To Know Depth, We Must Know Worth

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=igCj3jsbcqs#

Janette..ikz is a gifted spoken-word poet. This particular poem is about waiting, dating, navigating, and instigating relationships-all in the name of finding "the one." Beautifully told and expressed with verses from the Word, this poem is a fantastic reminder to be in the One before we can find the one.

 

 

Thank you, Janette...ikz, for your lovely inspirational words. You got me through a tough time in my life, many a month ago, and now I can look back and smile at my Lover.

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KQ9xG3yWfw&feature=relmfu#

 

 

Janette...ikz shares her testimony about being molested as a child. An insanely, deeply moving piece of spoken word. Thank You, God, for Your words.

These Three I See, Be Within Me

Every time I encounter this trio and their parents, my stomach sinks. I get nervous and jittery and I can't really explain why. I just want them to stop fighting and bickering. I know; your lives have been difficult. But please, just for one day--I know, I know, you've tried on so many other days. Please, Lord, just once.

The oldest intimidates me. I just want him to come out and say that I'm stupid and weird and ugly. I feel like that would take a lot of the weight off me. I don't think he even sees me. I just take up space in his car, and then I'm out of his life. I know he's a jerk, but I don't hate him anymore. To be honest, I'd always had a one-sided love-hate relationship with him. He permeates my brain and every little thing he does I take as a personal insult. I don't know why. Now I love him as a brother, but I still think he's a jerk. And I can think that now without bitterness or malice or resentment. He's just a jerk like me. Maybe that's why he fascinates me so: he is the boldness, the confidence, I can never be.

The middle is beautiful. She is one of my dearest friends. But I worry about her. I just want her to know that I'm here, that she can be herself, that I'm not going to hurt her. Deep inside, though, I fear myself, my reactions, my advice. I don't know how to help her, and I don't know if I do hurt her without realizing. That's one of my biggest fears--shattering her in a variety of tiny, insignificant ways that eventually build up to crush her. I worry that I'm really no help at all.

The youngest...God, my whole life I've wanted to reach out to him, but my self-consciousness binds me. Nowadays, I think this might be easier, to actually hold a decent conversation with him, but we are never around each other. Now I think I'm too late. I want to tell him all kinds of things, like love isn't what he thinks it is, and sex is just another way to get hurt at our age, and it's okay if you don't know what you want to do in life. But I'm such a coward. I don't know how to tell him all of this without frightening him further away. I can't just bear my soul to this boy because we are nowhere near close enough for that social practice. I just want him to know that I love him, even though I can't really explain why.

I love all of them, and I have no reasons. I just...I just wish I could be vulnerable enough to tell them all this without experiencing the incredible pain of their rejection. I know they would reject my feelings--maybe not outright, but in small ways, in little words like "Okay," "Oh," "Whatever," and "So like I was saying..."

I just want them to be okay. To be happy. Whole. Healthy. God of gods, please, hear my cry. I know I am but dust from this wide wide earth. Nevertheless, please, Father, hear my words. Unite this family and hold them close to You. Please, God, make Yourself known among the little things, the small actions, the baby gestures. Please, Papa, for I can do nothing despite my love--Your love--for these Your children. I can only sit here and cry in my room, and my tears will never be known, nor will they ever have an impact like You can.

Amen.

Snipets and Tidbits From the Memoirs of a Dimension Runner

~*~

Sobs rack his body, but no one sees as he slides down the wall across from her cell. He will forever hate himself, despite the king's insisting that all has been forgiven--it hasn't, it can't be, because I'm still alive, and I'm still so useless, he thinks. I should be in there, locked in this asylum, because I'm the one who did this, me and me alone, because I stood by and did nothing.

Every night he is here, crying, because she is tortured and he can't save her. The demon, the darkness, the evil inside her...sometimes its words are like silk, and he can't tell if it's the one speaking or if it's his beloved. And not being able to tell the difference kills him.

Nothing, even after ten years, has changed.

---

Inside she is thrashing against her restraints, crying and shouting and hating--all of that evil, corroding her from the inside, destroying her beautiful naivety. The worse part is that she is still here, inside herself, watching through her eyes as this rage, this stranger, overcomes her, tells the man she loves all these terrible, hurtful, disgusting things. Why is he still here? Why hasn't he just given up?

You told me once that love, like pain, is regenerative, she thinks. So why is this taking so long? The love should have overcome the hate, the evil, by now.

But her love has never been strong enough. That's why she couldn't keep her parents from divorcing, couldn't keep her brother home, couldn't keep her other brother from suffering, couldn't keep her friend from leaving, couldn't do anything. That's why she had to watch her friends die, had to watch her brother stab their youngest brother in the arm and laugh, had to withstand the crippling pain that everyone was relieved to unload on her.

