writings-kalelculver

[writings-kalelculver]

It is easy enough to predict men’s hearts. Cruel Perseus, who raised a sword and whispered justified; Medusa, who closed her eyes and took her final revenge. (she cannot hate the life she was reborn to. in death, she wields terror reminds the world of the cruelty of the gods. there is a reason no one can bare to stare the aegis in the eye.)

Gorgoneion / Rishika Aggarwal © 2015 (via rishwrites)

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[writings-kalelculver]

Writing Affirmations submitted by Camp NaNoWriMo participants. (Text reads: “Life is too short not to write. There’s no failure in creativity. You can do this.” By NaNoWriMo user SamSlamJam.)

Start writing with Camp NaNoWriMo today!

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Absent

This is a story I've been working on. Sci-Fi and fantasy are out of my comfort zone, but I want to challenge myself as a writer. It is a little bit of a mix between both genres. The beginning is more fantasy and it is starting to merge with the sci-fi aspect. http://my.w.tt/UiNb/6q5VpFskLD

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https://www.wattpad.com/story/109845423-absent?utm_source=web&utm_medium=twitter&utm_content=share_myworks_details&wp_uname=KalelCulver&wp_originator=wTL34lopQKYmmoLbW06CZl8poGePgWY2WfYf7W9GDGGz8WTg9Sz1cQg%2FgBe5Yp%2F7TIytzc2l7TleDDeJlH%2FyzlNjQSRiO9EE1we8sUCciChVmR95EoJ%2Foz2M8yj%2FBpo1&_branch_match_id=394334567128144204

It’s a work in progress and my goal is to update it regularly. Any feedback is welcomed. 

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Advanced English Adjectives

Garrulous - excessively talkative

Sententious - given to moralizing in a pompous or affected manner

Pertinacious - holding firmly to an opinion or a course of action

Propitious - giving or indicating a good chance of succeess, favorable

Captious - (of a person) tending to find fault or raise petty objections

Exiguous - very small in size or amount

Contumacious - (especially of a defendant’s behavior) stubbornly or willfully disobedient to authority

Perspicacious - having a ready insight into an understanding of things.

Scurrilous - making or spreading scandalous claims about someone with intention of damaging their reputation

Sumptuous - splendid and expensive-looking

Pervicacious - very obstinate or stubborn

Temerarious - reckless, rash

Sagacious - having or showing keen mental discernment and good judgement

Magnanimous - generous or forgiving, especially to a rival or less powerful person

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God to me is the energy that surrounds us all. Everything is energy.. therefore what you put out, you receive. I don't believe it's some guy in the sky hiding behind the golden gates to heaven. That's just not very likely. When you pray & good things happen that is technically your energy being brought forth. When miracles happen everyone wants to say it was God but when someone tragic happens nobody bats an eye at "God." I'm sorry but I think it's time people get a grip on the truth. Religion is only brought here to control and separate the human race. Riki healers don't go praying to God for healing, they do it themselves with the power they have manifested ON THEIR OWN. Now that's real power! You are your own God and you can create the life you wish to live. If you wish to keep entrapped on a made up religion then be my guest. I guarantee the majority of you are working paycheck to paycheck, unhappy with life, never get to vacation & your boss is an ass. Break out of that control & realize that you can be so much more if you understand that the power lies within yourself & nobody else!!!!! My god is the positive spirit and vibes around me & I would not be where I am today if it wasn't for my DRIVE, PASSION & HARD WORK. Praying to God for happiness and wealth will never work unless you don't step up an do something; do you get it now? I don't want to upset anyone because I know religion can be a sensitive subject. But I'm sick of people saying God the almighty saved so and so... no that's not how it works. This is life shit happens. Believe in you. And if you don't like my post, hide it or delete me. Too many nutty religious people out there.

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When you are hurting remember that a wilting flower has the power to disseminate seeds of life. Fragments of broken mirrors will always manifest reflections of beauty and the storm inside of you will find its calm.

Hurting (via what-she-writes)

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I try to create sympathy for my characters, then turn the monsters loose.

Stephen King (via aliceswritingtips)

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You are more than your disease.

You are more than your disease.

I know it may not feel like it, but it’s true. You have hopes, dreams, and characteristics besides your diagnoses.

