Thursday, October 29, 2015

You and I

You were Home Of The Brave.
I was Desperately Seeking Susan.

You were fine art,
I was so commercial.

Amadeus was your selection,
Purple Rain was mine.

You introduced me to The B-52s.
I turned you on to The Moody Blues.

You were so full of expression.
I wanted to make an impression.

Happy Birthday Tina Turner, I whispered into the phone,
Chaka Khan is calling.

I barely kissed your lips.
I knew.

I love you, I said.
You too, you said, but let’s take it slow.

You were so quick to lead;
I was so quick to follow.

You said don’t get heavy.
I did.

You wanted me to make the first move.
I wish I would have.

Lean on me, you sang. I tried.
It’s just you, you sang. I believed you.

I would have married you;
You just wanted a hot summer fling.

You found yourself dancing in the Shadows at Midnight.
I lost myself confessing at High Noon on Sunday.

My mother blamed you,
Your father blamed me.

How could someone so carefree become so angry?
How could someone so full-of-life become so lethargic?

Here’s the pill, the doctor said.
I swallowed.

ECT, he kept insisting.
I kept refusing.

I wanted to remember everything about you.
You wanted to forget you ever knew me.

You were all over town,
I was in isolation.

The nurse threw my robe belt in at me;
I tied it around my neck.

I would have given my soul for you.
You didn’t even come to see about me.

I cried and cried and cried until I couldn’t.
I begged for you to call but you wouldn’t.

I searched everywhere for you.
You were nowhere to be found.

I almost died for you.
I guess you’re almost forgiven.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

The Rape Room

“So you think you’re one of the 144,000!?
This is what you’re going to do for a thousand years!”
Violently torn and my spirit broken,
Profusely bleeding, my virginity taken,
I came to while the nurse removed my pink robe,
I suppose to wash the bloody stain, so that no DNA remained.
I awoke again, this time with a bloody scream.
To my surprise two females shrilly cried back
as if the same thing had happened to them:
“What Kim!?”
As I further awakened,
the winter darkness filling the room
wondered how I kept from falling off
the rusty examining table
never realizing that I was soon to be pronounced disabled.
I eased myself down to the cold damp floor
not knowing if they were going to come in once more.
I tried to do a sit up to tighten my muscles and lesson the pain
praying all the while they wouldn’t come in again.
Feeling the numb area around my vagina
I felt a maxi pad hiding the bleeding gap six inch in diameter.
I was dilated like I just had a baby
I started crying like I was going crazy.
I walked over to the window pacing back and forth
the snow on the ground outside
let me know I was no longer up on the fifth floor.
I continued to pace and pray at the same time
and thought of my savior, Jesus Christ
when he said, Keep on knocking and it will be opened to you.
I walked to the door and knocked like he said to do.
I waited in silence then all of a sudden
the door knob turned, the door was opened.
(By who I can’t remember)
but I was taken down a dark corridor
where when I looked back I saw my captor, wearing his yamaka.
I was frightened beyond belief.
Who could comprehend such grief?
I was led further to a small elevator
that took me back up to the doctor’s examining room
and then out to the hallway behind the nurse’s station.
I cried vehemently. Not out of consolation.
But because I believed there were others I left behind in the basement.

Trying to erase my memory, I imagine,
they kept asking me: Won't you take an electric shock!?
Maybe twelve or thirteen!?

That number is so symbolic
and thinking back on several occasions,
I thought that even the doctor was probably having delusions.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014


My love is not ephemeral.
I will lov
e you every season
until th
e end of time.
And if anyon
e tries to convince you otherwise please put your trust in me.
e truth is I almost gave up,
but you gav
e me hope to believe again.

My lov
e is not ephemeral.
I n
ever really wanted to fool you
with such
And sham
e on me if I ever give you another reason to doubt me.
e truth is I’ve lied before but not anymore.

My lov
e is not ephemeral.
en eternity felt so far away
you g
ently placed it back into my heart again.
And if I could liv
e forever
I would orch
estrate a timeless symphony harmonizing together with you.
e truth is my mind and body will fade away one day
but my lov
e for you never will.

My lov
e is not ephemeral.
Every promise I make to you in the future I intend to keep.
And if you giv
e me another chance I promise I will never let you down.
e truth is I did,
but as God is my witn
ess I never will again for as long as I live.

