The sweat poured down her back in a RIVULET of saltiness. The sun rode the sky high now, a sea of angry red fire.

“Only two more hours of this crap”, she thought to herself. Only two more hours and then she could immerse herself in the man-made air conditioning.

She plunged her hands into the plant to retrieve the tangy fruit it yielded. The leaves scratched her weathered fingers for the umpteenth time she winced at the stabbing pain.

That didn’t help because the droplet of sweat that hovered just above her eyebrow rolled right into her cornea stinging the bejesus out of it. Which caused her eyes to water even more.

Now she had muddy streaks of tears rolling down her face and even more, sweat dripping down her face. “Hell can’t get much worse than this,” she thought as she finally located the sweet red fruit and pulled it off the vine.

she tossed it into the bucket and finally slowly and carefully used the inside of her flannel shirt to wipe her face. She never used to understand why she had to wear long sleeves in such scorching heat but the first time she wore a short sleeve shirt she ended the day with horrible itchy scratches all over her arms. Still carrying traces of said scratches she ached for some ointment or even a cold glass of iced tea.

Face clear as she could get it, for now, she moved her attention back to the task at hand. She grabbed the crate by each handle and scooted on her knees to the next bush. Through the hard-packed earth that had not seen rain in days, Now giant globs of what almost seems to be stone instead of just a clump of dirt. Her knees where surly cut and bleeding by now.

She repeated the previous step as she jammed her fingers into the bush to pull out the juicy red fruit once again. There were significantly more on this vine and as she pulled them off and began tossing them in her bucket her stomach began to growl.

Realizing she probably missed lunch judging by where the scorching sun was now located she grabbed up a nice fat extra red ripe one and stuffed one end into her mouth. It was instant ecstasy. The red fruit was sweet yet tangy the juices mixed with tiny tons of little seeds dribbled down her chin as she devoured the entire thing in a couple of bites.

Now sticky she didn’t care as she smiled at the seemingly endless row ahead. Revitalized, from the nourishment it provided, giving her the strength to continue she whispered, “who knew tomato picking could be so much fun!”



Here it is. In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.  He created the moon, the stars, the everything in between. He created every living creature that roamed the earth and dominated the seas. He created every living plant that he grew from just a seed.Before he rested he created man whom he gave dominion over all the creatures, plants, all living things upon the earth. The key words here being upon the earth! This is the basis of our existence. No matter what religion you are, no matter what Gods you pray to. In some form or another, this is how we, humanity, began.

Much later he gave us commandments which to abide by, rules, just like any parent would give their child so they don’t misbehave. Yet, just like our children, we feel the need to push the limits of those rules. Maybe it is in our nature, maybe we just don’t like rules. Unlike the punishment for our children, however, our punishment for breaking God’s rules could very well damn our souls.

I grew up an avid Pentecostal or ‘holy roller” if you will. I grew up thinking that the Bible was it. The end all be all of everything. That it is and was the only thing we should be turning to when it comes to God and religion. As I got older though the world changed for me. I knew even at a young age in my heart of hearts something was missing.

Was it God trying to keep me balanced and on the right track? Who knows. All I know is that after discovering that the Romans put together the books as the Bible we now know and that they removed several books to suit their own personal gain. I look at it differently now. I am not saying that the Bible isn’t true but how can I not question why they did this? Or the bigger question is what’s missing?

Since the dawn of time man has looked to the sky to answer the ultimate question. Where do we come from? While I believe there is yes, still a mystery there I know the answers lie among us. We just have to find them is all. Like finding the lost book of Enoch. There was such a hoopla about it and it is a very interesting read. It does fill in some of the blanks of the little mentioned of Enoch in the Bible.

This got me thinking. You know I was trained in Church that you can read a scripture in the Bible a hundred times and come up with a new meaning every single time. Why is that? I truly believe it is because a man took the actual books of the Bible and conformed it to how they wanted it to read. There is just enough confusion in it so that you never see the truth. That there are huge gaping gaps in the Bible. I am not being blasphemous here or want to be, but if that is what you are thinking right now it is because that is the way you were trained. By “religion”.