I know at least two, you are STRONG and you are BRAVE.

You are more than your disease.

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This happened to me a while back. I was too lazy to actually type it out again.

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Remember when?

We lied together wrestling in my bed? In yours? It was without a care in the world. We were high on the feeling of love. We made a choice and the damage was done. There was no going back to a before. You called me a slut. You called me a whore. I only had three options: abortion, adoption, and parenthood. There was only I could consider and that was the one you feared. You offered me five grand to keep you out and when that didn’t work you begged me to kill our son growing inside if me. You lack empathy and support. You chose to run and hide. Even though you were once in the navy. You are nothing but a coward. The scars of emotional, physical, and financial stress show. And you’re not there to carry your burden like a real man. Instead you’re probably out having a good time. I made a selfless decision and it’s heartbreaking. I carried our son for nine months. And I'm still here...alone. Wondering if I made a mistake. Wondering if you regret not being here.

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Living a life that makes no sense. Every other week I have the threat of a fist in my face.

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Control

     Grainy dirt between my toes, cattails tickling my bare legs as I make my way down an unmarked road. Flashbacks of the last few days flood my mind. All of her. Her long hair that mimics the sun, her widened smile, and her reaction when I told her how I felt. But she didn’t feel the same. Who knew the devil could be disguised as an angel? I guess the old preacher man in this hick town was right, the imagery of the Bible is all around us. With my tattered lacy white dress, I could never be the girl of her dreams.  Just the other day, in front of everyone in the halls at school she called me a worthless piece of shit. I’ve just should’ve known that to Layla all I would ever be is that dyke who is too chicken shit to go shoplifting.  Reasons why I’m walking down this unmarked road to an old barn house. With a matchbook in hand I’m ready to set my past in blaze, and finally take control of my life.

           White paint chippings and green moss splatters, this old barn house has been abandoned for some time. The 2x4 planks covering the windows have wood rot, and the nails are rusty. The steps to the porch creak, splinters pierce my feet still I do not care. Lying down in the middle of the room the floors have bloody claw marks like this place was once a torture chamber. The vintage wallpaper that is peeling is cover in dried blood. This is a piece of art that is almost worthy of being called a mural. I rip a piece off of my dress and start playing with the matchbook. The small tongue of the flame burns into the matchstick, leaving what was once this simple wood, into a charred nightmare. I dropped the old matchbook on the floor and lit the piece of fabric I tore off. The flames danced and I placed the dancing flame fabric underneath the ripped curtains. There the performance grew and grew. Making my way over to the bloody claw marks I lie down. This is where I felt at peace with myself and the world once again. The heat is radiating and begins to engulf the abandoned sanctuary. I close my eyes, and the last image I ever remembered seeing was Layla’s face—the whiteness over took me and I was freefalling into an abyss.  

     Waking up in a fog made what I just went through a bad dream. Still, something didn’t seem right—I didn’t seem right. It takes me a while to realize where I am. Peeling wallpaper covered by posters, stains on the carpet, the heavy smell of cigarette smoke, and long flowy blonde hair. This was not my house, and I wasn’t even myself. Somehow I was who I always wanted to be—the girl of my dreams, Layla. She was the kind of alluring that you find yourself asking every atom that composes her body once made up stars, galaxies and planets. She was the kind of person that could captivate you in every single way. She was beautiful in the elegance in how she spoke to everyone. Well, except for me. Now I have the power to cause chaos in her life. Chaos like she pushed me into the darkness that was eating at my soul.

      Once I started to feel somewhat normal and not dizzy, I walked into the bathroom. I took a razor and started using it to cut and shape Layla’s long blonde hair into a short saggy mess. Clashes of metal can be heard downstairs. Oh great her mother is up. More loud clashes can be heard in the kitchen. Heading downstairs I tripped over a missing step half way, tumbling down. My ribs stung more than they should. I lifted up my shirt and saw large bruises on Layla’s ribs—my ribs. Then it hits me, the visions of padlocks and drunken slurs. Suddenly it becomes even harder to breathe. This place is a special kind of hell. Bare cinderblock walls and everything’s a mess. No wonder Layla started distancing herself two years ago after her father died. It seems like no one could handle the tragedy. “Good m—moring,” oh my god her mother has become a complete mess. Her hair was all matted and she wore see-through lingerie. I can barely look at her, but I must say something. “Good morning,” I say hoping that she doesn’t notice a difference.