Friday, August 15, 2014

Second Grader Raped On Playground During Recess

That is the headline running through my mind. Why it never even made dinner conversation or more importantly, consolation from my mother is a question I've asked myself over and over throughout these years since.
It was recess. After lunch. A bright and sunny afternoon. Swings were flying from one side to the other almost reaching the sky and over top of the fence that the most athletically fit jumped onto landing like monkeys only a few feet away as the swings made their highest peak.
There were kids everywhere, almost chaotically dispersed. And voices echoed in the air happy to be out in the sun on this afternoon. I don't remember the events leading up to the tragedy, but at this school I loved so well my twin sister and I were the object of reverse discrimination sometimes, being two of a few white children attending a mostly black populated elementary school.
I was shoved and pushed up against the brick wall of our school building by about six black boys. My peers. My age group, I guess, because First, Second and Third Graders played on this particular playground and the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Graders played on another playground. I was only seven years old. They were all holding me against my will, forcing themselves on me and spurting out indecencies. Pumping back and forth on top of me violently. My clothes were never removed. But a lot more was raped from me that day than my virginity—my innocence.
I remember the powerlessness I felt. An overwhelming disbelief dissociating myself once more of the emotional pain. I was crying frantically, taking huge gasps for air, catching my breath between screams for them to get off of me. Then from that white bright light of freedom to my quiet school room with Mrs. Goodrich sitting alone in the room in our make shift little library sectioned off and an L-shaped row of chairs where she sat, purposefully it seems, perpendicularly across from me on one of the chairs a few feet away from me as I was sobbing trying to catch my breath. And she almost antagonizingly kept staring at me while I cried hopelessly for some reassurance.
The only thing I can remember her saying about the whole ordeal is a question pitched to me: Did he touch you on your private!?
I can still see myself sitting there all alone, tears streaming down my face not knowing how to describe the event that just took place. And thinking back the question posed to me seems heartless. I've thought back on that isolating, lonely feeling after such a traumatic attack and have convinced myself that I've been given an assignment to be reborn again in a black male body ridden with Polio or Multiple Sclerosis because God feels I need a lifetime of hugging and lifting and caressing before I can ever move on from the emotional pain.
The description "rape" was never used. I had no words in my vocabulary to describe what had just happened. I wanted my mother. I wanted to go home. I wanted my twin sister who was in the other classroom and who witnessed this but was unable to help me. I needed a hug and an embrace assuring me that everything was going to be alright.
Nothing more than a cold stare.
And I don't even think a note was sent home with me to my mother. She wasn't called to the school. An event that would make headline news today was just brushed off.
I only recently, within the past two years, brought the event up to my mother and told her what had happened and asked her if she remembered anything and she was shocked and said no, that if she would have been told there would have been hell to pay.
I carried this and a lot of other events that happened to me on my shoulders that seemed to just get swept under the carpet. Events that developed my character into a strong but soft enduring one. I've felt that the others thought I was strong for never mentioning it and that they respected me for never bringing it up. I don't remember any of the boys' names and I don't blame them. They were my same age and I know that if that was happening to me on the playground in broad daylight I've wondered what on earth was happening to those boys at home.
Arianna Huffington shared a quote recently that has profound meaning to me: Do not lose your inner peace for anything whatsoever, even if your whole world seems upset. —Saint Francis de Sales
And I think of the tragic events that have taken place in Ferguson, Missouri. How many more lives are going to be taken away from us before this type of bullying execution stops? My English 110 teacher at The City College of New York, Mrs. Fitzgerald, said during a discussion in our class about police brutality when we read the famous essay by George Orwell, Shooting An Elephant, that her grade-school sons were afraid of the police. And we all agreed that if a child is afraid of the police then something is definitely wrong with our society we live in.
I want to reach every young person before "they" do. I would have loved to try and reach Robin Williams. Jesus said: Don't let anyone rob you of your joy. I want to tell you to turn the other cheek like he did. And ask you to lay down your weapons like he bid his apostle to do who was only trying to protect him when he drew his sword and cut off one of the soldier's ears. I want to heal like Jesus did when he touched the soldier's ear and made it perfect again. I will not say "but I can't." I will still continue healing and try to heal others and be a healer. And I want to ask you to be a healer also and be a catalyst for healing instead of wielding all of us into another war. I want to reach you before the marijuana or cocaine reaches you, or before the alcohol overtakes you while you are still present. I need you. We need you.
I want the headline to say: Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin and Robin Williams Were Resurrected Today. I want the headline to say: No One Died Today. No One Committed Suicide Today. No One Was Raped Today.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Choose Life

