November 8, 2012
Transformation

First, I must apologize to my followers who cared about my writings here. And for my absence, I must explain. I made this blog much too public. I allowed my distant family members, old friends, and my teacher to read this blog. Some of my distant family members took my writings as an offense. It seemed to exacerbate problems with them, hinder, rather than help. I wrote in such a way that I can do, and have done in an unfinished book. I say unfinished simply because the pieces are not in order or ready for publication. But they are done. I can write many ways and have a lot to say on many subjects. But I am just a girl, a woman, with my own world that I see through. I like it there. However I am imperfect, and very different from others it does seem. I also tend to have a loud voice emotionally speaking. I thought that what I was writing was beautiful. It meant something to me, something important, near and dear to my heart. I started out by trying to say things in such a way, as to enlighten poignant moments in my life, through the written word, yet as in a cloud, not exactly clear for the eye of the reader to see. In other words, such as art may portray a piece or slice of life, leaving out the rest, and tell secrets from the roof tops, all the while keeping many secrets in their waist coat, so too were my writings meant to be. But due to the extremities of my life, and the emotions and happenings which I began to describe, family who does not know these things which have transpired in my life, and only presupposes their own ideas upon me of who they expect me to be through the lense of their eye, the boldness of my writings were a bit too much for them to bare or comprehend. Especially since I write things in this vein as in a fog, highlighting what I wish to, and not what I don’t, it confused the matter even further. For they then began to miscomprehend my meanings, or especially where I was coming from. I began to feel a bit too naked, and extremely bothered by the lack of understanding which was already apparent, boldly being thrown in my face, over something, tidbits of my heart dribbled across the page, which were meant to show truth and sheer love of my life. The lack of respect for my life and my words became a bit too much for me to bear. In addition, I became quite shy, as I was sharing these things with a large percentage of those whom have known me in my lifetime. And then seeing through the eye of my family, how these things that I write about can be so misunderstood, greatly so, it brought out in me a deep concern caring too much how others may see it. And yet, these things that I wrote about, were to the large extent, directly from my heart, and truth wrapped in pretty words. Therefore it was something poignant and of primary importance to me. I wanted to give the reader, who may or may not know me, a vision of chapters that I have been through, as in a story. I wanted to give a piece of myself, back to the reader, for them to see something that only I can see because it came directly from my life story. I also wanted to continue with the theme in which I found myself in, illuminating socities ills if I may, through the use of my own experience, or simply a biography of sorts, only not direclty so by any means of the word. I wanted to give a window to my soul in this lifetime, not of the moment in which it was written, such as taking out of thin air any moment that has transpired in my lifetime and ruminating on that. However this did not mean it to say, that those words described my very emotion or my very thought of the day. No, it was to be more of a story than a day to day moment by moment type of writing. However it was not taken thus by some of whom I do speak. And so I could not carry on, in that vein, or here at this location. I wanted to give an eye to a type of writing which I may do, and have written much more fervently and symbolically of my life, of much more intimate moments and extreme events that have shaped my reality. And yet again, I described things as in a fog, and yet explained in such a way as to the tell the complete truth behind a veil. 

And now if it is alright with you, I choose to go on. This blog was not initially intended to turn out as it has. It was to be about subjects that matter to me, a paradox in the world, peace, love, joy, descrimination, politics, and the such. In addition, I wanted to write freely about little things that may not matter a great deal at all, things that only matter to me. I did want to say personal tidbits about my day or my thoughts and be open about the private thoughts in my head in my day to day life. However these matters can be very small indeed, and at other times quite dramatic. And there again, is the dilemma, there are days when I feel like telling all, and there are months a stretch on end when I feel like being private and alone and not sharing anything at all for it is mine and I do not always like to have the judgements of others on something that I may or may not find beautiful but either way it is mine and mine alone, not theirs to dissect. And therefore, I came back today, and felt the need to explain. For it is time for me to begin to write about things that matter. And I have been having the pull, the desire to write about things which matter very little indeed. In this, my format for this blog may change. My writing style may change as well. Let me begin, again in this vein. Welcome into my little space. 