Religion is just a word, you know it only has meaning because you give it that power. I I found myself lost and confused at the tender age of 19 about this whole “religion” thing and so I prayed on it. The outcome was astounding and changed the way I view the word “religion” forever. From that moment on I was no longer a Pentecostal, Or Baptist, or any label. My relationship with God is a personal one. That is all anyone needs to know about it.

My friend and I have discussed the holes in the Bible many times and right now she is voraciously reading any scroll, any ancient text, any lost book of the Bible she can get her hands on. I, however, find it fascinating that I can, in fact, read the Bible with new eyes and see for myself the crumb of truth that lies between the pages. Once the rose-colored glasses come off, and you expand your mind to the possibility of Angels walking among us, that maybe Eve wasn’t Adam’s first wife, that there were giants roaming the earth, that Moses was actually a Pharoh at one point, you start to see a bigger picture. One that we haven’t even scratched the surface of yet, and that the clues are in the very Bible that we hold so dear to us. That is where the Romans made their mistake when putting the books together and editing it.

They left just enough information in there so that with an open mind, not the one they hypnotized us to have we see the truth. Or at least the part they shared with us in the Bible. I will say when beginning this journey much like my friend I felt guilty, or even blasphemous. Yet, every new discovery I make fits with the previous puzzle piece confirming each one like a chain of events I cannot stop unraveling. I question everything nowadays not because I am trying to be blasphemous but because I seek the truth. I know where I come from it states in Genesis where I come from. I seek the background the evolution of man that got me here today. I seek the knowledge of my ancestors. Am I the product of a long forgotten civilization or are my origins deeper, darker than that?

Just by reading Genesis with my new eyes there are more questions and that is just in chapter 1. There is so much more to discover, and with every new discovery, I am one step closer to my origins. I leave you with this Spirituality is a part of us. Your relationship with God should be a personal one. Don’t be afraid to question what you’ve been taught. Look for your own answers. They are there waiting for you to discover them. When you feel the ring of truth click into place inside our soul. You know you are on to something. Don’t be bogged down with such labels as “religion”. Remember the basics the rules God set before us. For in the end that is all that matters.


you tubing it

     Hi, my name is Angela and welcome to my first youtube vlog! I am a writer who is trying to get her stuff out there and so I thought maybe this is just another level of doing that. If the “Beiber” can get discovered on Youtube then I thought why can’t I at least use it to my advantage to be heard, as well. There were several things I wanted to discuss and I will probably go through all of my list, eventually. However, I feel compelled to speak on one thing right now and I even open up my channel for comments and questions below. I, like my taste in music, am not tied to one genre or the other when I write so my vlog will be the same. I have also added a link to my blog below as well so feel free to peruse that as well. If nothing else I know it can give you some really great writing ideas!

Before I dive into what I want to talk about let me tell you a little about myself. I am 40 years old a wife and a mother. I grew up in Arkansas and no need to make jokes (I’ve heard them all) I am a Southern Belle in every sense of the word. Well, what I think of as a Southern Belle. I know, I know when you think of Southern Belle you think of Ball Gowns and high heels, perfectly manicured nails and hair coifed to perfection. mint juleps on a hot summer night and a delicate fan I use to fan myself. But there is another type of Southern Belle and fortunately, I fall into that category. One that would rather play in the mud than wear a dress. One that has more guy friends than girlfriends. One that wears daisy dukes and cowboy boots. And doesn’t give a damn what others think of her. one that would rather drink moonshine and whiskey than any ol mint julep. That is what a southern belle is to me. And I am proud to be one. I grew up in a south that churns out tomboys like water Where cotton fields as far the eye can see is nature’s backdrop and there is always at least one car up on blocks in my tiny town (where everyone knows everyone) that is almost imperceptible due to the unmowed yard. That is what I grew up with. Not to mention I grew up with an abusive mother and step-father that still to this day has never truly seen me. Despite this ever since I can remember I have wanted to be a writer. Ever since I could legibly write my own name a passion was born. I was 5. I voraciously read everything and anything I could get my hands on and by the time I was 13 I was sneaking my mother’s romance books and reading those as well. Needless to say, it was very educational and my vocabulary became quite extensive for a 13-year-old.