During this time of the year I keep hearing advertisements and seeing posters for blood drives. It puts me in the frame of mind to be conscious about this life saving issue. I've never given blood before, but lately I've been wondering if I would like to give blood and how this would impact my life and the lives of others.
I don't even know my blood type. I've asked certain doctors who have done a blood panel on me before and they have just looked at me strange like I ought to know what my blood type is already at this stage of my life. It reminds me of the occurrence in the bible regarding the benediction and the malediction when God asked the Israelites to choose between life or death. (Deuteronomy 11:26)
I reverently respect life. And the issue of donating blood or receiving blood transfusions is a sensitive subject for me. I imagine it is to others as well. Jesus said whoever loves his soul too much would lose it and whoever was conscious of losing his soul would gain it. (John 12:25) I always think of this when it comes to making important life decisions such as donating blood or accepting blood transfusions.
Life and its life force or soul and blood is a very precious gift and I don't take it lightly. Receiving a blood transfusion is on the same level of seriousness as putting one's life at risk to help another person in need or traveling, perhaps, at night when one is exhausted and afraid of falling asleep behind the wheel. Sadly, some are hypocritical in that they do the latter, but would never consider donating blood or receiving a blood transfusion. All of these things are part of the consideration of choosing life and not carelessly putting anyone's life in danger.
Although I've never donated blood before in my life, the issue of donating blood and receiving blood transfusions is a constant in my life because of my understanding of the holy scriptures and God's admonition or warning to abstain from blood.
This issue brings up so many conflicting thoughts for me that I don't know how to direct someone except to share my experiences and relay my reliance on a Higher Power and my God-given conscience to warn others to do a similar search for the truth about donating blood or receiving blood transfusions.
When thinking of the issue of blood and the ethical issue of donating blood or blood transfusions I can't help but remember my first experience with blood, of all places, in a psychiatric unit by a psychiatrist who violated me with blood products. Why this psychiatrist would do such a thing is beyond me, except he had an enormous amount of authority. But he must have witnessed lots of family members or friends if not himself being persecuted during World War II in Nazi concentration camps, because he was Jewish. I thought he was Jewish at least. (He wore a yamaka).
It was my first day or so in the hospital. I know this for a fact because I hadn't been given any medication yet. There is an evaluation period or waiting period the doctor's have to wait before they can administer medication. I was sitting in the patient lounge. All of a sudden I saw the psychiatrist through the glass window walking towards me with this strange-looking glass vile that had a black lid screwed on top. It had a long tube extending out from it. I froze. I looked at him and the glass vile of blood and thought to myself as he was walking closer towards me that I am just as helpless as a sitting duck.
He and a male nurse who assisted him grabbed my right arm. I immediately thought of Jesus Christ when he said if they slap you on one side of your cheek turn the other also. (Matthew 5:39) As the doctor pricked me I turned my head to my left and started praying fervently. The male nurse blurted out, "You Jehovah's Witnesses, You don't accept blood transfusions." I knew this was a subtle form of persecution for being one of Jehovah's Witnesses and for being a Christian. I didn't think of it any other way. The doctor was abusing his power.
My arms then became paralyzed. The psychiatrist and nurses kept saying it was because of the Haldol they later gave me. But I know it was a combination of the contaminated blood and also due to the fact that the psychiatrist kept giving me large doses of Haldol without giving me Cogentin to counter the affects of the Haldol. I also believe the holy spirit was a factor.
I've thought back on that one mistreatment there in the psychiatric unit of Saint Mary's Hospital in Bayonne, New Jersey many times. There were other worse abuses that I've recounted over the years that happened to me in there. But this, truthfully, was equivalent to the other abuses I experienced in there.
My mom had told the doctors in the ER about my preoccupation with believing I had acquired AIDS and wanting to get an AIDS test all because of my guilt of having had a sexual encounter unprotected with a male acquaintance. So why the psychiatrist would want to compound my fears is cruel to me.
After that administration of blood I felt filthy. I felt dirty all over and I have had bouts of phlebitis ever since.
My advice to anyone contemplating a blood transfusion or considering donating blood is to pray fervently on the matter to our Creator as to what you would do when a crisis arises and you may be faced with the issue of receiving a blood transfusion. More often than not it is not as dire as the doctors would have you believe. There are so many other alternatives you ought to consider. I personally have made a dedication never to receive a voluntary blood transfusion myself. I also strive to live a vegetarian lifestyle trying to move toward a vegan lifestyle living in harmony with the animals and my fellow man.
So, the conflict for me is not there. Except I often wonder why so many persons who abstain from blood transfusions often don't carry the same concern when it comes to meat products that are laden with blood still. And how their conscience can let them kill an animal and eat some byproducts of blood, yet, deny their fellow man a, sometimes, lifesaving gesture by donating their own blood.
Every person has to make their own choice.
Once, not too long after that hospitalization, I asked my dear friend at my congregation if we are allowed to eat meat and she adamantly said, "We're not allowed to eat blood!"
And I couldn't comprehend how you could do one without doing the other. Not every trace of blood is taken out of raw meat before it is cooked. So, this contradiction is difficult for me to understand. I try to just abstain from meat altogether. And I usually feel guilty for weeks when I do eat meat, and, believe me, I thoroughly try to clean the meat from any blood. But I know it doesn't all come out.
The Christians in the First Century were admonished to abstain from blood through the power of the holy spirit. (Acts 15:28, 29)
I still to this day take that admonition seriously, although, I don't like to make a big issue of it, especially, do I not push my God-given conscience on others.
My yearning for sharing this with you is regret of past moments of silence when my school mates at art school had a blood drive and at that time I sat silently by, and, although, I didn't donate blood myself I didn't speak up and share some of this important information about blood with them. So I am trying to make up for lost time.
I admonish you, please, to make a thorough search for the truth. Choose life. But, more importantly, choose the truth. It will always lead you to life. Always.