I want to help spread peace, through discussing ideas of importance to many others and not just me. But I also do want to write freely, about whatever comes to mind over a cup of coffee. Greetings and good day one and all and good night. 

Copyright Kat Lyons

3:19pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZQ7XgxWt-5oz
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April 6, 2012

(Source: fuckyeahkimbra, via penseesduchoeur)

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September 8, 2011
Yield

Picture Source: dandismodextrarradio  Picture Reblogged: flower-in-my-hair 

Doubt and exquisite cool, calm, confident action, all wrapped up into one. She wonders, and worries, she ducks the darts she thinks are coming her way. She always tells the truth. There are many parts and pieces to the truth. The more that is told, the more that is understood. But sometimes it might depend on what side of the glass that the onlooker is peering through. She concocts every which way that someone may come up with something beside, that does not reside in reality, nor truth. Wringing her hands and her heart, come naturally to her, a few times a month. Yet decisions made, are thought through and concise. She figures and she whiles, putting pieces of a puzzle together and stacking them ever so high. Then she can breath on her dreams and beg the heavens above, making them come true, one at a time. Yet in the middle of the path leading to quiet days and nights, is one road block after another, as the man with white gloves on, waves her past. A detour ahead, and then another still. Oh when will the problems subside? The red light on top of the ambulance is turning around and around, as she lay prone on the couch, and the room is out of focus. A call was made that a burglar broke in, and now she must count. Exactly where was what and specifically what amounts? Taking from the poor is something that only a mistaken fool would do, or an evil one at that. Going around and around, pushing and striving, wanting and needing, trying to get others to agree on deadlines. How is this all supposed to happen when they don’t meet at the dotted line? Her head is turning and turning until she might explode. What is so complicated about agreements and time lines, understanding and communication? She talks with her heart, behind a stoic exterior of stone. Then sometimes she knows that they mistake her for rude, and so she takes down the shield which is apparent there. Like road runner turning left and then turning right, she turns in her bed in the night. Sitting at a desk she cries, in her heart of hearts, fearful day after day. She must push it aside. For reaching the golden meaning behind this great big tranjectory called life, is not as easy at it seems.

Copyright Kat Lyons  

Picture Source:Flickr / brightnesslevels Picture Reblog:beuniqueandeclectic

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August 24, 2011
The Answer

She lived a life running in circles, while building something in the middle. Everyone tried to stop her from building it, and she’s building it still. But the circles, now that wasn’t fun. For she couldn’t figure out how to stop it. The mind train chugging along. Every step forward meant another delusion that it was any different then before, just another chapter in this forgotten land, arid and dry. It was full of dreams, and mystery, sunlight peaking through only to taunt her there. The story went on and on, each new scene creating another masterpiece of a story filled with pain and intrique. But really it wasn’t a happy thing to live through. Somehow she couldn’t stop it. Until she got down on her knees and begged. She begged God to fix it, and first to take away her deep deep sadness so profound. He gave her a kitty. How simple is that. That solved the happiness problem. Next though wasn’t so easy. He ripped away her ability to function in her life as she knew it, so that she could no longer punch that dreaded time clock. It simply couldn’t be done. Broken and in pieces she didn’t know that she had someone who would pick her off the floor. No one seemed to understand the extent to which her back was broken. The pain shooting in all directions, the exquisite pain was so extreme she was surprised she didn’t go blind. Much more she was surprised that she could sleep. Like lightening, the pain was so intense that it took all of her strength not to wail and scream every bloody minute for years upon years. And little things became hard, like trying to bend over, or trying to stand up. But as time went by, her life started over. 