I grew up in the Bible belt. I went to church and by the time I was 16 I was a very confused young girl. my mother would go on and on about how everything I did I was going to hell over and yet, she would beat me  I went to a Pentecostal church which was in an old run down strip mall just the other side of the train tracks. Yes, I was a Pentecostal or “holy roller” if you will. People would speak in tongues and then someone else would suddenly have the gift to interpret what was being said. One day someone began speaking in tongues right in the middle of the service that lasted about 15 minutes. When they were done the pastor himself came over to me and laid his hands on my shoulders and said: “That was for you, it was God speaking through her to let you know you are one of his chosen, one of the people he has chosen to spread his word”.  As he smiled down at me I almost laughed in his face. How could I be called to preach by God himself when I didn’t even know if I truly believed in him. Being that I was just trying to survive my hypocrite of a mother. Yet, I had witnessed with my own eyes the speaking in tongues and knew there was a higher power at work. I knew there was a God and yet, I was so confused about religion, God, all of it. Which would I would carry into my adult years if only for a brief time.I would in the next couple of years be exposed to all kinds of religions and I gotta say it helped me form my opinions I still cherish today. 

   I, later on, had some experiences with God himself ones that changed me forever. Letting me know no matter what I believe, he does exist. I grew up being told never question the Bible everything in it is fact, it is the first book in recorded history. It is blasphemous to question God’s word. I was okay with that, for a while. Until I met my very best friend. Who is not only the one person in all of my life that has encouraged me to write but she also opened up my mind to the possibility that while yes the Bible is recorded history, it doesn’t tell the entire story of our past! It hints at things here or there but not the whole of our past is in there. I once again became voracious for answers I read anything and everything I could get my hands on about God, religion, and our past. It is human nature to questions things and there is that one question that looms over us all and the one question I am sure every single one of us has asked ourselves. Where do I come from?

   This is the purpose of my Vlog today. I feel compelled to share with all of you what I have learned and what I know in my heart is true. I am no expert mind you, I am just your average American woman that has had a long relationship with God. One who has just begun to read between the lines of what the Bible actually says and it is mind blowing. You know it is funny I used to be told you can read the same verse in the Bible twenty times and get something different out of it every single time. I never believed it until now. Maybe I have come full circle and the preacher in me has finally emerged or maybe the writer in me feels the need to share. I believe that God gives us all talents (most people that have met me would say I have the gift of gab) but I truly believe my gift is the gift of writing. I have been writing various things over the past couple of years yet, something or someone (point up) has been compelling me to use my talents to write about what I have found, and so I am. I want to thank my friend I believe in my heart of hearts she was placed in my path for this very reason. To get me on the path of what I am supposed to be doing she has no idea that her prompting me to do what I was born to do has released my damaged soul. It has given me a peace I have never known so thank you dear friend of mine.

First, thing I want to discuss is the word religion. It used to be something sacred to me. Yet, as I got older and became more aware of the world I realized that word has been reduced to nothing more than business. You ever notice that. I know what I believe and I know I don’t ever remember reading about a rich religion in the Bible. It has become an organization a crutch to steer us away from the really important things.  I learned long ago, I am not Pentecostal, I am not Catholic, I am not Baptist, I am not a Jehova’s witness. Labeling myself, a religion isn’t what is going to get me to the pearly gates. It is believing in something more than myself, it is being kind to others, it is loving thy neighbor even when they don’t deserve it. I can do all of these things without a label. Religion has become an institution and I am not one to be institutionalized. Conformity is not the key to heaven.