Saturday, December 8, 2012

The Year The World Didn't End

We had just moved here from Huntington, WV where I had gone to school for most of my first three years of elementary. It was the middle of the school year, in Winter. We lived right on the beach in a group of eight apartments. We lived above our cousin and her two daughters in Norfolk, VA just about a mile up from where the Hampton Roads Tunnel began.
It was difficult for me adjusting to the new school. It was more of a military style school and we caught the bus early in the morning while it was still dark, whereas, in Huntington my twin sister and I walked about six or seven blocks to school and had breakfast before beginning the day.
My twin sister was placed in a class with my cousin and felt, finally, redeemed after being placed three straight years in Mrs. Stump's class back in Huntington. We all had to meet in the auditorium before school started and hear our Principal talk to the student body. I believe this is where my stomach problems began, the stress of this was almost unbearable. And as soon as he gave the prompt, we were all off to our respective classes. Steph and Haley sat together, and although I was surrounded by my classmates I felt a hundred miles away from everyone.
I was placed in the advanced reading group in this class. And instead of feeling like it was a high achievement, somehow, it didn't connect with me that way and I thought I had been punished. So the teacher sat with me and talked with me about why I was crying and she decided to put me back in the regular reading class. The math homework left me and my twin sister sitting for hours at our dining room table. Neither our mother or our neighbor across the hall, Heidi, was able to help us with the algebra-like math problems. We sat there until way after our mother left for her night job at the club on the naval base, promising her we would go down to our cousin's house after we finished, which would sometimes be late into the evening.
Our mother and our cousin who both had been baptized as Jehovah's Witnesses were making an attempt to get reinstated as both had been disfellowshipped when I was about four or five years old. And so we sometimes went to the Kingdom Hall with our cousin and her two daughters.
I'll never forget her face, the way she ran up to me at the Circuit Assembly, at the same coliseum our cousins had gone to see The Jackson 5 in concert. I forget her name, but she was African American and she was my age and in my class at school. She yelled out my name and said "I didn't know you're one of Jehovah's Witnesses!?" We embraced and we smiled from ear to ear. Finally, I had been redeemed. I had a friend in my class that I could get close to. Someone who knew me.
Not very long after that day. My friend came running up to me in our class with the teacher following close behind her. She was somewhat frantic and said all of a sudden "Kimberly, isn't the world going to end in 1975!?" I was speechless. I looked at her and at the teacher. Every eye in the classroom was on me. There was a moment of silence. It seemed like everything changed to slow motion. What had I missed these few years absent from the Kingdom Hall. I couldn't believe what I had just heard. "I don't know." And then all of a sudden the teacher grabbed her arm and my arm and shook both of us and said, "The world IS NOT going to end in 1975!"
I don't remember much about the rest of the time in this class. It seemed like my friend's heart had been broken. And I was in somewhat of a dissociated fog most of the rest of the days here. My only concern most days was running out of the class at 3:00PM to make sure I got on the right school bus to meet my twin sister and my cousins.
1975 came and went. My mother had been reinstated by this time, only we had moved to Oklahoma to live with my older half-brother who had decided to leave the army as a conscientious objector. He had started training to be a medic in the army and was on his way to becoming a doctor. His conscience wouldn't allow him to continue to stay in the army. He was learning to live in peace with his neighbor and truly wanted to beat his swords into ploughshares. So he and my mother got reinstated at the Kingdom Hall in Lawton, Oklahoma. My oldest half-brother had the same feelings and after his son was born left Germany and came home to West Virginia. This brief period of time, honestly, felt like paradise for my family. I believe it is one of the only periods where we were all happy. The congregation in Oklahoma was like our family. My older half-sister and her daughter, who was only about two years old at this time was living there, too. But, like I said, it was a very brief period of bliss. For very difficult times set in for every one of us. But the world didn't end. It kept on going. Sometimes being a little more forgiving to each of us and sometimes very unforgiving.