“What?” She scowls and then reaches for the half empty tequila bottle on her side. She takes a swig and continues to look at me as if I was a disappointment. “What, no fuck you mom?” To say the very least I’m in shock. I guess I’m not the only one Layla treats like shit. I look through the cabinets for something to eat. There isn’t anything except for booze and a moldy loaf of bread. I look back down at the floor and Layla’s mom is passed out, having the remainder of the tequila spill into a puddle that the dust bunnies could lounge around in. I never expected that her mom would turn into this. Layla always seemed happy and never let this dark cave out. I can’t say that I’m totally surprised though since she only leaves her place for school nowadays. No wonder her favorite pastime has become shoplifting; she has no longer anything to lose. Even death would save her from this tragic nightmare of broken dreams and despair.

     A few days pass and everything become a blur. It seems as though Layla’s presence is starting to take over again.  Her desires have overridden mine. We even have conversations with one another. I run her fingers through her hair.

“What the fuck did you do to my hair Strawberry?”

“Don’t you think it looks cute?” I grimace hoping that Layla will finally drop this conversation.

“That’s a big fat no!”

     Layla is becoming stronger each second, but who knows for how long. She turned my grimace into a frown and forced my eyes to roll. “I also want my body back,” Layla demands. I cannot help but to chuckle and little bit and tuning her high pitch voice out until it mimics the humming of a fan.

           The next thing I know I’m cold and a male voice is persistent. “Layla? Layla?” A calming male voice persistently calls. “Would you like to tell me why you’re here?”

“What?” Slouched in the plastic chair, dressed in an orange uniform as the others keep to themselves. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t even understand why I’m here.” The man lowered his gaze towards me and began to speak but abruptly stopped. There is a slight pause as he just studies me with his eyes before I speak once again, “what did I do sir?”

“You stole a car,” he says softly. “You stole a car and killed someone. Then when you came here you attempted to strangle your roommate.”

           I could not believe what I just heard. It took me a few minutes to rearrange the thoughts in my head. My brain scattered as I tried to recall the last 24 hours but all I could remember was a fire and a tattered, lacy white dress. “Was there a fire sir?” I had to know and maybe this strange man knew the answer. The man removed his glasses and polished a lens against his dress shirt. He starred at me intestinally for a few moments, and then said “so you remember what happened a year ago, but you do not what remembered yesterday? Do you now—do you now remember who I am as well?”

“No,” I muttered.

“Very interesting. Well, I’m Dr. Wallace your psychiatrist. And I’ve known you since you were nine Layla.”

“If you don’t mind doctor I would like to go back to my cell to process all of this.”

“Before you do—do you remember anything about the fire Layla?”

“Jus the fire raging. How did I get out alive?” After I asked that question Dr. Wallace closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding what I assumed to be my file in his lap.

“When you first told me this event three years ago, you told me someone else took over and you walked out the backdoor. However, when you were nine you neglected to mention this, and your response to this was that whoever took over wanted to protect you until you were thirteen.”

“Good day Dr. Wallace.” My voice shook as I said this. This piece of the puzzle was all new to me and Layla allowed me to be present.

           For the rest of the day I said nothing, I was all alone and then I heard her. I could not ring myself to tell Dr. Wallace I wasn’t Layla. Still if he knew me since I was nine, then he would know that she was not in control. All that night Layla would try to talk to me, I just ignored her and began to remember the real reason I went to the old barn house a year ago.

           I relived it all. I relived why the old barn house had to burn. I was just nine years old playing in a nearby cornfield that cattails were beginning to overtake. Then this creepy old man who looks like a demonic redneck Santa Claus snatches me from behind, stuffing me in a burlap sack. He chains me up and starts whipping me. I try to scream but the stings of the bullwhip quiet my fragile lungs. One day the man took off the chains and I limped towards the door. He drags me across the room. I try to stop him by clawing at the door. Before more memories flooded my mind I wake up in a cold sweat with one of the worst anxiety attacks I ever had.