She always wondered how much time one had to experience inbetween adulthood and old age. Try and try as she might she could not fathom the degree of years to life and what that all meant as to how much time she really might have if she were to live that long. She always wanted to know. Suddenly when the clock struck three, she looked up to find that it had actually struck six. All of a sudden she could see, from now to then, and back then. When she were young the age of her mother at the time, to the age of her mother now, is the time she had herself from then to now. And all of a sudden the long awaited answer finally made sense! Now she could understand just how much time she had from now until then, in a relative way of understanding just what that meant in the way of experiences available relative to time within that frame. Not bad, it’s definitely not as much as she would wish, but it doesn’t sound as bad as she had thought it was either. For that is enough time, for all of this starting over to come together and to have a new life, another chance, a last chance, but a good chance, you see. There was enough time, if God would allow her this, to be able to go and see and be and do everything she’d always wanted to. But there was no time for inbetween, going down the wrong road. No it was time to finally do it she knew there was no question. But the thing in the bottle she needs is health and vibrancy to build and create go do and be for all of that time ahead. And so of course that must be a priority, next she sees. As she imagines looking out her future bedroom windows and over the lawn, it has all come together in the middle, like a stoutly tree. She has grown strong up through the middle. Now she just needs to let her branches grow, and hopefully it will all be just fine. Looking out over the hillside, she looks forward to doing this, what she was born to do, every step of the way.

Copyright Kat Lyons 

Pic 1:Mike Saechang Pic Reblog:look-do-not-touch Pic 2 Reblog: girlinlondon


2:22pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZQ7Xgx8j7aBY
(Notes: 2)
  
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August 23, 2011
A Pivotal Moment

Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, full of sadness. I did not want to be here. Another day in this place that I am trying my darndest to leave. I just couldn’t take it. But I got up. Then my kitty cheered me up. That seems to be her job, and she’s pretty good at it too. Even though I am due to move next month, it seems surreal. Like is it really going to happen? There are people applying for where I live now. And they’re fighting over it. So that’s a good thing. But it’s not done until it’s done, until they have their name on the dotted line. Then it’s done. So I wait. Wait for another week to go by, when I can begin to transport my things over to the new place. But I don’t have enough people to help move yet. What do I do? I’m so picky now a days. Growing up does that to you. Or at least it did that to me. Because I learned things, important things. Like if their pupils become pin dots, do not let them help you move. And if they hang around large groups of people on a regular basis, that’s probably a bad thing too. Because even if they’re the nicest people in the world, somebody in that crowd is going to be up to no good. And it’s best they don’t have your address, nor a peak inside at whatever you are moving into the house. No not a good idea, sorry to those who wished to help. So what do I do? I don’t know yet. That is the bliss of life, sometimes. 

Meanwhile I have other things to worry about, like practicing singing, and memorizing a song. I need to bring back some clothes. I have to get to UPS and send them back. For some reason this is so much harder then it looks. But that’s just me. See, I had a few things happen to my head, called poisoning. So the little things, like getting somewhere, anywhere, is so much harder then it is for a normal person. But I digress…Oh but I must explain. There are pieces missing. There are pieces which are whole. I can still do some things, and not others. That’s just the way it is. It’s my life to figure out how to work around these obstacles. It’s called brain damage. I know I don’t seem like it. I’ve been told that I am intelligent. I hope so. I was a genius before all of this happened. But now I am pieces of a whole. And it is in what pieces that work that I am sewing together my life. But the pieces missing, just make everything that much harder. 

I remember the day that I was living in a cabin in the country. It was the old depot. There was a knock on my door. A man explained to me that I had been being poisoned for two years, and the water had gases and chemicals in it, btex, tuolomene, to name just two. He handed me some free water jugs filled with bottled water for drinking. He handed me some papers with information on it, and told me that I would need to stay in a hotel down the road for a few days. They would pay the bill, and it was already done and ready for me. Here was the key. 

As I stood there stunned, everything made sense, it came together. The suffering, the fainting spells at work where I had to run into the bathroom and lean on the wall to hold me up, my head spinning, and this feeling that was like I was being knocked out. I had to stand there, and revive myself enough to go back to work. And the time at the refrigerator, when everything started to black out… I couldn’t see very much, as my eyesight became quickly covered in black, like a hole that was closing in on itself. I ran for the door outside and made it to the chair on the porch. I was scared that I was going to die. Since I didn’t know what was happening to me, I figured that I had a chance to be found if I could make it to that chair. If I passed out inside, it might take them too long to find me. I could die. I might. I didn’t know what was happening. But I was woozy and my eyes were quickly losing the ability to see. When I made it to the chair, my life flashed before my eyes. Why had I been so sick for so many years? I could barely keep anything down. I was woozy as a daily event. Something was wrong. But no one would listen to me. And here I was going to die. I thought about my boyfriend that I had at the time. We’d been going out for several years. All of the times that he was mean, and would tear me down, all of the times that he made me cry, and tried to tell me that I was wrong about everything, anything, no matter what choices that I made in my own life, no matter what classes that I took at the college, no matter what “I” thought, no I was always wrong to him. For he belittled me and taunted me. We loved each other. That was a sure thing. But it wasn’t enough, not to cover up all of the pain that he caused me, what he stole from me, my piece of mind. I decided right then, that if I made it out of this alive, that I was breaking up with him. 