I think the only time the world has come to an end was when the flood covered the whole earth during the time Noah walked the earth. And I believe in the bible and believe the story of the flood. I also believe the promise God made right after the flood when God understood man's inclination is bad from the youth up and promised to never again bring the earth to ruin, even giving us a sign of this promise.
Lately, though, I've been doubting even the authenticity of the bible and have questioned for the first time in my life who wrote it. Perhaps some selfish perverse aliens from somewhere else in our universe who inhabited this planet with only one goal: to dominate women and keep uneducated persons in ignorance.
I didn't even learn about the Mayan prophecy until recently through my sister who heard about it through a very good, loving and trusting source. And, incidentally, my oldest half-brother bought the DVD, 2012, for me and my twin sister to watch with him before he died of cancer in 2011. I researched it some on google, but found it difficult to understand, except that there are solar flares that almost reach the earth as the sun expands to its greatest mass and width, and the gravitational pull this effect has, which could cause the earth to do almost a 180 degree flip flop.
And so, I don't know. Anymore than I knew back in third grade. I only know of God's unconditional love and presence in my life. I know of God's unconditional love of every single person on this planet, that God desires no one to be destroyed and that God is not far off from any one of us. God even knows when one sparrow falls from the sky. God knows how many hairs each of us have on our head. And God has named every one of the stars in the heavens. I've experienced this kind of God in my life, when I was a child and felt all alone many times, and I've experienced this kind of God as an adult, when I've come face to face with death, lost loved ones and in my normal day to day life.
Whether or not the world ends this month is not my biggest concern. I have learned to let go of things that I have no control over. I know that if I did have control I wouldn't cause innocent persons to lose their life. I would make it alright for every single suffering person. I would fly to Uganda and talk to the President about my brothers and sisters who are being threatened with life imprisonment and death sentences, just for loving someone of their same gender. I would then fly to Israel, right into Gaza and talk with the President there and ask him why? Why is it beyond his ability to give the Palestinians a piece of the promised land? Wasn't the land given back to the Jewish settlers when they escaped the worse plight of their life in the death camps in Germany? And then I would fly back to my home in West Virginia and try to make peace with my family and see my loved ones who I haven't beared to see for so long because of my own feelings of inadequacy. And I would then fly back to New York and make peace with the only person I have ever loved in all my life with all my heart and I would ask her to marry me. I think, then, I would feel worthy enough of her love and it wouldn't matter to me if the world ended or not, because I would know that I had done everything in my power to keep it from ending.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

When I Grow Up

When I grow up I want to be filthy poor and as equally uneducated. When I grow up I want to have a false sense of entitlement and live off the dole. When I grow up I want to be homeless and eat out of garbage cans. When I grow up I want to have my Wisdom teeth pulled even though I don't need them pulled so that I won't be wise about anything including my money. When I grow up I want to grow a big snout or a long tail from all of the genetically modified toasted corn puffs I eat for breakfast every morning. When I grow up I want to get off of Ritalin, but by then it will be too late because my mind will suffer severe shock from the withdrawal and the only thing I'll be fit for is a straight jacket in a state hospital. When I grow up I want to be sterilized and sold to an underground sex-slave trafficking organization and since I've already received the HPV vaccine I'll be a prime candidate. When I grow up I want to have every civil liberty my ancestors fought for taken away from me. When I grow up I want to be mind controlled. When I grow up I want less government and more greedy businessmen making important decisions about my life.