This also ties into the other thing I want to mention. I was raised the Bible is it. It is the word, the only word. I was raised as if God himself had brought down the Bible on a cloud from the heavens and plopped it into someone’s hands and said, “go now copy this for everyone.” I have since learned that this is not the case. The Bible in a funny twist of irony was written by man. It was certain apostles and ‘chosen people to write their story and write accounts of what they saw. It was then another religious faction that put the books of the Bible together and decided amongst themselves what the rest of us should be believing as they left out several books. Not just several by my count there are over 300 books of the Bible that were left out of what we now know as the Bible today. Why would they do that? Knowing how curious humanity is why would they leave out key points of the origins of humanity. I can only think of one reason to conform us all to their way of thinking. Because even when humanity was just peeking out and making their mark on the world “religion” was a business. A business they intended not to lose. There have been wars fought, people killed, blood in the streets, children dying in their mother’s arms, whole cities wiped out, and for what, the sake of their religion, or their business? I can tell you now, God doesn’t care what religion you label yourself. Because in the end, that is not what gets you eternity in his house.

Back to the Bible, I have read it not all of it but enough to know there are in fact pieces missing. The big one being that Angels walked among us. This is where the crack in all I had ever believed in began to show. This is the moment that my viewpoint became slightly skewed and believe me once you fall down this particular rabbit hole there is no going back. So turn away now if you don’t want your world rocked on its axis because once your mind is blown there is no going back. Although the Bible doesn’t go into detail about the Angels too much there are scriptures that allude to the fact that they were here and even laid with mankind to produce offspring called the Nephilim. In the King James Version of the Bible, the word Nephilim is never used however there are scriptured alluding to the fact that they did exist. My favorite scripture in the Bible is in

NUMBERS Chapter 13 verse 32 and 33




These two verses prove these “Giants” were in fact Nephilim. My friend said her mind was blown when she had a discussion with someone about how vengeful God was in the Old Testament. He would send people to cities to wipe them out entirely man, woman, child all of them. At first, she didn’t believe them and being raised as I was said it was blasphemous but then she began to read the Bible with new eyes and realized her friend was right. But why? Why would God be so vengeful as to wipe out children for no reason? Then it clicked to her. These cities weren’t filled with humans, they were filled with the abominations of these angels the product of the Angels laying with humans. Now, I read recently that the scripture above is a metaphor for political “Giants”. What? My God doesn’t care about politics. He cared about the Angels screwing up his creation! And so he began the task of ridding the earth of such atrocities. The scriptures above are just a glimpse into just one of the cities God sent man to destroy and while they were doing recon they realized how huge these creatures were. It goes on to say that they brought back with them Grapes so big several men had to carry them. How can you make that political? It sounds like something straight out of a movie right? I ask you though if these creatures these “giants” were a metaphor for a politcal giant why was their food so large?

Another scripture further proving this theory is In Genisis Chapter six verse 1-4


GENISIS 6: 1-4



The son’s of God lay with the daughter’s of man, and they bare children of them. Wow! How can you not believe in the Nephilim after that?The part where it says the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown. I used to think of the word renown as something great political maybe but the true definition is known or talked about by many people. Famous! So it is safe to say that these “Giants” were talked about. Ones with strength the size of ten men, powerful, almost unkillable. I bet the name “Hercules” is running through your mind right now right! All but reduced to a myth, Hercules was larger than the average man he was super strong and so renown that he is even talked about today. I am not saying that Hercules really existed but what if some form of him did?  If these “Giants” were here which judging by the scriptures I have already read they did. Then the mystery of who really built the pyramids is solved. Right?

I love the show Ancient Aliens. Not because I believe in aliens. but because I believe it touches on part of our history lost to us. If you could just replace the word alien with angels it all comes together like puzzle pieces making the picture a bit clearer. It does frustrate me to no end that the men on there college educated men, totally believe in strange men from another world coming to earth long ago. But the idea that they were actually fallen angels and that they were already here is lost to them. If we look around at our world the ancient civilizations the tombs left behind by our ancient ancestors the proof, as they say, is in the pudding. There are ancient relics ancient monuments that prove we were once not alone. As far as it being aliens I laugh at the concept. Between what they left behind and the little glimpses into the Bible we are allowed to see it is clearly not the case. Mind blown yet?