Copyright Kat Lyons 

1st Picture Reblogged:yippikiyay   2nd Picture Reblogged :girlinlondon

2:17pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZQ7Xgx8gfbG4
(Notes: 1)
  
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August 9, 2011
Tumors

 

The room was white. The sheet over her belied the scary predicament that she was in. Her mother stood to her left by her feet, trying to calm her fears. A woman came in and started to talk. Apparently, she assumed, this woman’s job was to make her calm, ready. She was in no such frame of mind as she usually was. She could not conjole. She could not assume. She would not put on painted emotions. No, not this time, not here, not now, instead she would tell the truth, the bloody hell truth, whatever came to her lips so be it. She knew, it was too much for any normal person to bear. She had been there though, and it was her life. In this moment, she wasn’t into saving her words and changing them so as not to shock or appall someone else’s sensibilities. For this time it was all about her and her sensibilities. She just hoped that the woman could deal. Because here they came, words after words, piled one on top of the other. She couldn’t stop herself. And she just needed her to listen, and not cringe, nor disregard her for what the woman might presuppose. But no, she didn’t. She was good at her job. Watching her expressions of utter shock and confusion, she could see that the woman simply did not understand the dichotomy. It baffled her and it was too much for her. But she tried, she honestly tried to accept her as she was. Because in this moment, they both knew that she needed a sympathetic heart and mind. She needed to be heard. For these could very well be her last words. And this is why she refused to comply. She would not shut up, not in this moment, not at this time. 

It wasn’t long until she found herself in another room, with her feet propped up under a bed sheet. A strange young lady who she had never seen before was there to explain to her the procedure, step for step, what was next. Soon, her doctor’s face was near. She was smiling, smiling, at a time like this, confident, happy to be there. As the doctor lifted up the sheet to look at her stomache which she would rather hide, she was full of embarrassment. Horrified that another human being would see her stomache which had grown into this un-beautiful state. But her doctor, trying to calm her nerves, said that she had seen every inch of her many times, and knew her like the back of her own hands. Great, more embarrassment, that’s all she really needed; it didn’t really help. She tried to believe, that everything would really be okay. But she knew what they didn’t quite know yet, just how serious this really was. 

And she was no longer conscious, as it was her last moment before surgery. 

Copyright Kat Lyons 

1st Pic Reblog: whitakeral         2nd Pic Reblog: tiredofthegame

8:41pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZQ7Xgx87lDwu
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August 2, 2011

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July 12, 2011

(via psykzz-deactivated20120624)

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July 12, 2011
Smell The Roses

