Imagine a child who has been through some of the worst sexual abuse you could imagine from a very young age. The child learns how to tolerate it, the abuse began so long ago, that the child begins to think being raped, sodimised and brutalised is the norm. However one day the childs abuser starts bringing around friends.
The child decides to tell someone, and choses a person that they think will be trustworthy. The day comes the child discloses. But instead of doing the right thing and going with the child to the police and supporting them through the process, the person decides the child looks like a nice piece of meat and rapes the child.
The child retreats into themself. They have learnt from a very young age that people can not be trusted.
Labels: Spiritual abuse
I was quite rapped with how this one turned out.Child porn isnt a softer option than child abuse. Children still have to be sexually molested for your child porn to be made. This is constances story
If you are into child porn, grow some balls, delete your dirty pictures, and your MPEGs, and any other material you have stored, and go and get some help. How would you feel if this was your child, niece, nephew or friends child. You watchers of child porn are no better than those who abuse
Labels: child abuse, Constance, pornography, trafficking
terrified
It wasnt supposed to be like this
In searching for life peace freedom and truth
I found death, torture, bondage and lies
They were supposed to be men and women of God
So why did an encounter with them,
leave me feeling the way I did the day the masks came off
And I saw the Old Ones for what they really were
Christian and witch
One spirit
Not right.
Christian not supposed to be listening to the old one
Christian supposed to be listening to the Holy Spirit
One brings death
One brings life.
Why is the Christian listening to the one who brings death?
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known,-- cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,--
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
to whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,--
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads,-- you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
I love the last three lines of this poem
Labels: Alfred Lord Tennyson