           Out of the darkness her voice rose again. “Strawberry, you remember now—don’t you?” At first I ignored Layla. I have to do is regain my balance, and stop from losing myself even further. Even when it’s all over, I think—I think it just comes back in flashes. A kaleidoscope of memories until it will happen all over again.

“Did I ever exist Layla?”

“No, not physically.” For the first time Layla sounded sincere in her voice.

“Was I the only one?” For some reason I had to find out the answer. I could only remember the parts of Layla’s life that I lived through.

“I don’t think you were Strawberry. Shit I can’t say for sure. I just haven’t always been in control.”

           As Layla finished speaking I began to understand why I existed and why I could do no real harm to her. I was her innocence, the childlike wonder that had died on that dreadful night, and was brought back to life when she needed it the most. My presence was fading as I fought to exist. I want to help Layla. I want to be there for her. Now she no longer needs me that she has chosen to confront her demons herself.  Everything felt so real. I felt so real. Life as I knew it has been an illusion. But she will never be.

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Lunar Days

Just like the moon, we go through phases. Instead of our phases lasting twenty-seven days, ours begins the day we take our first breath until our last breath is release from our lungs and back into the atmosphere. We are all unique; we all go through different phases, and that means not everyone will understand what we are going through. We may skip through phase, and revert to some over and over again. Life is meant to be the ultimate learning experience for our next journey.

When we are born we automatically know what our intention is for that moment; it is to grow.

New Moon Phase: During this time, we are becoming aware of our body and aware of our soul or lack of. During my new moon phase something must have gone corrupt.  My family has told me that from a young at that my all time fears were fire and gaining weight. The fear of fire arose when I was five and lived on the Clinton River in Michigan. There was a large marina across the way that caught fire. I remember being forced to watch it with my family. I remember the awful, acrid aroma that was similar to fatty pork being burned on a charcoal grill. I also remember seeing ember explosions light up the night; yachts became nothing more than fiberglass torches that competed with the stars for attention. The once calm river was riddled with chaos that wouldn’t seem to die.

After having that stench linger in the air for a few days I never really ate meat again. Then about a year or so later and restaurant, a block away from my house that was in the shape of a lighthouse caught fire as well. The same stench hovered in the air for days. It was not until years later that I learned; it was the smell of bodies burning. Every time the aroma of meat was in the air, all I could think about was those who had perished that night. Every time I saw someone eat meat all I could think about was those who were torched alive; followed by that acrid aroma once again, and then it hit me there is no humane way to die if a sentient being does not want to.

We relax into our intentions. Our intentions become as simple as breathing.

Crescent Moon Phase: At this point I was no longer eating meat, or much of anything. My mother had abandoned me for another new boyfriend and my dad was locked up in a Wayne County psychiatric hospital for severe schizophrenia. My life was falling apart at such a young age. I felt like no one wanted me; if your own parents abandon you, it makes you feel like you are absolutely worthless. Luckily I still had people who wanted me. My grandparents were the only ones I had left at the age of eight. They treated me extremely well, even paying for me to attend a prestigious private school. Sure I made friends there but they lived so far away. I learned to be alone, and my only friends were my grandpa, my golden retriever Genevieve, and the books I would read.

I take discerning action to support my intention.

First Quarter Moon Phase: which I fade into and out of quickly means to me that we as human beings are emphatic creatures. And I say fade because we as humans exist beyond a scope of 27 days; our emotions are our driving force. Yes we can cause so much harm, so much destruction, but many of us have heavy hearts—at least I know I do anyway. For those who need me I could never abandon them, because I know too well what this feels like and no one should have to feel alone in the depths of depression like I once did. I remember when I was in sixth grade and my friend Ani overheard Reina talking to herself. I told her if she needed to talk next period she could find me in the counselor’s office where I was assigned to be a student peer advisor for the lower and middle school. Sure enough I saw Reina peeked in, this time her face was completely expressionless. She confessed to me she saw her uncle commit suicide by closing the garage door on his head. She showed me a knife, a butterfly knife to be exact. At that point I got up calmly, walked into the office and told the counselor that a student has a knife. After that instance I never saw Reina again, all I know what happened to her that she went into a psychiatric hospital to get the help she so desperately needed. Sometime I wonder what would have happened if I just let that slide. She might as well have went through her plan and then that blood would have been on my hands as well.