Picture Reblogged: chintzlovingbookworm

She’s seen days, years before, filled with anguish and pain, to a level quite unheard of. She’s been on hold for the last chapter, slowly growing, putting down roots deep into the ground, waiting for the blossom not expected to rear it’s head for many years more. But now, something even more unheard of has happened. Glorious, wonderful, opportunity has reached her. Now the days so dreary, the days that passed so fast, she wondered if her life would just pass right in the blink of an eye, are a yesterday. Suddenly, she wakes to find a new feeling, where sunlight kisses her cheek. Every morning, she thinks to herself, that she gets another one another day, and hopefully there will be another and another after that. Instead of the summer going by in a quick hazy fog that acts as if it never even existed, as the last several years were, this time she gets to smell the roses. The shock and the awe of such good fortune, she knows is long over due, and highly paid for with so many years full of profound tragedies. Therefore she thinks she might have a chance, for the good times to stick around. For she has already had so much misery in her life, so much ridiculous misfortune, that it is the natural law of nature, and God being kind to her, that now she gets to see the other side of the coin. It isn’t much in comparison to what makes others’ happy, no. But because she’s seen the dark alleyway streets of life, she can now be in awe and joy enraptured in the small things. The taste of good things in life, in the smallest ways, are now quite huge. Her bliss she is grateful for. She would think to be afraid, that any moment some horrible tragedy is going to knock on her door to take it away from her. For happiness has never been hers. But the fact that she believes that everyone is given certain amounts of horribleness in life, and certain amounts of happiness, well, it allows her to believe that maybe if God sees fit it might be a while before sadness of deep reasons comes around knocking once more. And so she gets to now create a life, to design it, to choose it, carefully. To plot and to plan, to even out the score, to become what she has been dying for, to blossom, to see, to live, and to do, if she is delicate in her choices, if she has patience, if she can control herself from recklessness, then there should be enough you see. Smiling to herself, looking at the letter in her hands, with her old fashioned dress, and the sunlight coming through the window, she can now plan, and have a chance that those plans might just might this once, finally come true. 

Copyright Kat Lyons 

Picture Reblogged: oldprojectionroom

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(Notes: 5)
  
Filed under: prose poetry home decor gif vintage black and white creative writing 
June 28, 2011
Time Costs Too Much - For Him

Picture Source: imperialbedrooms         Picture Reblogged: broken-blossoms

Blissful moments of joy, and moments of being, moments of sharing small things, moments of trying, striving, living, enjoying being present, intermingled with moments of deep and profound pain, these moments of sadness, this orchestra of feelings seems to be the stuff her life is made up of. The lows can be so intense, the pain, the struggle, the want, the desire, the needs, the loss, the honest to goodness grief, the hole in her heart, and sometimes memories. Once in a while the pain can be so bad, like just the other day, when she thought, should she end it all? But the resounding answer is no. She knows that the pain comes and goes. One day it is because of one thing, and another day it will be something else. But inbetween are moments of loving life, which she wouldn’t give up for anything. If she has to suffer the pain and wait for those moments of joy, then it’s worth it, well worth it. She loves her life, not the things that society might deem appropriate to be concerned about, but just simply living, the life of it all. 

But those moments of pain, so many times it is because someone has left, or someone isn’t there. Why do people leave? Why do people abandon their own children? Why would a father not go out of his way to make sure that he spends time with his daughter? If she has special needs, such as being lactose intolerant, or not being able to see daylight, then wouldn’t he want to work around these things in an effort to see her? The answer is no. Which leads to the intense pain when someone else leaves. But why do they leave? She has great, close friends, and people who really truly love her and adore her. She receives lots of love and attention. So then why focus on those who choose to go? Because it seems that down through the ages, through the years in the past, that she never knows which friend that it is going to be, or which person is going to abuse her. She never can tell who it will be next. Will they all leave? Will they all abandon her? Do they all abandon each other eventually? Is this part of life, part of the pain of existence which one must be strong and handle it when it comes, as the price to pay for the joy of the rest of the moments, of the now? Of the tomorrow? 

Maybe she gets attached too much. But if everyone is going to eventually go, then why love anyone at all? Why like anyone? Why be friends? Why? Only to know that some day they will all go away, is this the truth? Or is it only a small percentage? That’s probably it, a small percentage. But why trust then? Why love? But how can you stop yourself? People can be so lovely, so endearing, so beautiful, enjoyable. 

An open wound, resides in her heart. It never went away. You’d think it would. After so many years, you’d think that it would just resolve itself, and it does, in moments, in time passing by. But yet it rears it’s ugly head whenever it deems necessary, the longing, the wishing, the hoping, that only if her father were a part of her life, if only he loved her as a father should love his blood. But he doesn’t. So she goes on. She tries to ignore him sometimes. They talk over the internet. Seventy five percent of the time it is only for him to say something entirely, incredibly rude. Each time that he does this, she pulls back. She doesn’t talk, she doesn’t answer. But then years later, she finally has healed the hole that he so rudely dug well enough to answer back. And he says it’s too late. But how can she answer to him when he speaks to her like that, in the moment? Then she would be the rude one. For the pain dripping from her lips might be nothing but nice. And so it has been with others with whom he has been around too much. The words that they say are incredibly rude and horrific. They step over things and say things that they never should. So she doesn’t say anything at all in return, only enough to try try so hard not to yell, not to respond to the pain that they spew out at her. And yet, she still wants this side of the family, that has deemed her not worthy. Not worthy because he abandoned her for them, and they do not want to care. They didn’t do it, he did. And maybe, just maybe, they are worried that there isn’t enough of him to share, or so it seems. 

