I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me. In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted. (Psalm 77:1-2) ............................................ A journal chronicling my struggle as a woman, to find my way out of an abusive relationship, and to find myself again.

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Location: Georgia, United States

Friday, June 18, 2004


If people bring so much courage to this world, the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those who will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. -- Ernest Hemingway



Oily black
it covers you
like the coating you wore at birth.
With your first anguished cry
it seals your destiny.

A quirk of fate,
you are singled out
a chosen one
in an exclusive society.

A living thing, with tentacles that clutch
your throat.
It hurts to speak,
to breathe.

It deforms you
and lays bare
the ugliness inside
and out.
You are a leper
and only fellow lepers understand.

It is a pit
as deep as hell
as dark as any cavern.
Its sides are steep
and slippery,
and if somebody threw you
a rope
You would hang yourself
trying to escape.

It is a facile liar
Yet it is truth
slightly skewed.
It converts you slowly
until you cry out,
I believe! I believe!
Your tears are your
baptismal waters.

It is a hue
of purest black.
It sucks the color
from your eyes

and you see
as if at midnight -
only shapes and shadows.

It is a rapist,
taking from you
that which is unseen;
stealing your trust
in an orderly world.

It is God
and you worship at its feet,
fervently praying
for surcease, for mercy.
It is the passion
of the martyrs.

It is your garden
carefully tended
weeded and hoed,
and still it yields
only wormy fruits;
a stunted harvest.

It is pain
without a name.
Looking back, it is all you see
and looking forward
all you anticipate.

It is a cancer
of the soul
a malignancy
of the mind.
It eats away
at the core of who
you are.
Knowing there's no cure
you only hope
for remission
and if not that,
a quick
and easy death.
KZC 02/1998


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