We all go through trials before we understand who we will become during our adolescence; our intention and our so-called purpose in life becomes clearer.

Gibbous Moon: The most awkward time of my life. High school is never the exception to this; it is almost as it has become the rule to make lives miserable. The first time I met Collin was Freshman year of high school, and I swear the first words that 5’3” redneck ever said to me was, “shut the fuck up bitch.” Needless to say I tried to avoid him, like I tried to avoid others like the plague. In this area the only things you could do for fun were to drink, do drugs, or have sex, and I was not interested in any of the three so I became an outsider. The more I tried to avoid Collin the more I ran into him; it seemed as if those who tormented me were always around. He was always embarrassed to ask for help in English. He was a known drug dealer for the local chapter of the Ku Klux Klan. His racist grandfather is still today Citrus County’s Red Dragon, which means he controls the area. His drug of choice to sell was everything from heroine to marijuana. However, the only drug he touched himself was meth. It is funny that the Klan never found out about his addiction when everyone else did; if they ever found out he would not be alive today. He would come to me in private for some help, and if anyone asked what he was doing he would say I was buying drugs for him.

At this point my life was a complete mess. I was on almost every psychiatric drug under the rainbow, and when you feel, as everyone doesn’t see you as a person anymore you just want to go away. Then I had my first break with a knife and overdosing on my own prescriptions, shortly after I faded out of everyone’s lives and no one seemed to notice. After I came back Collin no longer came to me for any help, I guess no one likes the stigma of suicide. I was all alone again, except those who paid me to write papers for them, I guess these people had no problem being seen with an anorexic suicide addicted girl. The funny thing is if he continued coming to me for help he’d probably have graduated on time and not two years after he was suppose to.

We now are aware of our intentions. We either move on with this intention or we realize that it should not be ours at this time. Either way we release this intention, and our course will continue in the correct manner.

Full Moon Phase: Just because I like to help others does not mean it always works out the way that I have originally intended. In 2013 I worked at a resort in Crystal River, Florida called Plantation Inn. Inside that resort I was a server at the West 82 Bar and Grill, there while working I met an ex-tweaker named Tara. She was quite short and had a very outgoing personality. She was trying really hard to stay sober after rehab to regain custody of her son. I remember her saying that “no matter how bad my addiction to heroine got I never let my son go hungry.” She was a caring person to the whole staff. She would always ask how we were doing and it felt genuine. Then she had nowhere to go, her roommate did not want to sign the lease and she did not have the credit to lease the house on her own. As a result she moved into her boyfriend, Matt’s house. When she first introduced me to him, she told me to call him mommy and that nickname stuck. A few times Tara would call me up and ask for a ride to work, she said she would give me gas money, she never did and I didn’t mind. All I wanted was for her to do what was best for her and her son. Soon she would take advantage of this.

I was end up being the one that gets walked all over in the end; I guess it happens when you care more about others than you do yourself. She one day asked me to take her to her group therapy sessions, which I didn’t mind. However, one day she asked me to take her to a friend’s place real quick, “I’ll be right back sweetie,” she was say in a high pitched voice. She then would return to my car. As I started driving I saw her fidgeting with her purse. “What are you doing?” Then she finally admitted to buying meth and heroine. “You brought drugs into my fucking car?” I remember yelling that so loud and not knowing what to do, so I just dropped her off at her place and I was still pretty much in shock. She would ay that they were not for her, that she was a mule. I did not believe that for one bit. After her one year of sobriety she decided to go back to that life.

During the next few weeks Tara just got worse. I would still go and pick her up to take her to work and she would be stoned. One day she got into an argument with our boss Kelly. She went outside, and when she came back in she was completely unable to function. She was muttering nonsense, scaring the customers on the floor. Kelly then turned to me and said, “What the hell is going on?” I was completely speechless. The dinning had become nothing but a mere circus and Tara was the non-coherent ringleader. “I have no idea,” I said stumbling over my words. Kelly’s presence always made me nervous; she was a dominating and could sweep you under the rug just like a gnat. “She was fine when I went to pick her up this afternoon,” again the words came out of my mouth in a un-composed manner. The god honest truth was that Tara was fine before the shift.

