Iron Veins, trying towards life.

#PersonalCommunications 2018

Another day of introspection and rest.

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Right away I must justify my world to myself. I’ve only worked and mostly without pay, demands from abrasive evangelical leadership, abuse.

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I know abuse not rest. It never stops, that is the nature of abuse.

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There wasn’t rest for me, I lived in a prisons coated in scintillating hallow praise.

It all hurt(s). All of it.

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These are the scar along my being, just not the core, scars do not equal a being.

An extension of human experience so ugly and unfathomable it is easier to try and discredit.

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Often, this happens. People are disqualified from life, humanity, and protection there in because them coping with their pain isn’t Lifetime materials.

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Where’s that sunny disposition?

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Discredit a life unknown, ugly cries to be ignored and devalued in hindsight.

It’s annoying.

Just not to you. You enter a moment of discomfort, wincing from my reality.

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It is sad, it does ruin the appropriate mood of most conversations.

My life must annoy you.

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For me.

There wasn’t time to be a child to enjoy a home that felt safe.

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Just safe, that’s all I asked for. Prayed for.

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Abuse, trauma, violent confirmation of my sin and defiant nature.

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So here I am. Years of abuse, of work. Once I could reach the stove I cooked every meal.

Consequently, all housework was my responsibility because I had to earn my existence.

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Once I had a birthday party where I spent the whole time cooking and cleaning up after everyone. All the while I watched my friends enjoy my party.

Everything had to be cleaned and it had to be done by me.

The mess couldn’t wait. I had to obey, I was teenager but with the human rights that would normally be given to a toddler.

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The pain of those iron rods was forced into a small ribcage. The corruption leaks from the fragmented fray of vibrating metal.

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My ribs of iron ore deformed by too many unfortunate variables.

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But wait, there’s more!

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It’s metallic.

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This rich vain of mental illnesses fermented by trauma, accelerated by bigots.

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I have to live in this world. The United States of racism borne on the bedrock of our capitalistic evaluation of human worth.

Slaves can make money so they have to be human?

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So all we have is work.

Oh, the humanity.

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Human productivity.

Does a human have the right to life?

Not in this climate.

It’s too political.

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Privilege and the human roullet wheel anchored to circumstances shaping human experience.

The human experience is political.

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You can not ignore the weights of environmental conditions dedicated for profit and not towards a tenable existence.

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One world built with the request of the American dream. Rise up against this ocean wave on my bundle of sticks.

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No one will help you but survive or move aside.

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What’s in a human life.

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If you don’t see, blind to a world steeped in consequences. You built the firepit. Fire built, not commissioned but to slowly boiled alive the inadequate.

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I want a space in time but I was born a frog. Slowly I boiled, over time my skin charred.

Unforgivable.

Punishable by death.

Isn’t that the way of it all?

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🖤

Thank you for taking the time to check in, to read about my life of woe.

🖤

How are you doing, it’s ok to not be hurting. Just keep trying to live. Pain is temporary and so is life.

May you live and try and fail and try towards life again.

C’est la vie, such is life.

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