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The Poetry Bar

#savingme: Beauty from Ashes

Guest post:

There was an organization… I was told I could help people… A man I’d talked to linked me up with my trafficker. The exact words this man used to my trafficker were, “I found a young girl for you”. I was 19. My trafficker was considerably older. I don’t know if there was an exchange of money or anything of value between these two men. So, I guess I’ll never know if it was trafficking from the beginning. But it was made clear sex was wanted… dumb right? Not that it was sex… it was rape. I thought my trafficker loved me… I thought we were destined… I thought we were going to help people. There were threats… of death… of being cast out onto the streets cold and hungry if I didn’t listen…. threats to my family. We moved in together after just a short time. The first time my trafficker sold me to someone else I was 19. I was pregnant. He sold me for drugs. I came home and he told me to put on a dress I had. He told me to go see this guy in the hotel room a few rooms down. By that time I was so scared to say no to anything for fear of abuse and now I was scared for my unborn child. I wasn’t far along so you couldn’t tell, but it meant the guy didn’t use protection… not that any of them ever did anyway… when I got back my trafficker wanted his turn… 3 times.. I just wanted a shower… I was told women aren’t allowed to say no. I was a sex slave and he was my “master”. I was with my trafficker for 10 years.. that was just the first time.

Website: www.beautyfromashes1118.wordpress.com

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#savingme is the community where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not.

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#savingme

#savingme: Give Women Their RAGE Back!

Throughout my existence on this platform, I have often put up post such as “leave something positive that happened to you so we can share some good vibes”. I put up many posts like this in 2020 because this year was the year we all needed to remind ourselves of things we are grateful for because all of us have struggled with our own demons and problems in this pandemic. So I had to write this down because I didn’t want you to think I have anything against positivity and looking for reasons to smile. With that being said, let’s get into what I really wanted to discuss here.

I don’t post a lot on #savingme because it gets hard. I no longer live in domestic violence, but talking about it, opening some wounds is still painful and the fact that my brain just decided not to remember a lot of my childhood to protect me (I guess) doesn’t make this easier. I think I have repressed memory, but I am not doctor. Maybe my memory just sucks but I believe that my brain is trying to protect me from those hurtful memories.

Now, let me ask you a question. Why do you expect women to be happy and smiling all the fucking time?!

I am not attacking you directly because I don’t know you but if you ever used the phrase “You are so much prettier when you smile, you should smile more often etc.” I am kind of attacking you. If you ever placed a woman in a situation where she was forced or bullied into smiling and pretending everything is okay, I am kind of attacking you. To try to explain this better to the male audience that might not understand this so much – forcing women to be composed, happy and pretend like everything is perfect all the time is equal to the idea of the “masculine man” being imposed on men where you are expected to be a stereotypical man who should know how to do stuff, lift things, not have feelings or cry ever. You know what I am talking about “the manly man”. Since I am not a man and do not have experience with this, I would like to point out a poem that sums this up nicely: Guante – “Ten Responses to the Phrase ‘Man Up'”

Why am I writing about this and linking it to domestic violence and abuse? Let me explain that. Women, and I have seen this on my mother, feel the shame when they go through domestic violence. What will the people say if I call the cops? I am a bad mother because this man is beating my kids. It falls upon me to carry the burden of this domestic violence/abuse without realizing I am the victim. The same thing happens with rape. The victim is shamed into silence and the “women have to be happy” feeds into this fucking problem.

We are expected to play a part in the world and a great part of that role is covering shit up and being happy all the time, giving out this impression of having our life together, having the perfect family, being good cooks, caring for kids and expected to want to be mothers, if I might add (I could write a whole new post about this topic). When we get angry, when we voice our discomfort or just our opinion that doesn’t sit right with other people then we are PMS-ing. “It’s that time of the month”. “Our hormones are doing the talking”. “We will calm down once our period is done”. Stop bullying women into thinking they are crazy when they are unhappy! Stop bullying women into not seeking help when they are abused.

When shit hits the fan, when the cops are on the doorstep, when women walk around with a black eye, when someone is DEAD, when a woman kills herself because she was raped, then we hear the phrase: “We didn’t even suspect something was wrong, she always seemed so happy”. How many times have you heard this from someone or on TV? How many fucking times have you heard this phrase or a variation of this phrase? Why do we need to have women mentally and physically scarred for life or a dead body to realize that there’s something wrong?

When a woman says no, when she pushes you away, when she tells you to stop, when she calls the cops on you and accuses you of abuse, she is not making stuff up and being crazy. She is uncomfortable and scared and this is not the time for women to think they should go easy, not raise their voice or say NO with an uncomfortable, fake smile. You have the right to get angry when someone is invading your personal space and abusing you. You have the right to fight back and seek help. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.

