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[kaenoelani]

The first time I got raped I stayed silent. after being grown in years of sexual mistrust and molestation, how was this much different. Our bodies do what we are told.

The first time I got raped wasn’t the last.

The last time I got raped still echoes in my ears of the cries screming “no, no, no, not like that.”

The second time I was raped is a blur because being raped helped me ensure I was always intoxicated enough to just lay there.

The third time I drove my older brother to college and it’s something I wish I could forget. Being taken by his best friend and not having the courage to admit it to me or him. Just getting on the flight back home and making a familiar home of razor blades pressed tightly to my wrist. He took my sleeping body there and made his way downstairs and all I know is by the third time I had learned exactly what to do.

You lay there while their eyes turn black, you pray to God and find the breath to convince them this is what you wanted too. You grab your things, leave the space, and when everyone else awakes you pretend we were both just asleep too.

The fourth time I remember, because I left the party and woke up in bed at the mansion in bed with his mom. She was screaming why I was there and I didn’t remember anything other than crawling to somewhere where he couldn’t find me.

Then I left with all my homies behind me, none of them knowing why we fled.

The next time is something I can’t speak to; I just know his eyes were blue and hands held tightly.

The last time left me stuck in bed, with all his rage in my head and the fingerprints that will always be burned inside my neck. A dark room and hatred I cannot forget.

And the lesson for this memory is that sometimes these thoughts are so stuck in the back of my membrane I stuff them back into the ground. It’s not easy to be vulnerable and admit that these things have happened.

But they happened and forgetting doesn’t heal.

I just have to remind myself to always remember please to give the truth of myself, because sometimes our pain helps others to recognize their target. it also can help others learn to fight even though it’s so much easier for us survivors to just forget.

[kaenoelani]

Molly Ringwald // June 1984

photographed by Sheila Metzner for Vanity Fair

[kaenoelani]

Your heart pumps in and out. Our lungs breathe in and out.

They work as this team of divided support to keep the blood we create supporting all that is within us.

I have so much experience in the divided.

There’s a beauty in the correspondence of the things that keep us alive. And the need for one to work to support the other.

It’s strange to me that life doesn’t breathe the way our body knows how to function and in life we assume we will find that breath. Because as separate beings we are capable to walk away.

The lungs needs the heart the heart supports the lungs and it’s so simple the anatomy of working together as a whole.

I have come to find relationships are not so easy as breath and pump and live.

[kaenoelani]

There’s something different about friends who stay on the phone until you’re both asleep.

Friends who just listen to you breathe or cry or nothing.

I forgot how grateful I am for people like that.

But tonight I remember it.

[kaenoelani]

My two hero’s hugging 🤧

These two make my heart happy

[kaenoelani]

The one & only… 

[kaenoelani]

#nahko #nahkoandmedicineforthepeople #nahkobear #ibelieveinthegoodthingscoming

[kaenoelani]

 @laurenelizabeth.art.design on IG

[kaenoelani]

Drowning in pictures of past and forbidden future. Prospects stolen deep dark and lost and I am telling myself I am not a victim. Because I am conscious and I am here and I brought a life into the world.

How much more can my demons steal?

Each step forward who is demanding their paradise? When is the moment I can stand strong as a decision? As a decision I made?

Why did he choose me and why does my pain choose his breakings. And what is love other than what what he told me under the piano bench? Why did I have to love others and protect. Because protecting brought the sunglight of truth and sometimes I regret anyone knowing the name of the man who made the knife first press my skin. His name was Christopher. I can say it now; Christopher.

This was never a game. I was never yours to claim. How is it twenty years later and I still see your face in my horrors. How am I so broken over everything you took. And I was always a fighter, but my little body shook. How could you do that to a pure untattered soul?? How do I make myself who I am again and erase the entire part where you creeped into my underwear when I tried to build the train tracks. How do I say I hate you in clearer words then my mother told me I didn’t mean them. The words she said I did not know the meaning.

