Tag Archives: survivor

your truth

why are you wasting time?

scribbling your words in invisible ink?

like fat fingers

on steamed up mirrors

and foggy windows…

why would you let your truth

disappear

into

obscurity?

it needs to be read, heard & recognized

chisel your words in stone

etch them in glass

hell,

paint the town red with your truth

your voice, your words need to be translated in 24 languages

& written in braille

so even the blind 

can see

your truth.

~Melanie Thomason

2014

This poem is from my book

Moonpies and Naugahyde

A Childhood Survived

Get it here!

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Moonpies & Naugahyde: A Childhood Survived

I’m happy to announce my second collection of poetry, Moonpies & Naugahyde: A Childhood Survived,  is now available!!

Fabulous watercolor paintings by Georgiann Carlson accompany my poems throughout, creating a book I am extremely proud of!

Since October is National Domestic Violence Awareness month, I can think of no better time to release it.

M&N Announcement

 

 

3 options available now on Amazon:

Note the 3 “versions” are not all linking up on Amazon correctly so I am providing the individual links below each option 🙂

1-Full Color Edition: Watercolor Illustrations presented in Full Color

This is the way this collection is meant to be experienced!

Get it here!

2-Black & White Edition: Watercolor Illustrations presented in Greyscale

(Producing the book in full color made it a little pricey so offering this B&W option)

here

3-Ebook for your Kindle, iPad, etc.

here

 

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love

love

supports

not controls

love

uses hands

to hold and caress

not to punch

or bind

or bruise

“love”

is never

an excuse

for any kind

of abuse

~Melanie Thomason

 

 

 

 

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p

pausing,

palms pocketed

privately pondering

perplexing problems

petrifying past programming

prostrates

Melanie Thomason

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Filed under 25 Words or Less, Poetry

Try But Don’t Cry

I had to share this powerful poem of yet another broken childhood. Shattered by the fists of Domestic Violence.
Yet she is raising her voice, now will you listen?

FreeSpirit_ Ekundayo

Featured Image Courtesy of

Try growing up in an unhappy home.

One where love between the people who made, crafted and moulded isn’t shown.

Try having to wake up in the middle of the night to see your sisters fight.

Not each other, but that beast off your mother.

Try being 11 the first time you see a lifeless body.

Try understanding that to the murderer it’s all funny.

Forced to understand that every life comes to an end.

These postcode wars don’t and won’t end.

There no way to mend the broken lives of the children forced to live in the ghetto, living in fear of whether they’d see tomorrow.

Try to understand that I don’t feel sorry for myself because Cathy Glass writes books about the abused, bruised and i refuse to think that my predicament is in any case worse.

I’ll shed tears for the moms because…

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And Still I Rise- the late, great Maya Angelou reading her poem

 

We have lost a great treasure today and I could think of no greater tribute than to feature this phenomenal woman reading one of her fabulous poems.

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A year and a poem (or 3)

One year ago, today, I started my WordPress journey.  It was my first ever attempt at blogging AND my first time sharing my words with more than one or two close friends. I wasn’t sure if anyone would even find me amoung the thousand of blogs out there… much less find my offerings of value.  I wasn’t sure if this was the right avenue for me or if I would even continue more than a week or two. Now, here we are.

The support I’ve found here is amazing.  Beyond the “follows” and the “likes” I have experienced some heartfelt, thoughtful comments, critique and encouragement.  I have even made some connections that now extend outside of this blogging world; making friends I hope will be part of life for years to come. All of this is to say Thank You to all of you.  Because of you I have not abandoned this journey and I am truly living in the land of the word that I so love for the first time in ages. In fact, I’m currently working on a book of poetry and a novel…something I have never had the courage to actually pursue before.  It was always only a dream, until now, until you.

This WP community is full of talented people and I am happy to be one of them.  🙂

And because this is always all about the words, the art, the poetry…I leave you with a poem or 3.

I.

I hear the rain

as it advances

you rush inside 

I’ll take my chances

I’m not afraid

of getting wet

the pouring rain

helps me forget

II.

rain

washes

away the shame

accumulated through years of pain

III.