Join me each week as I discover more about our ancient ancestors and get a little bit closer to answering that ultimate question WHERE DO WE COME FROM?

I would love any feedback and anything you want to  talk about please comment below.  Also feel free to stop by my blog at any time the link is below.



As most of you know I am writing a book about one of the most difficult times in my life. It began as a blog but as time wore on I felt there was a need for this story for others out there like me. It is called MEMOIRS OF A BIRTH MOTHER! It is chock full of drama, abuse, and even a near rape on one occasion. I was nearing the end of this book when today Mother’s Day of all days I got “goosed” as they call it. A blast from the past found me on facebook and tilted my lovely, wonderful, MOTHER’S DAY on its axis. So apparently the saga that is my life is not over. That final chapter has not yet, been written as I thought it was. The drama of a past I left in the dust nearly twenty -one years ago surfaced like a bloated body floating to the top of the water. It broke through the carefully constructed web of lies I tell myself in the dark that the past is the past, there is no more looking back.

Yet, today, today of all days he found me. My daughter’s dad after two decades of not speaking he had the nerve to hit me up on facebook and then friend request me as if nothing had ever happened. What? This man that tried to beat my daughter out of me when I was pregnant with her, the man that told me once, that once I get rid of  “my problem” (meaning our child) that we could get back to normal! WTF? The man that slept through the adoption process and even rejected the whole idea that she was even his when there was no denying it. The man that made my life a living hell for the whole of my pregnancy, this man, this is the man that found me on facebook today.

He actually sent me an apologetic message on facebook about when I finally got another book posted on Amazon “Congrats Angela I remember you lived writing. Oh I’m sorry for everything. I was soo wrong and sooo immature back then.” Really? I first want to say immature is not the word I would have used to describe him he was at least five years older than me at twenty-five. I like the word sadistic, or how about brutal, or abusive to women and then blamed them for his behavior.  Why is it always our fault because they can’t control themselves, men like this are no better than animals. Oh, how about psychotic, cruel, child abandoner. Those are all words to describe this man, this coward, as he is not even himself on facebook his alias is a very famous dead author and I bet he is rolling over in his grave right now having to be attached to such a man. Is man really the word here? I don’t think so!

A real man is one who provides for his family, doesn’t do drugs, and loves with all of him, a real man would rather walk through fire before his woman or child were hurt in any way. Yet, this man did none of those things, he brought the pain and suffering and yet, tonight he messages me as if we are long-lost pals. Does he not remember all the pain he caused both physical and mental? And then he had the nerve to say, “you probably don’t remember me but…” I ask you? How the fuck can I not remember you? The person that became my world, my everything, what I thought was the love of my life only to rip it all away from me the second he got the chance to. Do you really think enough time has passed that all would be forgiven? That the pain, and suffering and sheer trauma you caused would just magically disappear if enough time has passed? Think again!

I understand, that it has been twenty-one years, and people can change, hell I’ve changed, but monsters don’t! People that are unhappy with themselves and so misery really does love company,  it has been my experience that they simply can’t change who and what they’ve become, or what they always were. Yet, for my daughter’s sake, if there is a slim chance that he has changed and I am talking slim here considering the messages he sent me on facebook then I am glad, but if he is still the same narcissistic, psychotic, volatile person that I knew him to be then I say watch out! Because even if he didn’t change I HAVE! He is no longer dealing with a naive, fragile little girl anymore, he is dealing with a full grown mother with a grudge. A grudge I didn’t think still existed until today. I spent years after our relationship imploded, dreaming of ways to actually kill this man. I was so scared that I might actually try and track him down and commit such a heinous crime that I went to a therapist to work through my hatred of him. I thought it worked too, instead of an all out murder, it dulled down to a simple beating. A tit for tat so to speak, until today that is!