You believe you taught me love, but too young I knew hate. You undressed me wand arrested any future I would have. To be open and pure and fear less than I do now. Because I’m still afraid and still ashamed and I’m hungry because you swallowed me whole.

Do you remember the peanut m&ms and the night We went to Target. You put me in your white van, placed your hands in my pants, and told my six year old self it was what I wanted. We went to find a tree stand for the tree my parents bought. And there was a young girl who was lost you held with your deceiving hands. She solicited your smile and you looked at her the way you looked at me; and you loved me right?

I threw a fit and I was mad because you were the love of my life. And I screamed so loud I paid for it in the van at the sound of sacrifice. Because your dark hands didn’t touch another, they only touched my fragile body. And I kissed you like I loved you and you said that you forgave me.

Because I am forever yours In the most fucked up piece of my mind. And you are forever mine in the years you were locked up.

Behind bars

Forbidden to take another

And I know you’re out looking, and these scars they are named Christopher

So come find me

And I’ll show you the blade. And I’ll show you my wrist

I’ll show you that I grew up even though you told me you did not give me permission

And I’ll teach you I forgot the way you taught me to love

Because it was never love

It was never us

It was through your torture that you taught me to shed my own blood

[kaenoelani]

[kaenoelani]

Can’t wait for my newest piece 😋

[kaenoelani]

» Catch a wave and take in the sweetness Think about it, the darkness, the deepness All the things that make me who I am. «

~ Mariners Apartment Complex // Lana Del Rey

[kaenoelani]

I have painted ceramic covering cracks in my stone that were placed there before the dawn of my creation. I used to tremble with night terrors, shaking with knowing that what would be was not as it seemed. And I wish I could tell that scared little girl to listen to the guiding spirits. All I saw were volcanos exploding and the earth splitting cracks, and my family separated to their own distant lands. And my nightmares weren’t terrors-they were what would become, but I was sheltered and told the monsters stayed where my eyes would shut. I used to close out my premonitions as the way we are conditioned. I would take my no more monster pills and shake in the dark for the newest lesson. But here I am a women with dark eyes and the truth and that scared little girl knew more than I gave her credit for. I was fearless in the dark for it was just a story.

But truth be told it was never just a story.

Life happened as I dreamt and to be honest I was blessed to become all the things I knew would be. But where are the spirits now guiding me?

I’ve been stuck in the dark in the dark for too many years and I actually found someone I could tell all my fears to. And I believe to be seen is the strangest thing. For someone to hear but listen and to care about all of these things.

My life has been one new moon after the next and the chapters have blurred lines and sometimes I forget, that I have become

I have become so much more than I am allowed to believe. This is the only place I can speak freely without being questioned and silenced. And it’s the scariest thing that we love the things we hate. And it’s scarier to love that in others but still be filed with self hate.

I can see rainbows of healing and the best in your future, but within there are rags and pain and hurt. And no one wants to talk about the hurt that leads to healing. And I’m stuck in a cycle of shame and repeating the things that bring me to this bridge of places I can go, and the road that is less traveled for me is the one where I get to be alone.

For in silence I cradle all of these small thoughts, and I piece them together and I found the me that I forgot. Because who I am is not the plaster on the cracks. Who I am is the woman who put all the pieces back together, the woman who had to find herself as shelter as the world broke open and swallowed all there was. The woman I am was alone before time begun. And to be who I am I must go there again

I find shelter in caring for the broken parts of people. But how much more can I give to this creature before he eats me whole. He’s not the one who sees me, he’s the one who devours my soul.

[kaenoelani]

august 25, 1991.

[kaenoelani]

[kaenoelani]

You ask when I stopped shouting everything

and started keeping language close to my mouth as if  I were reading to a match that had to last my life.

Well it was not that day. That was much later, after the trees had all been cleared and the earth

leveled. When I stopped begging to be believed and started telling the truth—no man was there.

— Gabrielle Bates, from “The Mentor,” published in Poetry

[kaenoelani]

Amy Tan, Saving Fish from Drowing