22. Control


My Ghost Speaks

In a stint of soul searching I found myself in a rather a self destructive promiscuous phase post trauma. Because of circumstance I thought my value and worth came through sex.  AND IN THIS STINT I WAS ALARMED BY HOW MEN THOUGHT THAT CONTROL came through violence. Real control in sex is not violence, its knowing the other persons body better than they do…BY CHOICE AND DESIRE. 
One of the most comforting things my therapist ever told me was, “You may not realize this, but you are textbook survivor.”  Please watch the video by Kati Morton, about promiscuity and sexual assault. 

Control (2015)

Sex is a complex conversation
What are we saying,
You have to use your body language
You have to speak with you hips
not your lips
You have to have an active imagination.
I’m fascinated.
Your mouth doesn’t utter a peep,
these little secrets we keep.

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Before I Was A Ghost

I stopped paying for my old blog years ago. It was the first time I started sharing any writing.  emmabush.com  Because before I was a ghost I was Emma...am mE.....just someone trying to be. I don't know why I went to emmabush.com today.... but it's still there....I stopped paying for it years ago...but apparently my... Continue Reading →

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Grandma Glenna Turner

what phrases did you grow up with?

My Ghost Speaks

“Rich people have maids, poor people have children.”

Mother to my mother…Grandma Turner….

Things I heard often growing up….

“Children are to be seen, not heard.”

“Stop making noise just to make noise.”

“Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me.”

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3. Delete

Wow, dad just brought my box of stuff to mom’s. And I decided to save this blog, but I won’t start writing again until I’ve caught myself up! Because it has been intense! Maybe my past and my present and my future are all colliding. Tense. (Thank’s “siri”)

My Ghost Speaks

I have a delete problem
I have wanted to walk away.
I don’t want to see
what’s in front of my face.
I’m a problematic
asthmatic anxiety attack.
Someone took from me.
I’m taking it back.
But best not fuck with
what’s been fucked with
because what used to flinch
now speaks with words
like she speaks with her fists.

I do have a delete problem.  I get embarrassed sometimes, when I share my heart or my soul or my journey, I overshare and then sit here alone wondering why I exposed myself or allowed myself to be so naked.  Those of you who used to read emmabush.com, my first blog, where I first began to open up on personal topics, like depression, anxiety, substance abuse, and life post trauma… you probably wonder where all that I wrote went?

Apparently I saved it to a hard drive…  I DID NOT…

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What's wrong with me? Said the E. She wasn't feeling well, she was sure that if grace was a place she fell and she had landed in the depths of hell. Poor E! When she saw she was on her knees What happened to her? It was all such a blur but now all she... Continue Reading →

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He Breaks

wrote this bout my estranged husband.

My Ghost Speaks

He breaks,
he breaks,
he breaks!
There’s only so much a man can take.
So angry his hands shake,
fists clenches.
The ground quakes in the wake of his walk.
Spit flies when he talks.
Tight grip,
his rage has been awakened!
Shirt rips,
no more of him will be taken!
He’s through with it!
Like a caged animal,
being poked and prodded.
What was once down trodden
has now hit his bottom.
He’s lost all control,
no outlet
and nowhere to go.
Just a cog in a wheel,
never taught to feel,
he has a monster inside
and its coming to surface.
He has no place to hide,
he’s struggling for purpose.

myghost speaks 2014

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My Ghost Speaks

The path to healing
is a windy uphill road
because the art of feeling
is painted with uncomfortable.

I had a texting conversation with my friend Dwayne this afternoon.  I met Dwayne several years back at an MMA gym where he allowed me to step in and volunteer with his kid’s class.  He has recently gone out of his way to help me get back to standing by not only hooking me up with a job, but with a vehicle.  It’s been a team effort, getting me back to standing, and God bless my friends and family for their love and patience.  Life is like Pacman, if you dare stop, it will eat you up and spit you out a ghost.

And this ghost here?  Speaks…or is learning to.  It’s been a lifelong process.  But wellness is NOT a destination.  To arrive suggests you stop moving, and to stop moving…

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Tree Fort

My Ghost Speaks

Written in 1997

My brother and I took hammers,
piles of wood leftover from Dad’s woodshed,
tape measures,
and saws.
All were the foundation of our creation,
youth being the age of limitless possibilites
the giant maple tree the object
of our creativity.
We began with nails,
simply pounding lumber against
the flesh of it’s own kin.
Building upwards ten feet,
we placed the first platform,
ascending five feet higher,
the second.
Finally, after house of stretching precariously,
of leaning over ledges at great heights,
of hammers penetrating nails into branches,
our final platform was constructed.
There, thirty feet above the ground,
our childish goal was achieved.
Such satisfaction!
We were invincible up there,
I knew that I was safe in that tree,
not scared by the troubles of my world.
Hours were spent enjoying the view,
reading books that had more
pictures than words,
playing Swiss Family Robinson,

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