My Papa was Poseidon and my mother, Medusa. She could turn the heart of a saint cold with the pain of arctic frost bite. Even this loss of innocence was my fault in her eyes because I was "too pretty for people to look at."
My mother had been a great beauty in her day and now aging, as we all will do, another, in her eyes, had come to take her place.
It is a case of a woman who scorned her own child, a child unworthy of such attention, as his voice hit a high "A" and held it in the Christian pieces made for the angelic voice of a boy soprano. A family out of touch with the painful reality of a suffering child, sat by idly and permitted the desecration of a child's soul and body by a woman with neither the capacity nor ability to empathize or love. For those within the familial cloister who would say, "these people should get over rape and move on", please take a moment in my shoes, just a moment and you will see that this pain is ever-lasting, as it not only leaves one's body scared, it scars the soul.
They too blame me, after the indifference of a lifetime, when I manifested the symptoms of the womb which dropped me to the soil, upon my head.
The doctors were careful with their fine delicate stitches, repairing the tender parts of a child not meant to be violated without permission and this was in my 8th year of life. The learn-ed surgeon could not seal up the pain that lived within me, a great pain bearing down upon the pain of a tender heart designed only to love and trust. Until the beating vessel of life broke free of hatred for the cold stone womb which bore and scorned the innocent and loving child. I forgive all but no one shall ever take from me that which does not belong to them again.
Boarding schools at 8 years old were almost a blessing with many of the boys taking what they could from me, giving little in return, save constant abuse upon finishing, because I was far too sensitive and feminine to be one with the human race.
Compared to the beatings from my mother with kitchen utensils, belts and, yes, "wire hangers", the words from her venom dripping mouth inflicted the worst pain of all, those molestations and the rape were a blessing, as the child within wanted so badly to be loved by the woman who gave me life and what was given was the dark loathing of an envious heart.
The parent who loved me more than the sea or the Sun had forsaken me dieing when I was 14 while the one who remained living torments the child in me to this day with the memories, blame and reminders of innocence lost. This is supposed to be mine to own for having dared to be so pretty. I will not have it!
Yes, I understand the plight of the beautiful child in unspeakable ways. The "decent", for fear of social rejection for speaking of a relative being raped, on all levels, stay away while the predators prey after the flesh of the loved one has been corrupted, leaving said prey shattered, alone and in agonizing despair, possibly for the rest of their lives. Yes, I have gotten over it but without the help of those whom are supposed to protect the seed which binds them.
Abandoned, I learned to hold my own tears, until my love and one true friend above all true friends found me. Taking the thorn from my heart, he helped me to discover that the promise of love no matter what, in this foul life, is not an empty one.
Those blood tears from my eyes fell into his own beautiful hands one night and his love gave me the courage to withstand the typhoon of self-serving hatred in this world and the predatory nature of mankind. This is not about venom, but the desire to make the blind eye see.
People wonder why I love him so, my 24 year old Evangelical Christian companion, to my Mystic.
How can I not love one who grew up within the bosom of loving family, one who reflects that love given, which causes him so much pain, a love that allows me to feel as though I belong to the human race.
Love is not supposed to be a matter of convenience, but an oath before the divine. The heart is not supposed to lie, even when the body does.
If one loves my work, then one loves my friend Peter, because he is the center of my courage and love, that point of light in my life which knows little darkness, allowing me to perform with such passion, a point which allows me to speak of the agony that this life offers while paying tribute to hope, encouraging others to remain strong............. I thank God for the friend who loves his friend!
Where there is breath, there is hope and I am the luckiest human being in this world because, against all odds I am loved in an unloving world by many and have kept close to my heart the capacity for love.....