Today, the minute he sent me a picture of himself and began messaging me about my birthday and all these things he still knew about me I saw red. I got to give it to him, he’s got balls, BIG ONES! To even attempt to contact me. How dare he think he can just waltz into my life as if nothing ever happened when all the while that old sleeping sadistic part of me began to emerge and smile that she still had a chance to kill him herself. How dare he try to connect with me when all I can think of when I saw his sorry face, is my daughter, and how horribly he rejected her. Nevermind me, the shit he put me through was a cakewalk compared to the fact that he simply didn’t want anything to do with his own child.

Maybe, he is trying to make amends, maybe he has changed but as for me. Never gonna happen that ship has sailed! The only person he needs to make amends to is his daughter, whom he doesn’t even know. She is brilliant, and bright and beautiful, and smarter than the two of us put together at her age.  She is actively looking for him and I am praying she is not the one that told him how to find me, because she and I have a deal about that, but as curiosity killed the cat, so is it killing me. How did he find me? I am married now and have been for many years, and yet he found me as my married name on facebook. He should have never been able to find me, on top of that there are about a thousand women on facebook with my first and last name. Did he hire someone? Is he stalking me? Why is he doing this now after so long? The questions just keep piling up and I am terrified to ask because I really don’t like the person I am when it comes to this man. I don’t like the murderous intentions I have toward him. That was a different me in a different lifetime.

On the other hand, as I have said before the past will sneak up on you when you least expect it. I could finally lay to rest ( no pun intended) the past and maybe get some closure out of the one part of my past that hasn’t truly ever been dealt with. I have been torn between actually responding to this person, not in a good way as I have lots to say to him, but then there is another part of me that says,”you are grown now,  ignore him.”  I didn’t know what to do. Then I thought, I will just write about it as that is the one thing nowadays that soothes me, and it has worked. Although I still feel a simmering rage deep down I feel calmer so thank you blog family for listening. If you have any ideas on how to broach this subject with my daughter let me know. After all, she does deserve to know him and where she came from even if he is still the monster I knew him to be. Right?

P.S How does that saying go? Something to the effect of “I AM A WRITER. ANYTHING YOU DO OR SAY CAN BE USED IN A STORY” Well my story that is. How you like me now, friend?

P.S.S To the man that caused me so much pain, and grieve in the past. I know you are reading this, you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t. You are nothing to me, just as you became nothing more than a “sperm donor” nearly twenty-one years ago to your child, your only daughter back then. Who knows how many you have now. You were once my weakness but now you are my strength. You are the person that taught me that I should never settle. You taught me how to not fall for pretty lies and broken promises. You taught me love doesn’t come with a fist to the face. You taught me how to love myself first! So thank you, for showing me what a true wolf in sheep’s clothing looks like so I knew to never fall for your kind again!


She grew up in the south! Not the south you think of as pretty like Georgia, or Florida, or Louisianna, or even Texas with its rolling tumbleweeds and stetson hats and Armadilloes. No, she grew up in Arkansas! When she got older and left home the mere mention of Arkansas caused a cacophony of remarks such as “Oh do I hear Banjo music!” or some other disparaging remark about incest! She hated it and she often wondered how the hell Arkansas ever got this reputation. There were parts of Arkansas that were supposedly beautiful yet, she never saw it. She grew up near the Mississippi River just this side of Memphis TN the home of the late great king of rock and roll Elvis! Yet, she rarely saw the city that put bluesy jazz music on the map with its Beale Street and Bar-B-Que!

Where she lived was something straight out of a storybook not a very good one either. She lived in a small town no one had ever heard of. You couldn’t even find it on any maps and it lay in the heart of cotton country! The town held about 2,000 people which were a far cry more than some of the surrounding towns that just held a Welcome sign and nothing more. However, this town was still too small for her. She had big dreams and even bigger goals in life. She was suffocating in this town and she ached to explore her horizons and she was filled with a sense of wonder over where it might lead her. She just hoped this town wouldn’t kill her first. This town with its never-ending cliches the run down buildings that have stood around rotting for the better part of 50 years a ghostly reminder of a time forgotten. The drugs that began to sweep through as if it were some sort of big city. Or the teen pregnancy rate that shot up her senior year. She was not one of those statistics. Or how about the ever popular car up on blocks for months at a time hidden by the tall uncut grass of someone’s lawn.  Or the trailer’s so many lived in her included.