For the rest of the night Tara was extremely sick. She managed to break 36 glasses on the rack as she stumbled throughout the server’s station. The next day when she came to get her things from the office, we found out that she mixed methadone with ecstasy. The end result was the termination of her job and 90 days in rehab. I tried to be a friend to her, I told her she could talk to me about anything and she did. I told her almost everyday that I was proud of her for staying sober. I had no idea how long this façade was going on; hell she could have been lying about being sober the whole time. It goes to show you that some people cannot be helped no matter how much you try.

We feel grateful that our intentions are coming into the form we so desire; we receive these with gratitude.

Disseminating Moon Phase:  In October 2013 I learned to appreciate my life and understood how caring I truly was. At the time I was dating this guy named Matthew, who was nothing really special. At the time I was dating him, I was making extra money on the side in a risqué way…I was a cam girl. Even though I always wore masks to hide my face, my ankle tattoo could clearly been seen. I never hid this from Matthew, but I never really told him either, but one day he found out.

Then one day just became a living nightmare. He invited me over to his place in Inverness, Florida and it seemed like a normal day. We went to the park by the courthouse and walked around before returning home. As I entered his room, I felt a push then something hard hitting the back of my head. I got into the kneeling position and then I felt pressure on my legs then I felt his hand around my throat. I could not breathe. I could not move at all. I did not understand why this was happening. I started to fade in and out of conscious. Somehow I managed to get him off me, I do not remember how I did it or if his intention was not to kill me. Either way the authorities did not do a damn thing. This has become a common pattern in my life—all because he said he was hearing voices. The only good thing that came from this is that for the first time in a long time I wanted to live my life and not just die. I always thought that I would welcome death no matter what—I am glad to say that I was wrong and it took a traumatic event to change that.

Now that I am receiving my intention, I give back from a pace of abundance.

Third Quarter Moon Phase: Like I said before I do not give up on people, if they need me I’ll be there to help them, even if they have wronged me in the past. In January 2014 (six years since I last talked to him) Collin decided that he needed to talk to me. This continued until March of that same year. Work and school made my life so hectic that I completely ignored everyone for their own sake. Then in the middle of last July, I was back in town because my neighbors at my complex made living there a living hell; I was attacked the same pit bull three times. The third incident I protected myself—I stabbed the dog to save myself. The dog lived but I faced threats from the owners, they even keyed my car as a result. I lived alone and my family wasn’t too keen of me staying at my apartment when I didn’t have to work. I decided to travel 100 miles back to Citrus County when I wasn’t working for my own safety.

I was in the middle of Dunnellon, Florida having a not so pleasant conversation with my ex-fiancé Aaron. A majority of his family members were harassing me constantly and I wanted them to stop before I went to the local corrupt authorities. He gave little concern. By this point he lost everything he ever worked for, and could careless that this could financially destroy him and his family even more. After hearing enough of his emphatic remarks I headed for my bright blue sedan, sat in it, put my head on my steering wheel and started to contemplate everywhere I could have possibly gone wrong in my life. Then my phone started to buzz and it was Collin. It had been over a year since I heard from him and I must of forgotten that I did not want anything to do with him. He asked if I wanted to see him and talk and after the disastrous night I was having I was inclined to say yes.

That starry night I agreed to meet him. He gave me his address, and my GPS took me through mazes of dusty, country roads. I saw that several people in this area had hogs, and all that did was remind me of a story my grandfather told me growing up about these two travelers in Alpena, Michigan. These two travelers got lost and had some kind of scuffle with a local. A few weeks late the local authorities found some uneaten human remains in the hog’s slop. I never asked my grandfather for proof growing up if this story had any truth to it, but that story played through my mind over and over again. “No one will ever find my body,” I whispered to myself. I hit many potholes going down that dirt road, I thought that my undercarriage would be torn to pieces by the time I even saw his place. Finally I found his driveway, with grass that stood about two feet tall. As I got closer to his house I could not help but notice that he also had hogs in his front yard, there must have been a dozen. I could not help but wonder, is he going to kill me, should I just go back to my grandparent’s house? It was too late; I made eye contact with him so automatically I was even more committed to this arrangement. And all of the nights I forgot to carry a knife in my pocket.  