It’s raining here, the skies are grey

but I do not feel that way

I am not sad, I don’t feel blue

I close my eyes and think of you

with face upturned and arms outstretched

your love for me doesn’t seem farfetched

it’s raining here, I dance and sing

for in the rain, my heart takes wing

~Melanie Blackwell

 

 

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Learn your Place

It was Valentine’s Day (sometime in the late 90’s) and since I had recently been dumped I was looking at a depressing evening at home alone.  Weighing my options I decided to go out for a couple drinks instead of staying in and consuming the ice cream consolation prize I had purchased earlier that day.

I wore the brand new, milk chocolate colored silk blouse I had bought to wear on a date that was not to be.  Screw it!  I was only going to the dive bar that was within stumbling distance of my apartment but might as well look nice.

I wasn’t there long when I noticed this big, burly guy who was just being an all-around jerk to his date.  Negative comments and general snarkiness then out of nowhere he backhands her across the face so hard that she flies into the wall.  He snarled “I said get me a beer!”  The thing is she was…she just didn’t move fast enough to suit him.

I looked around in wonder as no one, absolutely no one, made a move to do ANYthing.  I went over there without really thinking and said something really scathing (I’m sure it was, really) like “Get a life, Big Man!”  I don’t really remember what I said in all honesty but he told me I needed to learn my place and she (the woman being abused) told me to mind my own business.  Incredible.

I made my way back to my barstool and ordered a fresh drink.  The bartender asked what I had said to the guy and said well “if looks could kill” and warned me that he was “boring holes” through my back.  I said “Oh, well… maybe he will leave her alone while he glares at me.”

And…that was that.  Nothing else transpired.

A couple drinks and a couple hours later I decided to go out for some fresh air because the cigarette smoke that permeated the place was burning my eyes.  I walked outside and leaned against the brick wall and closed my eyes. That was all it took… just a couple of seconds with my guard down.  He was there.  I never heard him come out but he was right in front of me. Ripping my shirt open, clawing at my neck, spitting venom in my face, “Bitch, I’ll show you your place” as he tried to push me behind the dumpster, to the pavement littered with broken beer bottles.  It became alarmingly clear exactly what he meant to do.  Exactly how he was going to show me my place. I wouldn’t, couldn’t let that happen.  Never Again.

I struggled to break free but he was too big, he was overpowering me.  I pulled my knife.

The knife I thought I would never use.  My best friend had given me this knife and insisted I learn how to use it…made me practice opening and using it, stabbing cardboard.  I thought it was ridiculous and only went through the motions to humor him.

Now his words echoed through my head, “Only pull it if you are going to use it.”

This guy wasn’t afraid though.  He laughed when I said “Don’t make me” and sneered “Like you are going to use it.”  He lunged at me and in the seconds before his fist met my face I stepped forward to meet him and plunged the entire blade into his stomach and twisted it before pulling it back out.

I’ll never forget the look of disbelief on his face as he reached down and felt the blood gushing through his shirt.  He said “What did you do that for?”

It was then people decided to step in to break things up.  I don’t know when people had come out but suddenly someone was taking my knife from me (which was easy enough as I was just holding it loosely staring at the blood, his blood on my hand.)  People were looking and talking and Douchbag was yelling about calling the cops.

I went inside, holding my shirt closed with one hand, and walked directly behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of vodka to douse my hand.  Then I called a cab and paid my tab and slipped out the back.  The cab got there before the police…

The next few days were agonizing.  I knew I had acted in self-defense but I had left the scene.  I had no idea what had happened after I left.  I also knew that all knife and/or bullet wounds that showed up at the ER had to be reported to the police.  I kept waiting for a knock at the door.

Then one day at work I saw my bartender of all people walking down the hall towards me.  It was surreal; I had never seen him outside of the bar… not to mention in the light of day.  He told me that when I left the guy had come in to use the phone to call the police.  He had told him that it wouldn’t be a problem but needed to do one thing first.  Then he got on the loudspeaker (normally reserved for “Last Call” announcements) and said everyone who saw this guy beating up on his girlfriend and then attacking Melanie please come to this side of the bar.”  The ensuing crowd of witnesses effectively dissuaded the call to police.

So that was that.  My knife had been cleaned and was returned to me.  As far as what happened to Douchbag… he lived.   From what we heard later he got stitched up by a friend who was a doctor.

And I, gentle reader, for a short time, was seen as a bit of a bad ass… and my drinks were free.

 

Melanie Blackwell

 

***Note this was long ago and I no longer go to bars and very, very rarely have an alcoholic beverage. 

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