This was not some little southern town like you see in the movies. Steeped in tradition and its southern belles. This was one of those towns you passed through on your way to the big city, quickly forgotten. This was one of those towns that you had to leave immediately upon graduating or you would be forever stuck there like a fly on a stick trap. She never told anyone that she felt hell was, in fact, real and this tiny little town seemed to be its gateway. She could almost visualize the steam rising from the ground from some undiscovered crack in the ground allowing hell to leak out. As her senior year wore on. One thing became clearer and clearer she had to get out or die trying.

Maybe she was biased, maybe she couldn’t see all the beauty this town could possess. She was always under a dark cloud of despair. Living yet, another cliche her home wasn’t filled with the life and laughter that you would think one would have in a small southern town. It was filled with fear and pain daily. Too terrified of the consequences to tell anyone what was happening in her home she dealt with it. By the time she was seventeen she had grown accustomed to the daily beatings by her mother, the sexual advances of her stepfather and she worried daily that it might just take a toll on her sanity. She had grown a thick skin so to speak and prayed to God for her continued survival long enough to make it out of this God forsaken town. She lived with Monsters that were very good at pretending, stealing the faces of the people that were supposed to protect her from such atrocities.

She spent eighteen years vying for affection that would never come, begging for just a glimmer of something called love. Waiting for the day she could be free of her captors, either death by their hands or by way of escape. It was like she lived in a mental institution where all doctors are really the patients and they were trying to get her on their side. Her being the only sane one, it was a strain on her sanity. Yet, through it all, they couldn’t break her. Between all the beatings and being told she would never be anything she would always be nothing she became proud of the fact that deep down they didn’t break her spirit her drive her dreams. It wouldn’t be long before someone came along and reminded her that she was somebody worth caring about, loving even. yet, it would take her many years to discover she had, in fact, survived even if she still carried a demon or two along the way.

Who doesn’t carry some baggage? If they say they don’t they are lying. Even after she was grown with kids of her own. Those old demons still haunted her, torture her even to the point that she repeatedly tried to give up and yet her fighting spirit wouldn’t  let her quit. She may not be a true Souther Belle but she is a fighter. One who climbed out of the sewer of her past and made it better. Someone who stands up for others even when she doesn’t have to. Someone who fights for injustice no matter the consequences. Someone who loves unconditionally and without bias. That to me screams Southern Belle!

Let’s go back though back to where it all changed for her. The day her life was changed forever. After the hell of her childhood but before she found herself and her place in the world. The day that made her realize there was some good in the world after all. That girl was me and this, is where my story begins…



There are some similarities between going to war and raising kids. This is no mere battle it’s a war. I mean we try to be the best parents we can be, at least better than our parents were to us and yet…

The fight is real, the struggle between what society puts in their heads and the values we try to teach them. All I have ever wanted was to have my kids be happpy and healthy and reach for the stars and yet…

As you know according to some of my previous blogs I was raised by a very volatile mother. I was so terrrifed of winding up like her that I almost didn’t have children for fear of the monster I would, could become in the face of them. Some twenty years later and I know for a fact I am not her. In fact, the knowledge that I know I don’t raise my hands to my kids in anger and show them all the love I have to give helps me sleep at night. It has become my greatest achievement next to my kids and yet…

While I have grown and found myself along the way my seventeen year old struggles to find his place in the world. We were, are strict but not so strict that he should feel hatered toward us and yet…

He is a very confused young man and I understand that he is trying to find where he belongs in this world. Mere months away from graduation and legally becoming a man in the eyes of society he is clueless. He acts as if the world owes him something and disregards any advice given by his loving mother and father. Even though we have been there done that it’s as if we were born yesterday and know absolutly nothing about the “real world!” I wish  I had had at least one parent that cared enough to give me advice and yet…