We happily sat on his wood-rot front porch for a while. The crickets were singing and the stars are bright, and the shadows of the trees danced in the distance. As he lit his cigarette he so nonchalantly said, “I just got out of jail.” If I was uncomfortable before, now I was about to get in my car and for sure drive back to my grandparent’s house. But I stayed. A part of me must have been curious because I so politely asked why he was ever in jail. “Driving on a suspended,” he muttered with the cigarette now in his mouth.  I stood up and walked to the opposite end of the porch. If there is one thing I cannot stand is the horrid, stale smell of cigarettes. “You need to sit down for this one,” as he patted the chair right next to him. I did as he asked; I am not usually one to not do as a man tells me. “So I was in a 32 car pile up when I was working my way back down from Tennessee. I was the last one in and couldn’t avoid that shit. So I ended up with a ticket and missed my court date on a count that the damn ticket didn’t get forwarded to this address.”

At this point I was more concerned about the safety of my own life. I could care less about anything he had to say. I just kept thinking to myself if I were to die here tonight no one would know, and I would be hog chow in the morning. Still I couldn’t shake the feeling of wondering why I was even there to begin with. Damn. He’s lucky that I had a bad night and needed a way out of it. He just continued to jabber on and not shut up; and men say that women are chatty? I call bull shit right there. Then he actually did it—he said something that caught my attention. He began to confess all the wrongs he did in his life. First he told me how he joined the Ku Klux Klan at 16, which I already knew but I just pretended that this was shocking news. He explained that he is not a racist and that the only color he cares about is green, the only reason that he even joined (besides that his grandfather is the Red Dragon). He told me that he made it through the ranks so quickly, without even knowing. He bragged about the people he fought (he might be 5’3” but I have seen him knock a guy out with one punch back in the high school years). I couldn’t help but blurt out, “you either must be really stupid, or you trust me so much.” He just stared at me for what felt like a century. “Of course I trust you, why wouldn’t I?” I just rolled my eyes in disbelief. “Why does everyone tell me about their skeletons in the closet? Because, hun you ain’t the first to do it and you sure as hell won’t be the last.” I thought saying that in a bitchy, sarcastic tone would be enough that he wouldn’t want to deal with me again. I felt victorious until he asked me if I would like to go inside.

Nothing I could do would work, without actual physical violence. I thought that I would later regret it but I oblige and I’m glad nothing did. After a while the awkwardness went away and it happen to be one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time. He just wanted someone to talk to, someone who has an open mind and the willingness to understand all the nasty shit and abuse that he endured. He was not the monster he was forced to be.

I reflect with thanks. With this I rest. With this I restore and allow myself to persevere.

Balsamic Moon Phase: We are all just sitting here trying to figure out our universe and our purpose which will probably change time and time again). The phases I have gone through have shaped me into the person I am today and I wonder when the next time I’ll go through them again and who will be there with me to witness these glorious events. Because until our next big journey in life—whatever you may believe that to be, will be returned to the earth and I know I can’t wait to return to the stars and live among them as chemicals of my former vessel.

[writings-kalelculver]

To the father of my child,

You won. I hate trying to figure out how I'm going afford everything. It was easy when it was just me, and it would be easier if you helped to take care of your own son but you don't. When you saw me last week you didn't even ask how he was. You just looked down and avoided eye contact as I tried not to break down. Then I found out you knew where I moved and possibly where I now live. And the fact is I never told anyone that info until recently and now I'm afraid wherever I go because I do not know what to expect when it comes to you.

I hate this hell that I'm living. I hate the fact that every time I look at our son that I see you. You won and you were right I am pathetically grating. Every nasty thing you ever said to me, you were right. Every nasty thing you ever said to me has been on repeat in my head ever since you said it.

I hate being a single mother. I hate waking up each day and looking at my son and feeling like I failed him. It pains me that he’ll never get the family that he deserves. It pains me that his father didn’t want to work things out. It pains me that I’m not good enough for him. I am the definition of a bad mother in this sense. Every time I look at my son I can’t help but feel this way. He won and our son lost. He’s going to feel like he wasn’t good enough for daddy the rest of his life. He’s going to go through the same pain that I did. I would do anything so he would not go through the same hell that I did. I am a bad mom because I ruined my son’s life before it started. I burn everything in my path and he didn’t help to extinguish the flames. And here I am all alone with a sweet baby that I don’t even deserve.