But no one knew that was what was killing her. No one except...

When I get out of here, she thinks, when I am whole and healthy and alive again, I will marry you. I will spend the rest of my life with you because you are the only one who has endured with me. I will make this up to you. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you. Though I have no right to ask this of you, please...please hang on.

---

I will take this pain, she thinks, watching the girl in the asylum. After all, you've groomed me for it. Tell the man I love that I will find him again. And tell them that I'll be back for their wedding.

They deserve this happy ending.

---

You'd be surprised, he thinks to himself--talking to her, even though she's lifestreams away--to see them now. He and her brother are getting along. Well, as well as the two of them can get along.

We are anxiously awaiting your return. But I know he misses you most of all.

We are all hoping that you two, too, will have your happy ending, even though you both say you do not deserve it. Hell, I never thought about a happy ending until it came up from behind. Maybe the same will happen for you.

Thank you for uniting them. They told me that they are forever in your debt.

~*~

Musing: A Response for the Middle Spectrum

Horribly profane/vulgar/offensive ramblings follow. Edits likely.

On most days, you're just struggling to be you.

I've taken to trying to dress better, mostly for professional reasons, and partly because someone very dear to me inspired me to try to look better as a sign that I respect myself. Sometimes, though, I wear sweats both to be comfortable and to irritate her.

Apparently a spectrum exists for women--dress like a slut for attention or dress like a hobo to avoid attention. Surprisingly, some of us have not been on either side of this spectrum--either actively seeking sexuality or genuinely avoiding it. If you're like us, then you've never been called beautiful (or hot, sexy, anything really) by any man, not even the ones you respect enough to call your friends. Sure, maybe jokingly you call each other sexy and gorgeous, but on the inside, you hope to God that he's serious, even if he's not serious about, well, I guess having you as a life partner or whatever. You know you'd never date him, but still, he's your friend, right?

I've heard it said that guys are only friends with girls because guys think they can hook-up/start a relationship with that girl. In that case, those of us who aren't on this spectrum should feel a little better. Except that these guys are clearly interested in other women since they never hit on you or at least call you pretty. You try to make yourself feel better by calling them immature or blind or unable to reach your level. ("You're the apple at the top of the tree!" God, if I had a nickel...)

What's that movie title? Maybe he's just not into you--not like that anyways.

Then you dress in these stunning gowns, maybe a plunging neckline or a tight fit over the hips and you look hot. You know it, your friends know it, but your guys friends / date-who-is-just-a-friend doesn't say anything about your physical radiance. Not even a "you look great!" Which you know in your right mind shouldn't bother you, because, in your right mind, you'd never date these weirdos you call friends.

Truth be told, I can think of maybe one time in my life when a man's called me beautiful. I've been to several formals, dressed nicely for several events, hoped-dared-dreamed to be called beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, lovely. And, truth be told, I have been: by women.

I do, however, remember my "other half," as sexual as he is (and truth be told, so am I; that's why we work so well together and why we're so dangerous together) calling me good-looking (maybe he even said beautiful). I was suddenly very grateful for our friendship, despite our lack of time together since he's often with his girlfriend. I wasn't just grateful because he validated me (though after all my years, it was about damn time). I was grateful because he's a man who's at least confident enough to tell every woman in the world that she's gorgeous. And, surprisingly, that doesn't make me feel less special because I know he means it. I think we need more Evans in the world.

But the point is, if you're like us, you probably have escaped under the radar.

Granted, no man's ever been lecherous or creepy or cat-called--which is a great thing!--but at the same time, you kind of feel like that means you're not even cute enough to earn some attention. Maybe you kinda feel good about the cat-calls when you're biking or walking until you realize that those creeps are really only checking out your hot friend. As disgusted as she is, and as disgusted as you are when you're in your right mind, still you kind of wonder...

Am I really not attractive? Like, even a little bit?

Most days I am grateful that I have never been the victim of a sicko hitting on me or that I have never needed to give a fake phone number or anything like that. Yet some days, I wonder if I went to a party, a club, a somewhere where nobody knows me and I don't know anybody, if I just made out with a guy, would he need booze to get it on? You're not ugly, but you're not hot enough to get his blood pumping.

At least you're not ugly? Is that some sort of sick consolation prize?

As horrible as this is, I've often wondered why some women have boyfriends because those women are just not pretty. I know, I know, I'm a bitch, and I'm terrible, and damn it, God knows every daughter of His is beautiful, but some days, I'm just so confused. Sometimes I think to myself that I'm three times smaller than she is, I have better boobs than she does, my legs are sexier than hers, at least my teeth are straight, so why the hell don't I have just one guy who's at least interested in me?