Why does she want to know someone who is so rude to her, so mean? She can’t change him. She can’t stop him from the words that he speaks them when he does. It’s as if nobody ever taught him, you can’t say that, not like that. There are other ways of speaking. But then, after the pain builds up, and she doesn’t answer, because she can’t respond to rudeness, her pain builds, until it explodes. And apparently that is quite shocking, for someone who doesn’t speak to suddenly speak. But why is it so shocking? All she wants is love. It’s not a difficult equation, and she has every right to it. 

But life goes on. And the moment passes, like the wind, only due to come back around again, some day. 

Copyright Kat Lyons 

Picture Reblogged: fuckyeahjeannemoreau 

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(Notes: 1)
  
Filed under: black and white, prose poetry long reads gif celebs creative writing 
June 26, 2011

(Source: missnoiretblanc, via psychodelic)

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June 16, 2011
Prejudice

Picture Source: seyrana  Picture Reblogged: noroomforthepresent

There is something which perplexes her. Down through the ages, and over the years, there have been so very many prejudices against others in the world, which has caused great wars and movements in history. Laws have been written to protect some who may have prejudices used against them, and cause them harm. Yet there are still many laws left to be written for others who yet still are receiving hatred and prejudice against them. There has been the women’s movement, the black movement, slaves have been freed, America was built with laws for freedom of religion. And yet there are still those who choose to hate others for simply being different than them. Sometimes they don’t even realize that they are prejudiced. Because those who are prejudiced believe that they are right to think badly of another person, simply because of their sexual orientation, or the color of their skin, what car they drive or don’t drive, what class they are born into, or any number of things. She has seen so much freedom and acceptance in her life of the very people who used to recieve so much hate directed their way, that she began to believe that prejudice no longer existed. Until she saw it first hand, in little comments to her, about others who are of a different culture, a different race and religion. Also she has herself seen much prejudice directed towards herself and others like her. Only for her she is not allowed to state that she receives prejudice for her skin color. Because several others who have been or are being prejudiced against for their own, now have a prejudice towards hers. They believe that white people are priveleged. They believe that by virtue of being white, that the world will be handed to those with that skin color, on a silver platter. However, this is simply not true. In her location, she is the minority. She has had prejudice directed at her for being female, for being blonde, and for being poor. Being poor could have held her back from job positions more then it has. But she knows how to pass. Being poor or lower class, usually comes with a type of accent, dress, and mannerisms. If she were to not  have purposely spoken differently then what was natural to her, at one point in time, she would have lost out on two job opportunities. But unlike many others who she has seen not be able to change their appearance, mannerisms, or accent, and to be held back for it drastically, she has been able to do so. But it doesn’t last long. Eventually, they find out where she is from, where she lives, and just what her income is. Then the respect goes out the door, and the prejudice begins. She has also lost one job due to her skin color.

What perplexes her is this. That there are still prejudices today at all. She has heard hate, and mistrust, discussed openly between people against others who are Muslim, and others who are gay. She has a friend who is Muslim, and another who is bisexual. The person who was fearful of Muslims, actually believed that they are dangerous. She has a young friend who is one of the sweetest people who you could ever meet, who is Muslim. This young girl, is no one to be afraid of. Yet someone from this religion, brings fear into some from America. Why? Perhaps because they blame all Muslims for what has happened on 911. But it was not all Muslims who did this atrocity. Not only this, but there is direct evidence to the contrary, that they had anything to do with it at all, besides being hired from someone to do what they did. There is evidence that it was a planned demolition. Either way, whether or not some Muslims did it, planned it, or not, it was only a few. It was not an entire race. That is like blaming what Hitler did on all white people. There are some who disagree with the religion. But the majority do not hurt others by their personal religious views. Yes there are some who do. But these are only a minority, a small amount of people, compared to the many who hold those beliefs. Are we to blame all white people for any of the many atrocities that have occured at a white person’s hands? No, of course not. So then why blame others for what they themselves did not do? It is ridiculous. 

