The layers of exquisite grief keep revealing new pain each day. Seeing him alone and oh, so far away eyes. Holding up a newspaper while sitting in his hospital bed, the look on his face set to deceive anyone questioning why he never turns the page, never gasps in wonder or surprise at a new raft of drowning immigrant.
He knows someone is watching, but he’s not sure who. And are they coming for dinner, and is dinner soon? And the cow jumps over the Moon.
I am so spent emotionally, grieving a live man instead of a dead one, I have cried waves of guilty tears for ever wanting this day to come.
I must fall unconscious into the arms of God now, before my mind breaks.
Love,your angry Daughter.
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Author: ST Martin
I am an Artist, Poet and Author. A Survivor of Violent Sexual Abuse and Rape, I have lived thru Severe Domestic Violence, Twenty Three years of Addiction and Alcoholism, Family Dysfunction, Chronic Pain, Dependence on Opioids, and 2 Venomous Snake Bites...I have Been Stabbed, Shot at, Tied to a Tree and Choked Unconscious. A Quarter Horse Rolled on Me, as did a Lawn Tractor. I also Wrecked a Harley into a Tree! I also have PTSD and Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder, and spent my 18th birthday in a Locked Psychiatric Ward. I am so much more than this: I feel like a tiny seed that sprouted in a desert, and now has grown into a Passion Vine. My Art is my Voice, Screaming, Crying, Praying, Loving, Laughing, Healing- all in Riotous Color...
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The Wind 