I know! I suck, I'm awful, but whatever, at least I admit it. Lord, forgive me for my inner ugliness.

That's another thing. You're always told that you're beautiful on the inside. But no one ever outright says that you're pretty outwardly, too (except, maybe, your parents). And they say you're inwardly pretty like it's the best thing ever. In your right mind, you know it is (beauty is fleeting, we know). Still you caught what went unsaid.

Then there're those creepy guys in your class that like almost every girl in the class. I've had a couple of those. They have these weird crushes on you, and you know, in your right mind, that they're creepy. Yet these guys, as you've probably heard, have a pecking order. Well, you're about third or fourth on the list. For a second, that hurts--a lot. Why aren't you first? Why aren't you the prettiest? Obviously these guys could never catch a hot girl like you...but couldn't they at least settle for you? In a way, I suppose, they would settle for you, but you're not particularly fond of being second, third, whatever choice.

Then you panic a little because if the grossest guy in your class doesn't even think you're hot enough...who the hell will? What if even he didn't find you attractive enough to place you third?

Then there are those stupid comments, albeit made with good intentions (but the road to hell is paved with these intentions), about how one day you'll find a guy who thinks you're the most beautiful girl in the world. And I'd bet $100 that the person who told you this either has or has had a boo thang or two. So, really, you'd wish they'd shut up and go be happy with their significant other so you can be alone to fight with God about why you're not pretty.

Then you feel ungrateful because a lot of beautiful women in the world have been hurt because of their attractiveness, and you feel like a bitch for bitching about how you're not as pretty as they are, and they're bitching because you've never had to deal with some sicko peeving under your skirt, checking down your shirt, touching you, soliciting you.

You just want to be pretty--no, damn it, you deserve it, BEAUTIFUL--and you want men to be men and fucking tell you that you're so damn beautiful that they want to cry and protect you like a damn princess in a tower because DAMN IT that's what you are! But no one's manning up because men have been stomped on like pussies because the men in their lives have been just as dick-shit-awful as they're being, and it's a vicious cycle.

So you're invisible. And your hot friends are taken advantage of by these lame-ass "knights" who just want to hit the pub and whores without fighting the dragons and taking a beat down. (Speaking of whores, you kinda feel bad for them, but obviously they're hot to someone, too. But you know they're damaged, even if they don't all realize that, and you don't really know what to say to them. Then you start to wonder if being beautiful is all it's cracked up to be.)

No more. I don't know how we stop flying under the radar, but it sure as hell isn't by dressing like we don't respect ourselves--because, let's be real, our body show-offs are hurtful to every knight, even if you want him and he wants you. Now you're just a piece of ass, but hey, at least you're hot.

No. Shut up. Now you're just fucking yourself over. And him. And no, I don't mean it like that. Now you're spitting all over what should be beautiful and pure and fan-fuckin'-tastic in the name of sex. Because you want to feel pretty.

And no, it's not by covering up so much that we look like we're suffocating in the hottest summer in the history of the world. You just don't want to take a risk on anything, and everyone else can tell.

Is it a balance? Yeah, I guess so. I mean, if we wanna wear sweats, do it. If we wanna wear dresses, do it. I think we can look just as hot in sweats as we can in a prom gown. But we have to watch that line: go too far, and the knights we want to call us beautiful--who, let's be real, are trying their damnedest to figure out what they're supposed to be doing just as much as we are--only see pantie lines, bra straps, and everything that those things contain. (Dudes don't think like chicks. We see bra straps and don't give a fuck. Dudes? Ask my other, and he'd probably tell you he just wants to rip it off you. And that's a general consensus.)  Go too little, and well, now you don't look like yourself.

I think that those of us that fly under the radar, that sit in the middle of this spectrum, need to cut our losses yet keep on keeping on. I think each of us needs to find our own balance because we're all different. Here's our guidelines: don't look too much and don't look too little. That's a lot of in between space.

Basically, don't be a stumbling block for those bumbling knights (though, as my other might tell you, some men will still struggle, but that's their beef with God), and be you. If you like dresses, dress up. If you like blazers, blaze out. If you like makeup, make up that pretty face. We have to experiment with a lot of things to see what we like based on body types, shapes, color palettes, and so on.

So, ladies in the middle, I say we be ourselves, take wisdom from our beautiful sisters who have faced a lot of hurt, and guard our hearts. We might be desperate for the attention we don't get, so when we get it, because we will, we can't let that desperation turn us into women that we're not. We might look smokin' on the outside, but that doesn't mean we should change who we are inside--not for any man, anyways, unless He's THE Man.

Take comfort: you are beautiful. Now go out and show it.