw emotions and the world in such a different complex way that she'd never forget a single name, all the while never looking back. She'd meet many types of men, and boys, and dirt. Some who would betray her and rape her friend, some who would stalk her, and some who would use her lack of self preservation to guilt her into many things -Someone who mistook Need for Love; Oh so close, yet so far. She also attracted other people. Her family. Her Uncle. And she'd tell no one why she can't be with him anymore. So all this while this is a Love story. People tell me there are many different types of Love; what you feel for a friend, a family member, or your significant other.

6 comments:

  1. Raw beauty.
    Loved it. Its been so long since i read something..and im glad it came from you. oh btw..i got good news to share : ] and i miss you. i miss everyone..There are many types of love rachel..this piece let me find a bit of myself..like im sure it would allow most people to. Though i dont think..there is such a thing as shamed love..or ever should be. : ] or can. Love you. ~ Shraddha.

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  2. Share share sweetie. :D

    I miss everyone too, where is everyone? What is everyone doing? How is there life?
    I want to know.

    Should be? Maybe not. Is there? Maybe not. Do I think that people can hide their love behind guile, and thus shame? I think so.
    But I'm not exactly brilliant.

    <3 <3 <3 Shraddha. Thanks.

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  3. . wow! ... this is gut-wrenching ... storms the insides ... as an adult survivor of child abuse ... i can validate that it's not easy ... in fact ... it's excruciatingly tough ... picture this ... the girl falls in love with another survivor of child abuse ... except that he has been through abuse that is several degrees more severe than hers ... they live together for seven months ... he in denial ... and she in disbelief ... he leaves her with a black eye and a chipped tooth ... the chipped tooth from a thrashing on the highway ... in a moving cab ... the black eye from a few days before his departure ... she builds him a shrine ... a mecca for poetry ... they are both poets ... he continues to inflict his silence on her ... though not without murmuring a couple of times ... she continues to inflict her love on him ... he never visits the shrine ... she never destroys it ... something keeps ticking inside ... it's not hope ... it's more substantial ... and it's not belief ... it's more flimsy ... yet a true story about love ... unraveling in real time ... anyway, sorry for going off on a tangent ... your write is just immensely poignant and powerfully inspiring ... blessed that i could read it ... thanks for sharing it in a public space ...

    - serah

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  4. since i'm not abused as a kid, i can't obviously understand this. but i didn't like your take on the subject. and someone comment on my poem. jackasses.

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  5. I read your poem jack ass. And commented.
    Be a joy and say thank you. ><
    Why didn't you by the way?

    Tons of love stories out there aren't there?
    Thanks for the comment Serah.

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  6. . yeah ... though my story is my story ... and you're very welcome, rachel ... i received way more than i gave ...

    - serah

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