Anytime he is asked to help out around the house he throws a fit and in the last several months has taken to screaming at me and his dad. I have told him that he should be glad my mother wasn’t his mother because he would probably be dead. The audacity he has to raise his voice, or even talk back at all just because we ask him to help out around the house. It amazes me the balls on this kid and yet…

Yesterday it got even worse. He actually took the one thing that would break my heart and used it on me. He looked me right in the eye and actually said that I used to beat him when he was little ALL THE TIME with a belt! WTF! Really, I don’t know what that lie was supposed to accomplish other than to hurt me.  He knows of my past with my mother, enough so that to strike me where it hurt, he hit the nail on the head. That kid has never even seen a belt other than wearing it around his pants and yet…

I was so speechless I could actually feel the sting on my cheeck from his verbal slap. What the hell do you say to such an outrageous accusation. When later comfronted he tried to switch and say his dad did it but we also know that was a lie. I get that I grew up with hate in my heart due to my upbringing. I mean I can still feel the hook from the belt buckle catching in my legs and then  ripping as she yanked the belt out to do it all over again but this. I am heartbroken that the one thing I always feared I would be, yet never became that  my son would use on me as some kind of psycholigical warfare and yet…

I am completly at my wits end with this kid. I love him he is one of my babies but how can someone that was never exposed to my mother’s kind of love inherit her sly cunning hatefulness. Maybe I am just giving him to much credit. But at the time it seems the cold calculated look in his eyes was all intentional. I actually talked to several family members who said that they know his father nor I ever touched him the way he says. They know we have only ever given him love and support, even if he doesn’t take it and yet…

My heart is no less broken, my spirit drowning in this ache. I feel like that little girl again trapped in a war zone with no way out. This is a war this is my struggle to make my son someone fit to enter society, kind and loving to humanity and yet…

I feel like a failure how can I get him to be kind and loving to others when he has no love or kindness for the two people that love him the most in this world. How can I get through to his fractured mind? How can I once again break the chain of madness and help him see the error of his ways? I am out of options. This is war after all it is time to recruit some troops…




Yes, I see the irony of this post being the day after Thanksgiving yet when I hear the word SATED I don’t think of being sated by food. I think of all the books I have read and how the sexy man fed her sensual pleasure. How his desires for her and the passion they created together actually sated by way of libido.

I have read every romance novel and much much more since I was around twelve years old. I used to steal my mom’s romance books and my grandmother was even worse. She at one point had a two car garage filled to the brim with you guessed it BOOKS! As I have stated in previous blogs I have wanted to write since I could actually legibly write my own name. It makes sense that I was voracious for the written word. Every book I got my hands on I read even today at the age of forty nothing has changed.

My son’s like to read as well and even though my husband has issue with it as a lover of books I say read, read until the words blend together and you are nodding off at the sight. Reading is paramount to any vocabulary and I for one am glad to see it. What with all the electronics and tv shows nowadays seeing them read a book is well magical.

Being an avid reader since I was twelve there isn’t a whole lot I haven’t read about. Anything and everything I could possibly get my hands on anywhere from romance and the eternal struggle of true love, to the darkest reaches of hell in the ever popular paranormal love. I have come across the word sated in all of them. It is a word that actually conjures such images of bodies entwined and the sexy farm hand taking the time to brush his fingers through our heroines long dark locks just before he… well you know.

It used to be that reading sated me body and soul. Now, however it is writing. I am feeding my soul one word at a time and I am loving it. I know that the passion I feel for writing is akin to the images I see,when I see that word. I am passionate about the words I write on a whole other level than just a passing roll in the hay. I am sated on my words mind, body, and soul and I am loving it… Maybe one day I will be able to write with such sexual prowess but for now I am loving where the journey is taking me and I am sated from the simple act of just writing…

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/sated/”>Sated</a&gt;