And so is the idea that hate is a good thing to have against anyone who is different then what you believe. We are all human. We all have different beliefs. We also feel different ways then each other. It has been proven that gay people and bisexuals alike, feel those feelings even as young children. Just because someone may believe it to be wrong, does not make it acceptable to hate them for it. We all want to be accepted for who we are. But even on a deeper level, we want to have acceptance to be whoever we are. 

There are some things, which can not be changed, whether some may think so or not. Not only that, but we all should be given the right, the freedom, the acceptance, to be whatever it is that we are or choose to be, as long as it harms none. If it isn’t hurting anyone else, then why be concerned about others who disagree with you? To feel a different way then the norm, or to be different, and to feel that pressure of someone else’s opinion against you, is a terrible thing to feel. To have to worry about others hate, how they may react, or how it may affect your job status or where you live, is just a terrible thing to do to anyone. Those who hate others should stop! Imagine if it was you. Imagine if it were your child. She is not saying to agree, no. We may all agree to disagree. We do not have to become like someone just because we accept their right to be whoever they are or choose to be. We can accept freely, others choice to choose differently. How selfish to believe that everyone is going to feel the way you do, or should. To agree to disagree, is the best way to be, in the matters of where any prejudice may be. Prejudice is hate, or fear. But to agree to disagree, when necessary, it releases the prejudice and nullifies it. Let freedom be.

Copyright Kat Lyons 

Picture Source: noroomforthepresent:

11:09pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZQ7Xgx6AEdlm
(Notes: 1)
  
Filed under: prose long reads creative writing politics gif arcchitecture celebs Amelie vintage 
June 15, 2011
Survivor

Picture Source: ttshowbiz    Picture Reblogged: dancingintheashes

Trust, is something that for those whom have suffered at the hands of abuse, albeit rape, incest, molestation, abandonment, or any number of things, just simply don’t have. They usually under most circumstances do not trust. This can come to light in the simplest of transactions, when something is due. How do they know that it will actually come? Until it arrives, they can not trust that it will be there at all. Not quite yet, not until evidence proves it’s existence. Even then, when trust is won over time, if it is then broken, say between two people as friends, then who is to say that the trust will ever be there again? But deeper still, if a child was tortured, then that child may never be able to trust anyone. Or they might, just might, give it a chance or two, or three or four, only to find proof that trust is just what they thought it was, misplaced. 

This does not negate optimism and hope, on the contrary. The two have little to do with each other. However, it can be that someone who has been taught by lifes’ lessons to never trust, indeed, may worry that their optimism could be mistaken for fact. Because they do not trust, this could reach into area’s of never knowing how anyone is going to react towards them, or their attitude, lifestyle, or even simple day to day emotions shared. This may in turn cause an inordinate amount of worry and concern. Which could occur, such as in a case of  their ruminating if so and so miscontrued what they meant, or took out of context their hope under dire circumstances, to mean that it was not only hope but actuality. This can cause moments of anxiety. 

But as the eternal optimist, if they are so, then eventually these worries and concerns will work themselves out. Because they will usually find a hope within themselves to support this theory. However the underlying cause of lack of trust, will still be there. It can be maneuvered about, worked around, even accepted to a point at which it is possible to go on even when it seems unlikely. Because the optimist may have a hidden strength, which when under undue stress, will help them to rebound, in most circumstances. This can be surprising, for someone who may have seen the hands of fate in such a way that is really quite rare. It can be astonishing at best. However, under the fold, the shadows lurk, leaving traces of what has gone on before. The lack of trust, can exacerbate this. It would seem that they might be weak. But the optimist yet again, the internal hero, can save the day.

Copyright Kat Lyons 

Picture Source:  kayleebird      Picture Reblogged: sigilism

6:25pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZQ7Xgx67o6AY
(Notes: 2)
  
Filed under: prose poetry long reads creative writing vintage gif 
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