This is why I say GIVE WOMEN THEIR RAGE BACK. Give us our anger back and watch us evolve even if it scares some. Just that freedom of being able to experience emotions that society tried to tell us we are not entitled to, will give us also the freedom to speak up about abuse and to fight the oppression.

For anyone dismissing all of this TRUTH that I just wrote as a “feminist rant that makes no sense” and if anyone envisioned me as a man-hating, no-shaving angry female that is fighting a fight that doesn’t exist anymore because “we gave women rights” let me just tell you that 1992. was called the year of the women the same way that 2018. was called the year of the women and despite all of this we are still fighting the same bullshit, the same sexual harassment, women are still fighting harder than men to get into high positions and the same people are still trying to silence us and bully us into submission. Google your facts before you call women angry feminists and trust me that we will write, yell, protest and fight as long as we have to until every woman and every little girl stops being silent about oppression and abuse because “that was the way it has always been and if you speak up, we will shame you into believing it was your fault. now SMILEEEEEE”.

This is not to say that women are never the abusers, but I can only speak from my perspective. I know there are men and boys abused by their mother and/or father or any other person who are scared to speak up because of the “manly man stereotype” or because they go through the same fear and shame mentioned before. I think that abused men and boys are an issue society has to dive into thoroughly  because we cannot pretend that it is not happening and telling men to “Man up”. There are stories to be heard from their side and I hope they will speak up as well.  If you want to share your experience you can on this platform and you can stay anonymous if it makes you feel safer and better.

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#savingme is the community where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not.

Latest Poem: Poem #345
Youtube videos: Luna’s channel
Latest Coffee Date: Flowers in the Garden 

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Uncategorized

Guest Post Information

This blog is expanding really fast, new followers are coming on board every single day and I’m thrilled! Our little community is not that little anymore!

Since new bloggers who join us have questions about guest posts and don’t feel like digging through the blog to find all of the previous posts here are the two ways you can guest post on Luna. I will probably repeat this post after every 200-400 new followers just to keep everyone up to speed.

So our beloved POETRY BAR – here you send your poetry works to poetrybar1@gmail.com together with a few words about yourself and a link to your blog and an Instagram account if you have one since The Poetry Bar does and we post your works there also. Check it out here:  https://www.instagram.com/the.poetrybar/

Our second guest post category is #savingme project – here you can share your stories about any type of abuse you’ve experienced. The email is savingmestory@gmail.com. The project was made to let abuse victims know they are not alone. If you don’t want to share your whole story, you can share how you got out, some advice to people going through this hell currently. It’s a safe place and your story can be published completely anonymously. Also, you can see that I post about my own experience with domestic abuse and not only my story but my thoughts, mechanisms that helped me overcome it etc.

Can’t wait to see what you send!

Sending love and positive vibes,
Luna

Categories
Uncategorized

Guest Post information

This blog is expanding really fast, new followers are coming on board every single day and I’m thrilled! Our little community is not that little anymore! I went back to posting much more of my work to the blog because I had this period where I personally didn’t post that much and now it’s time for your lovely submissions to come in!

Since new bloggers who join us have questions about guest posts and don’t feel like digging through the blog to find all of the previous posts here are the three ways you can guest post on Luna. I will probably repeat this post after every 200-400 new followers just to keep everyone up to speed.

So our beloved POETRY BAR – here you send your poetry works to poetrybar1@gmail.com together with a few words about yourself and a link to your blog and an Instagram account if you have one since The Poetry Bar does and we post your works there also. Check it out here:  https://www.instagram.com/the.poetrybar/

Our second guest post category is #savingme project – here you can share your stories about any type of abuse you’ve experienced. The email is savingmestory@gmail.com. The project was made to let abuse victims know they are not alone. If you don’t want to share your whole story, you can share how you got out, some advice to people going through this hell currently. It’s a safe place and your story can be published completely anonymously. Also, you can see that I post about my own experience with domestic abuse and not only my story but my thoughts, mechanisms that helped me overcome it etc.

Can’t wait to see what you send!

Sending love and positive vibes,
Luna

Categories
#savingme

#savingme – Shame, shame

This is the hardest post I’ve made so far.

Shame is a hard topic for me. I hate parts of myself and I am working on healing them, but honestly it has not been easy for me.

I spent years feeling ashamed and alone. I had this idea in my head that if I let anyone get close, they would inevitably hurt me. I fought against myself. I would run away from relationships or I would let someone in and then push them away.

I started to add more Shame on top of the shame I already had. I started drinking to numb the pain, and all that did was cause more pain. I was stuck in a vicious cycle.

It wasn’t until a counselor told me that I had it all wrong, did I really start to understand the root of my fears. He taught me about transferred emotions. An idea that was foreign to me.

