I am assessing the size of your eyes and the magnificence of each, the crevices of your earlobes, the shape of your nose, the way it gorgeously sits on your face, the curves of your lips, your beautifully-sculpted cheeks, the way your tongue dances in your mouth as you speak.
I don’t think Death takes all the lives that it has stolen around with it; He would have too much to carry. I’ll look for where He keeps them and return yours to you; we’ve got so much more to do. I’ll make sure you are not buried till I hurry back with you.
I’m shedding everyone’s tears but I can’t shed my own. I’ve got it all under control in public; I’m a mess when I’m alone. Pain has injected itself into me; I can feel it bite through each bone. I’m decaying on the inside, but this body is not mine to disown.
My heart and soul are drowning, and I can’t stretch my hands to reach them through my throat. They’ve absorbed too much; they’re heavy, but I can’t save them. I can’t drain the tears and blood; I can’t heal them.
So, I’ll shed my tears through my mouth. I’ll cry with my hands and feet, with my words, and with my songs, and with my dance, till I feel my heartbeat. I’ll shed my tears as sweat; they can’t pass through my eyes just yet.
Many men and women (who were probably first abused as children) find it difficult to agree that they were abused. They think “well, I enjoyed it; is it still abuse then?” Your little “peepee” was pulled or rubbed against your consent by an older person or your breasts/vagina were touched against your will, whether or not the abuser had sex with you, and you think it’s alright then. Actually, it’s not.
Don’t think- “well, it was just a little stimulation”; it was abuse, whether or not penetration was involved. I have spoken/had chats with a couple of men and women who were abused as children. Their innocence was taken away by older persons, usually, and they were convinced into thinking they were enjoying some sort of secret, pleasurable activity.
“Forever Friends” by Larry “Kip” Hayes
In some cases, they believed the other person was helping them become an adult or become more mature. In a few of those cases, they had a crush on that older person at that time. Even if they wanted to report the issue or tell someone else at some point, the older person- the abuser- would convince them that they were going to be blamed instead, and so they would not.
Well, it’s still abuse if you enjoyed it. It’s still abuse if, as a child, you had said “yes” to being touched because you were naive and innocent, unaware that it was wrong and it would result in psychological trauma and regret.
It’s still abuse, and you should never ignore that. Don’t tell yourself otherwise, so you can find healing, if need be.
Before I ask you that question, my first question to you would be “how do you look?”
If I don’t know how you see things, how you see me, how you think, why you choose to think the way you think, your opinions would not matter so much to me. Your opinions on how I look would be just that, your opinions, not what really is, and I would not react to it like it is the all-in-all truth about me.
If you think a well made up face makes a woman attractive, or very long hair, or an hour-glass shape, and I don’t have any of those, I’m never going to be up to standard to you.
This should apply to every other sphere of your life too. If you are watching the news, for instance, be very conscious of the fact that Fox News would narrate occurrences or explain issues differently from MSNBC. They are not owned by members of the public, and there are private interests who want you to see things in certain ways that benefit them.
Before you take someone’s opinion on how you look, be sure that they can see, that they can really see you, and that they can see beyond whatever is before them.
Listen to how they think you look, but be conscious of how they look, and how they see.
Death is a bully, isn’t it? Life is short, and Death is quite tall. Death defeats life often, but we can’t do a thing. We can’t expel death from the earth; humans can’t preserve their breath. We’re helpless.
Were there terrible men and women in your lives, relatives or non-relatives, at any point, who found it pleasing to compare your beauty to someone else’s, in order to get to you and make you think less of yourself or get you to agree to whatever perversion they wanted to try with you.
“You are fine but not as fine as your mother; why are you feeling yourself? Remove your skirt, let me see your legs” and such.
I bring you healing. You are beautiful, and I’m not just trying to patronize you. Don’t ever let anyone determine what you think of yourself.