Sunday, June 14, 2015

You will not steal my joy

You will not steal my joy.

I will walk away like a boss, and I will leave you behind.

I won't be looking back.

You may bow me down with sorrow now. You may be allowed to pursue me and threaten me and fire at me right now, but that is now. That is not how this ends.

You may bruise me now, and my heart may bleed now, but in the end, I will run from you.

It will start as a walk, but you will soon be blinded by the dust I kick away from me as I break into a jog, and then into a run.

As my legs push the limits of their speed and strength, the blood from my wounds will start running clear. My bruises will be faded by the sun. The circles under my eyes will be stains no longer as my tears turn to joy.

My hair, wild in the wind of my Promised Land, will be tamed by the breeze that is so strong in my ears that it drowns the memory of your voice away.

What you did to me will be gone. Forever. And I will take my joy.

You will not steal my joy.

I am going to run, all residue from your attacks will fall off of me easily, and I will have my joy.

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

The blood well runs deep

How many times can a heart break? How long can it bleed before it pumps its last beat? When will my blood run dry?

I cannot bring myself to read the report from the forensic psychologist who investigated our case when we were in court for the first time. It's finally "released" to be read and not kept secret from me. I've had it for almost a month. It's sat there, unopened. I hide it and push it away from me because I'm afraid of what's in it. Years later, now, I'm still learning details that I didn't know before. Details about how his personality and behavior are consistent with that of a pedophile. Details of what he said to CPS and police. These details that all make me panic and my mind scream about how on EARTH could that have really happened, how on EARTH could anyone have known these things, and still make the decision that was made? How is he not in jail? Why has this been allowed to continue?

Oh, God, you must hold me close right now, because sometimes I even want to run from you. You have promised so many things. You love my children. And yet they suffer. And I have to watch. I can't run. My eyes can't turn away, though I try to blind myself whenever possible.

When will our suffering end? When will we reach our Promised Land? When will my children be protected?

When will we have justice?

The crimson red of my soul spills over with each new bit of knowledge. With each new behavior. With each new telling of the story. When will my blood run out?

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