TRANSFERRED EMOTIONS

He explained that when we are young, under the age of 10 or so we don’t understand what shame is. Yes we know the difference between right and wrong. We can feel bad about something and scared of being punished, but at that age, shame is something we can only feel if it is transferred to us by someone else’s actions.

This is not to say you can’t have emotions transferred to you as an adult, you certainly can and it happens all the time.

For me it was the daily abuse, and eventually sexual abuse (at the age of 7),that I suffered from. It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I truly understood what happened. I felt dirty and unclean.

I kept asking myself questions:

Why did this happen to me?

Was I a bad kid?

Did I even deserve to live?

The last thought plagued my mind for almost 15 years and still surfaces now and then.

NOT YOUR FAULT

I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully healed, but at least I am trying. One thing I have figured out, is that I am not to blame for my abuse. There was nothing I could have done to change what happened, it wasn’t my fault.

I did make some choices that I am not proud of, and while I probably made some of these choices because of my trauma, they were still my decisions.

I am making amends with my choices in the best way I can, by being a better person. I have been sober for years and while there have been some slip ups, I have never stopped trying to be a better person.

I hope this helps other people who have gone through, or are going through similar situations. While writing this is harder than I thought it would be, it definitely makes me feel better than I thought it would.

So, if anyone out here has been through verbal, mental, physical or sexual abuse, it’s not your fault.

People make choices and no one has the right to abuse you, and you don’t have the right to transfer that emotion on to another, just because you were abused.

Abuse is never an option and you deserve better.

Blog: https://oneregulardad.home.blog/

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

#savingme is the column where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not. More details here. 

Categories
#savingme

#savingme- How Do I Escape?

“Hey, kid! Get me some water!”

A surly, old man shouts from his table. I fill a jug and hurry to serve him before Father gives me the stink eye. I haven’t been performing well lately. Not in school. Not here, in the restaurant. Father owns a small restaurant and earns just enough to provide for the family and to quench his thirst for alcohol. Mom manages the restaurant most of the time because of Father’s incessant hangovers.

Someone shakes my arm and pulls me out of my reverie. Father. He looks at me with eyes full of angst and a wildness that comes from inebriation. I have good reasons to be afraid of him but I try to hide the dread whenever I can. I lower my head and walk to the nearest table, throw away the mushy leftovers from the plates and wipe the table. From table to table, I serve the food and clear the old plates, adding them to the pile I’ll have to wash later. Maybe, Mom will offer to help.

I wish I could get out of here.

I’m cleaning another table when Father calls at the top of his voice,”Patrice, come here!” My pulse quickens and I scurry towards him, legs shaking. What did I do now?

“What. Is. This?” Father asks with an eerie calmness which masks the wrath behind each word. I look up to see what he is pointing at: a greasy table with an oily plate on it and a couple waiting to sit there. I clean the table as swiftly as I can and apologize to the customers for the delay. They sit down, grunting and begin to skim through the menu. My eyes slowly creep up to see my fathers’ and his look of resentment says it all.

He’ll deal with me later. Later when he is drunk and when his anger gets the better of him. He’ll probably hit me and then I’ll cry myself to sleepIt has happened twice this week.

The sun is emitting its last rays and fear grips me as the evening wears on. My hands tremble when I serve the dishes.

I don’t want the day to end. I don’t want the day to end.

Father is nowhere to be seen. He must have gone to the liquor shop nearby. I shudder at the very thought and bury myself with work to prevent my mind from wandering. Mom is preparing the dishes along with Nancy, the other cook. Mom has often tried to stop Father from drinking but that just agitates him more. Mom and Father fight a lot and once, I’d even seen him slap her during an argument. That was the first time I thought about escaping.

Father returns with a bottle of liquor and I gulp involuntarily as my heart starts racing. I serve the dish to the last customer in the restaurant, hands trembling. I accidentally drop ketchup on him and a deep red botch covers his shirt. Fury takes over the customer and he yells profanities at me. To him, I’m just a stupid clumsy kid who can’t get a job done right. And maybe, I am. Father glowers at me and apologizes to the customer for my impertinent behavior.

As soon as the customer leaves, Father clasps my wrist and drags me to our house adjacent to the restaurant. Mom hurries behind us, begging him to stop and calm down.

“Unlock the damn door!” He growls at her. Mom wails as she opens the door, pleading him to be calm.

Once we’re inside, he pushes me forward, takes a swig from the bottle and slams it on the table. Mom pulls me aside by her hand protectively. With clammy hands and tears sluicing down her cheeks, she weeps uncontrollably. Father yanks me away from her and my only protection is gone. I feel…vulnerable. I don’t want to cry myself to sleep.

