The music sewing box belonged to my Grandmother Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer. She married my Grandfather William Junius Palmer Jan. 1919. It plays the tune, “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.” Grandma Eva was a Milliner before she married my Grandfather. Their son Edward Gordon Palmer was my Dad.
The beat up white dresser was part of a childhood furniture set my Dad purchased for me when I was five. The dresser is the only piece to survive over the years. I will be 56 on Feb. 27th and basically that dresser has followed me for 50+ years.
My Childhood Dresser I’ve had since age 5.Grandma Eva’s Music Sewing Box
Crushed to Powder ~ I want to pull myself inside out…….to avoid notice, I want to hide even from friends and allies.
I want to disappear from the world.
I want to erase all the hurt, pain and sorrowful memories from my mind.
My armor is weak. I have no defense. Layers of trauma enfold my Life so that I may never return to my former self. Yet I wear the Happy Face. I pretend for the benefit of those who have eyes but cannot see.
When can I be real? I grab for the ghosts of my parents. Their embrace still warm upon my skin. Yet memories rekindled fade into nothingness…Like trying to pick up a dream after awakening.
One cannot undo scrambled eggs nor can all my broken pieces ever fit together again. Some are scattered to the four winds. Others are crushed into dust. Most are lost never to be regained. One day the Phoenix will rise again and take Her place among the Ruling Goddesses.
It’s a risk to admit you’re broken and possibly beaten or just plain tired and hurting inside.
Risky to say you hurt both physically and emotionally because then the Pharisees and Sadducees appear with knives, razors and spears ready to slash you because you’re not the image or the person they want you to be.
Crying and tears are considered character flaws.
Once you fall out of the House of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm in essence you’re Fucked! Already down on your luck scavengers come to pick at your last bits of self-worth beating you down further than you already are.
Let’s be truthfully, Life is a Roller-coaster Ride. You slowly inch up higher and higher then drop quickly to precipitous lows. But once you get down in that valley here come the Happy Police demanding for you to get out. Comparing you to others who are 25-30 years younger with circumstances unlike my own. They want you to live lie. Be a fake or a phony. Being Sensitive is a crime. For me there is no refuge or sanctuary just rejection. Justice is sentencing to a lifetime in Social Media Wasteland. A judgement and sentence I refuse to accept.
Seems these people never remember the times they were down and out. When someone reached out to them with kindness and compassion instead of criticism and judgement. But for me the prescribed remedy is to rip the scabs off my scars yet still expect healing. I’m a Stigma, a failure because I’m not running through fields of tall grass and flowers singing tunes from the Sound of Music.
Even Jesus had to get away from clinging needy people with their hands out always wanting his miracles but not his teaching. Jesus went up to a mountain or to a desert place all the while knowing his disciples, his friends would desert and betray him. Yup they threw the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords under the bus. In these Techie days folks just label you a Social Media Loser.
Broken Angel
But he embraced his broken places but not their false expectations and I will do the same. If you only accept me in my happy up times but not in my broken sad times why say you’re my friend at all? Unfortunate to say, But there exists no Love or Respect for Broken Angels.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 