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

#savingme – Why Me?

Another house
A new family
Why me
New school
No one knows me
why me
A different room
New monsters
why me
All alone
This house isn’t home
why me
Picked up and removed
They have no clue
Why me
My brother is gone
Can’t even call on the phone
why me
A million tragedies
Locked inside of me
why me
Remember smile and be polite
Complete strangers judging
why me
Examined under the light
Imperfection in plain sight
why me
Confused, damaged and all alone
Scary visions feel more like home
why me
Different than them
Only demons live within
Why me
Surviving the darkness
Hungry and cold
Why me
Sleeping on a bed of stone
Down by the river as viciousness unfolds
Why me

Written By

The Broken inside of me

https://thebrokeninsideofme.com/

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#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. 

#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/

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#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. 

#savingme – You are a survivor

In my post “The story behind the name Luna” I shared a part of my story about domestic abuse. It actually gave me courage to dive deeper into this problem and open up about it here because I think this is a great community to share such stories and help each other. It took me years to speak about the torment my father put me through and I can relate to many children who were abused and today I want to write a little bit about how to deal with abuse after it’s done.

When I was 11,12 years old the problem with my father started solving and it wasn’t over until a few months ago. I haven’t lived with him for years and I last saw him and spoke to him about 5 years ago. That chapter of my life is over now but it still takes me a great amount of strength to close that chapter in my head. My problem was that I identified myself with what he has done to me and I believe that’s the problem of many abused children out there. We develop a bad opinion about ourselves based on what the person who abused us had done to us. We often feel like we aren’t worthy of anything, become introverted, depressed, scared to live the lives we deserve and we can’t step out of our pasts. Going through abuse leaves a strong scar on the one’s personality, sometimes even on our bodies and I will be quite honest and say it’s impossible to hide that scar or erase it so wear it proudly!

Don’t be ashamed of yourself and of who you are and of what you’ve been through. Instead of waking up every morning feeling like you are worth less than others, feeling like you will never reach happiness, wake up and say to yourself “I’ve been through hell and I survived that. World, bring it on because I can handle you!”. Don’t call yourself an abuse victim but rather call yourself a survivor because that’s what you are. Your body and mind were strong enough to handle the weight of abuse and I know how heavy that weight is and you are still here. You are biting and scratching your way through life. You know how to handle difficult situations and your power can never be drained out. Even when depression hits and you feel worn out just repeat those words to yourself.

Who you are depends only on what you want to be so be a survivor, be a warrior and show the world there’s happiness after abuse. Learn how to show your scars to the world and demand respect for them and respect your own past because if it wasn’t for it you wouldn’t be the strong person you are. Even if you feel weak, trust me you’re not. Shift your state of mind and you will turn your life around. Remember: You are a warrior, you are a survivor.

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#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. 

Abused children’s lullaby

Hey there little sleepy girl!
Tonight daddy didn’t fall asleep on the curb.
He is home, punching mom, breaking stuff, cursing hard.
Be a good girl as mommy said and hide under
the bed, hope you won’t end up dead.

Hey there little sleepy boy!
One day you will grow so strong. So strong you will
defend them all, like a superhero punch daddy through the wall.
Be a good boy as mommy said and pray daddy won’t
fall asleep with a burning cigarette in his hand.

Hey there little sleepy kids!
Your window is on the second floor, easy to jump, maybe
break one bone. You’ve already done it twice, what’s some more?
Now close your eyes like mommy said, tomorrow is a brand new
day for you to listen mommy explain how again she fell down the stairs.

By Luna

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#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. 

#savingme – Hammer to the knee

Hammer to the knee. I guess it’s the best descriptive title I can use to relate the two. One day hard to actually remember if it was spring or summer. I do remember being in shorts and a tee shirt. Living in NYC it’s either Spring or Summer if I am wearing shorts. Fall was too cold and obviously, winter does not call for shorts.  It was definitely daylight outside and I had not gone out so still late morning, not before noon that’s for sure. I remember walking into the kitchen from what seems to be the front door area, which also happens to be by the coat closet where I usually place my shoes. Before this, I do not remember much. Where was I coming from?. Either the living room or maybe I had just returned from taking out our day before trash.

None the less, I walked into the biggest surprise in my life. My moms. She was frantic. Angry wasn’t even close to how she was expressing her emotions right then and there. Before I can even muster a word, a screaming question of how could you? came bellowing out of her esophagus. What are you a monster? was the next overly loud question. Who the fuck do you think you are?. How could you?. These very questions seem to fuel a rage that presented itself in the thickest of air imaginable. You can seriously feel the static, ambient, energy flowing in the air.
I still had not managed to get a single word out. Before I could even gasp those questions would stop me from interjecting. When I did finally ask, What are you talking about? My mother lost it. She reached over to the broomstick and begun swinging at me in full force. I was just about thirteen years young and was a few inches taller than my mom already. She was four feet eleven inches tall. During her baseball tryouts as I call it now, She went for the home run swing and for some very stupid maybe even macho, borderline egotistical, reason I defended myself by raising my arm, to block the broomstick, from hitting me yet again.
What a mistake that was. Mother went ballistic. SHe looked around the kitchen super fast, with peering eyes. She found yet something else. The Mop. It wasn’t a wood handle. No. This was the aluminum type. The very type of instrument she needed. You see as she regained her desire to beat the living shit out of me she went for the op handle. Again the rage went on and it was now a metal pipe that hits me a few times over.
Much to my Mother’s surprise this time I stand there and allow her to release all she has and I’ll just take it. She wailed at me again and again, until the mop handle bent during impact across my arm. Oh Boy! that just turned a campfire into a burning pile of logs at the beach. My mother immediately looked at her broken weapon and this time it seemed as if she was bewildered.
I, of course, am rubbing my arms, trying to reach my back for sensitivity levels and in hopes to rub the pain.
Get out, is the next set of words that leave my Mother’s scorching mouth. I try and ask what is wrong? what did I do? and again those words. Get out screaming get the fuck out. She starts reaching again. This time for what looks like the utility draw we keep in the kitchen. Yep! that was it. She opens the drawer and reaches in, as her arm is now sliding out I can see she had a firm hold of the hammer, in her hand. Get the fuck out you monster. And she swings it right to my head.
Her arm goes in full motion behind her back and up toward the ceiling. The hammer is now fully extending her arm and coming down right at me. Only move to make is one very quick motion to fall backward. I make the attempt to jump back. My feet lift, off the floor. My head and upper body start to tilt back and I am going in a backward falling motion. My left knee decided it wanted to race the right knee so, up higher in the air it is over the right knee, that it feels the impact of a cold steel hammer come pounding down on it.
The most amount of pain in the shortest amount of time was going through my head. I was down. In the fetus position, holding my left knee for dear life. At least that is what it felt like. It wasn’t then and there that I came to find out what I had done so horribly wrong that I deserved such brutal actions toward me. It wasn’t even me. In all my years I never once treated a female any less of a Lady. Never once. Not even my sisters. Not any of them not any one of them.
Thank you, my uncle, for assuring me with your actions, that I will never bring harm to a Woman.

You’ll get to know me more.  Chino61.

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#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. 

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.