He shouts incoherently, “What was that, Patrice?!” I stand speechless, motionless.

The couple could have chosen another table. I want to say it. But I can’t.

Coward.

“What the hell was that, you stupidgirl?!”

I try hard to stop the tears from falling. I fail. I know what awaits me and I brace myself before it comes. He raises his hand and strikes my face.

A moment. Just a moment of intense, physical pain and a lifetime of haunting nightmares. A lifetime of suppressing the hurt and distress. Excruciating pain and fierce revulsion boils inside me. Blood rushes to my cheeks and tears obscure my vision, blocking my throat and wetting my face. Mom’s shrieks fill the silence and I just can’t lower my head anymore. I raise my head and glare right into his malicious eyes.

Father slaps me hard again and I fall to my knees, dark strands covering my face. I let out ugly sobs and look around wildly for the door. What am I thinking? I can’t run from home! Can I? How much of a coward can I be?

I try so hard to compose myself, setting my jaw and clenching my fists and I raise my face to look at him. He is about to hit me again when Mom stops him. He yells at her loudly but fatigue washes over me and I can’t hear a word he says. My abdomens feel hollow and my chest has become a tight burden. The tears block my eyes and the last thing I see before passing out is Father raising his hand again. But I don’t feel the strike. All I feel is the need to escape.


Hey guys!

My name is Rashi Singh and I love writing fiction. This is my site and I’d appreciate if you check it out.

https://fictivefinesseff.wordpress.com/

In many households, violence is a method of “teaching” and by teaching, I mean hitting them just because they don’t follow something or enforcing them to do things that they’d rather not do.

Please note that this piece is my story but expressed as fiction.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

#savingme is the column where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not. More details here. 

Categories
#savingme

#savingme – The Broken Inside of Me

I was born into a life no child should ever have to experience.

I have never known a Father’s love but instead a Father’s rage, addiction, violence, and being sexually abused.

I was only 2 when he stole a bigger part of me.
I was too young & didn’t understand but was left feeling confused.

I was only 4 when he ripped me apart physically.

Years & years of laughter, love, & joy were not what would be in store for me.
Instead i have faced countless surgeries, unbearable pain and eventually heartbreaking infertility.

Through no fault of my own just another thing he took from me.

The physical scars have distorted my body.
But it’s the emotional wreckage that has continued to haunt me.

I often wonder what that little girl would have grown up to be.

If only she hadn’t been so viciously stolen from me.
She had no time for playtime, fairytales, hopes or dreams.

But instead staying alive & keeping her sanity would be her biggest priority.

You may think she is a survivor & how true that might be
But it certainly doesn’t feel that simple with the daily reminders & horrific memories.

I was only 7 when she abandoned me.
A mother’s love,that I did not see.

Where was my protector & biggest fan.

The person who was suppose to build me up & tell me I can.
Horribly failed me in the short time we had together.
I only wished that she could have loved me better.
What was so wrong with me that my own birth parents could cause so much damage & destruction.
Not stopping to think about how all this would forever affect me.

I continue today living through all the repercussions.
What a tragedy at how my life started off to be.
All because they put addiction, abuse, violence, wants & selfish needs first instead of me.

Years of therapy, doctors & medication could never replace the shattered pieces of my heart, soul & innocence that they have stolen from me.

No justice was served or consequence for them to bare
Although apart they live worry free
No second thought of the damage caused to me
It is my burden to bear as they live their life vicariously
Wronged yet again through the system and no justice will ever prevail for me.

xoxo
♥️me

Thebrokeninsideofme

https://thebrokeninsideofme.com/

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

#savingme is the column where abuse victims can publish their experiences just to let go and find comfort and support. Maybe it doesn’t feel like much but just publishing your story for others to read makes you strong. You can send your story about the abuse you went through to savingmestory@gmail.com and you can choose if you want it to be anonymous or not. More details here. 

Categories
Poems

Poem #123

Nobody is to know of the pain she endures.
It’s all well hidden in the night, the dark as black
as the bruises on her neck surrounds
the cursed home and the cursed closed doors
behind which she cries for help.
The only number bigger than the number of times
he beat the shit out of her is the number of
makeup products she uses to cover the consequences.

“RUN RUN” she yells at her legs but they aren’t
serving her anymore. It’s not because they don’t
want to, it’s because he broke her spirit and soul.
She didn’t give up, she ran out of time to avoid
the swing of his arm and he knocked the struggle
right out of her mind.

She is so beautiful and so put together and has
such a wide smile but nobody realizes that broken
girls and bruised women always smile the prettiest.
They have to hide that which the world told them to be
ashamed of. They have to keep to themselves the
stories of abuse and rape everyone still believes to be fake.