She Said I Do
Couldn’t love him through the pain of hating himself and continue packing flesh-colored powder around the black and blues of what used to be a beautiful face. Laura stuffed grocery bags and rushed to the boys’ bedroom, where dry splatters of blood stained their walls from last week. Then, headlights came beaming through the window.
Her Last Thoughts
Never planned to lay dying at forty. Projects waited for her to complete them. She wondered if Clara, her only friend, had washed the dinner plates in the sink from days before. While the monster ate at her last breast, she imagined her last drink of wine, the glass rim stained with signature maroon lipstick.
The Choice
They paraded outside with signs, bantering with a sense of rage that she was vile for cutting the cord to life inside her. Noma wept inside and out, thinking of the baby that her step-father planted inside to swell up her thoughts, while her mother sat with folded arms and anger etched across her face.
We seem to all be on similar paths…this cracked my heart in half this morning.
LikeLike
I’m sorry. And I just read your last post, so I understand. I’m glad you’re here to share that story. Thanks for stopping by, Valentine.
LikeLike
I forgot to tell you how very much I love this particular watercolor.
LikeLike
Thanks, Valentine.
LikeLike
You are good Totsymae.. that’s for sure! excellent writing…
LikeLike
Thanks, Helen. I appreciate that so much.
LikeLike
That painting is stunning! Your words are beyond stunning! Breathtaking! Brava!
LikeLike
Thanks, Linda. That painting is one of my favorites.
LikeLike
You amaze and inspire me!
LikeLike
You’ve made me smile. Thank you for that.
LikeLike
These are all so compelling and so heart-breaking. I know these are stories that can be told over and over (just substitute the names), but aren’t there happier stories, too? What is it about writing that draws us to the pain?
LikeLike
These are issues currently in American politics. That’s what drew me.
LikeLike
And I also wonder … writing about pain is cathartic, is it not? Releasing?
LikeLike
Gottcha.
LikeLike
I love the painting — a woman breaking free. Hopefully, women everywhere will be able to do so as well. Someday.
LikeLike
Thank you. Someday soon, hopefully.
LikeLike
Wow, powerfully packing a punch!
LikeLike
Thanks, Jodi. 🙂
LikeLike
OMG Totsy… this stopped me dead in my tracks. So moving, both the painting and the words. You are one inspired, creative wise woman. xoxo
LikeLike
Hmmm…Thank you. 🙂
LikeLike
Like a bitter stew that has been boiled and distilled down to the smallest volume possible, the remaining broth is powerful, leaving quite an impressionable taste. Very powerful and stunning, Totsy.
LikeLike
Thanks, Phil.
LikeLike
Wow, I love that painting!! You write so well girl.
LikeLike
Thanks and thanks again, Vee.
LikeLike
Wise to keep the colors restricted yet varied in tone. Think unrelated colors would ruin the flow and detract. Re story it is for women to commensurate and comment here but this male understands.
LikeLike
Thanks, Carl and for understanding.
LikeLike
Read your words all the time. First time I felt so compelled to comment. Brought tears to my eyes.
LikeLike
Thank you for commenting. Sorry for the tears.
LikeLike
Excellent, compelling. Well done. Do you find being away is giving you something different on home?
LikeLike
I think of the women here and feel more pity for them than I do for us, actually. I can only say so much about the last story and what happens here, you know. I look at them and I keep thinking “trapped.” There’s little, if any way, to get out of it.
LikeLike
Wow, wow, and wow. I’m 40. I’m not hiding any bruises though. Oh, my God, if only the abused women could blog, could be out here in this community, could see living & thriving a DIFFERENT world possible, to that where they are.
This was just excellent, in so few words.
http://www.VodkaWasMyMuse.wordpress.com (video diary of me stepping toward sobriety) & http://www.WordsFallFromMyEyes.wordpress.com
LikeLike
Thanks for the websites.
Unfortunate that these are the stories of some women and children. Makes me sad…
LikeLike
Your sadness, is mine too. I do not know why humans do as they do. But always in what happens, is the challenge to overcome and find ‘your life’. So with every damage is the opportunity of repair, regrowth and strengthening. Thank you so much for your comment 🙂
LikeLike
Nice painting…love the colors.
LikeLike
Thanks, Hansi.
LikeLike
First of all, Tots, you probably remember that I sometimes get blocked by institutional firewalls from directly interfacing on any article with the syllable “butt-” in its title. I really enjoyed reading the post, however, by clicking on your blog title and reading it as it appears in sequence with your other posts. If I were you, I would be imagining LOTS of folks naked under all those robes over there. What does this tell us about the law of physics applying here; you know, the one that mentions “equal and opposite effects resulting from equala and opposite forces”, etc.,etc. I would also be doing a LOT of sitting around eating, also!
Now, for this post here:Three very excellent 55 word stories expressing great pain in life and what it takes to “overcome”. The first and last story really reminded me of so many posts from blogging friends last month in April to honor Child Abuse Awareness Month and Violence Against Women Month. You accomplished several volumes’ worth in each of those 55 word stories.
LikeLike
Thanks, Granbee.
LikeLike
You are a mistress of succinctness, Tots! And your painting is top drawer. Again! Still! 😀
LikeLike
Your kind words are most appreciated, Soul.
LikeLike
Totsy, no one delivers a punch like you do! Powerful stuff, lady. And this watercolor! Oh my goodness, it takes my breath away. You’ve captured her expression perfectly.
LikeLike
Thank you, Bella.
LikeLike
Totsy, you are such a brilliant artist. But your writing rivals your painting. This is so powerful! You knock me out!
LikeLike
You’re too nice, Linda. Tell Ms Monroe, that writer you like so much, I need her agent’s number. I wanna sit on my fanny all day and write for a living too.
LikeLike
Damn, that was heavy. Too often art imitates life. This is a all too common actuality.
LikeLike