a cooking pot and twisted tales
Thoughts and Tales…A Lifestyle Blog with a Zing.
Ribbons of purple bruises
worn like a ring around her neck,
hidden from probing eyes’
by a pretty floral sweater.
§
how long will she hide a bleeding heart;
under beautiful colours of bold splashes,
counting the days till she’s asphyxiated,
and purple wreath for her death bed.
©
Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
My grip on the armrest was so hard that my knuckles must have turned white.
Anger boiled inside me like a witch’s cauldron barely containing itself and the loud voices of other people in the room sounded like a roaring babble in my head.
I refused to believe the verdict that had just been handed out, but the smirk on his lips and the sneer in his eye’s said it all as I looked at him with burning intensity.
Justice has just let the man who abused and violated me walk away free; in fact, the defense counsel tarred and feathered my image till I could barely recognize the strumpet that they portrayed me to be.
It’s not over! Not by half a mile! I have a plan and he won’t know what hit him like a ton of bricks.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Harsh reality destroys innocence. Jacqueline
Chastity breached;
innocence is stolen;
when no eyes were looking.
Bewildered child-hood;
bore pain of betrayal;
with the mask of innocence.
Beneath multi-layers;
lies an embittered spirit;
deprived of girlhood innocence.
It’s never a comfortable topic to write about the abuse of the girl-child and even grown women and an issue most would like to wish away and hide under the veil of humour. Yet, the statistics and spate of abuse and violation of females are horrendous.
A lot of times, violation comes from close quarters. These incidents leave a not so strong female broken, disillusioned, embittered and bearing the burden of guilt and shame. Her silence costs her everything and it takes a lot of grace for a victim to overcome the burden of violation.
Society has not helped by casting silent and even vocal blame on victims, thereby making their burden a lot heavier and their silence more ominous.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Let me introduce you to my engaging, warm and beautiful blogger friend Roo. She’s been a supportive presence in this space and without too much said, reading her own in-depth and candid words below, you’ll enjoy this priceless interaction.
Annie Roo, thank you for taking the time from a busy life to share more of you with us. I truly appreciate you and extend my warm regards. Jacqueline
My given name is practically a biography, so I prefer my pen name. E.V.A. Lambert is an acronym of my life’s most influential people. To friends, siblings and my younger family members I’m Annie Roo; Roo for short, but that’s another story.
Go Cubs, Go: I was born at a very young age into a rather nomadic, Anglo-Celtic, Chicago suburbs family, complete with eccentricities and most common dysfunctions. I’m now a great-grandmother and I’ve lived all over the U.S.
Can I say something here? I don’t understand why women say they’re younger than they are. When asked my digits I typically say, “I think I’m doing great for 75.” I’m not even close – yet, but saying that feels great for a few moments. Culpability is on the inquirer. Anyway, aside from some dings telling me when rain’s coming I’m vital and young on the inside.
I was already a mother of my four sons before I was 22 – one with special needs, but nobody could guess which one today. Divorced while the boys were in grade school, their dad did me a solid replacing me with a younger model, so we all got through it – mostly together. Without any other monetary support, I took care of myself, my sons and helped my siblings and our mother as best I could.
I’m the estranged wife of my life’s love, a crazy-gifted misfit musician, emphasis on the crazy. Starving artists the past thirty years, I now live a very full, pleasantly modest and green lifestyle on Colorado’s Western Slope with my life-long best friend. Life’s all about setting priorities and making choices.
As my five siblings can attest, “just to spite several bullies and straight-up perverts,” we overcame significant tragedy, abuse, hardships and for me, some mental disorders (yes, plural). In my early thirties, a heart attack got my undivided attention. Days prior, I had given my life and subsequently my heart to Jesus Christ. Don’t think the sequence didn’t confuse me! Seriously, blind ambition, heartache, stress (compounded by cocaine, excessive alcohol, my job) and so many prior bad choices should have killed me before then. I not only realized I actually wasn’t Wonder Woman, but clearly God had plans for me.
Days out of the hospital I quit my high 5-figure income job. I was determined to write my already amazing stories. At the time my boys were sure I’d lost it. I wondered too, but in hindsight, I see I’d actually found myself.
Writing stories by kindergarten, my 9th grade English teacher thrilled me by publishing my term essay in my high school newspaper. Seeing my brain child, the best part of me in print snared me. Writing became my favorite occupation. I was always obsessive about grammar, but now isn’t it amazing how quickly we get past that as we make friends around the world in the blogosphere?
Early on I published in local periodicals. Among my first publications was as a contributing author for Eva Marie Emerson. Along the way I have picked up copy writing for food and gasoline; happy to do what I can, wherever I am and if I get paid for it, great! My calling and passion is to write my stories well, not only for my family’s sake (to help them see why life sometimes goes slightly sideways) but also to help other mental illness and abuse survivors.
Contributing to a journalist/author friend’s blog, she urged me to blog independently. I launched my first blog in 2004 mostly as a journal. I also keyed out chapters and queries for what I was certain would make me today’s Jane Austen. We’ll see h
ow that works out.
During three more moves across three more states, I realized nobody seemed to notice my Facebook Notes – not even close friends. Facebook users typically aren’t ardent readers. Undaunted I dove into the deep end of WordPress. I launched What’s Next on my target date, 9/11 of 2014.
During my first WordPress Blogging U course, I met other newbie bloggers including the fantastic Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha, and other gifted writers, poets, and photographers. Even with the amazingly supportive Blogging Community and Blogging U courses, I couldn’t learn fast enough for my liking.
What’s Next met my target goal of 100 followers well within the first year and I’m growing right along with The Blogging Community. I have much to learn – always will, but I’m actually having the time of my life!
I enjoy promoting other great bloggers, sharing other blogs, and am keen on changing my theme – as soon as I upgrade my site. I’m determined to link in a Twitter account and add a Contributing Authors section. As always I’ll continue to submit chapters and queries as I blog the good, the bad and the beautiful in my world.
“No one lights a lamp and then puts it under a basket. Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand, where it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.” Matthew 5:15, 16 (NLT)
P.S: If you are interested in guest posting, send an email to JacquelineObyIkocha@gmail.com.
She lay still on the mat, her body curled in a fetal position as she listened to his grunts and snoring whilst he slept in replete satisfaction.
Reeba heard every minutiae sound that echoed in the night camp as she suffered through another sleepless night of so many terrifying nights; daylight could never come fast enough.
A deep chasm of hopelessness dug a bottomless pit inside her, alongside her perpetual hunger for food.
For how long? For how long would she have to live? Will she get out of this alive? Sometimes death seemed a preferable option.
She wondered what became of her family; did they survive the attack or were they captured and enslaved as well?
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Below is my first just published Poetry Book “Out of the silent breath” which is available on Amazon and Smashwords.
When you buy my book, you support me in an invaluable manner.
Wonderful, evocative poetry by a talented writer. Left me hungry for more. Jacqueline can write! Linda Bethea
If you enjoy my works and would like to do so, you can fuel my creativity with a slice of cake or coffee
![1461301811900[1]](https://acookingpotandtwistedtales.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/14613018119001.jpg)
I could go on and on about this particular thought because I have so much to say, but I will just leave a few lines.
There are people who live with the constant victim mentality that it does appear that everything seems to be about them.
No doubts, there are those who have been grossly victimised, but what matters most is how they address these issues that face them.
Do they use these challenges as a ladder to rise out of their situation or do they lie their minds down like a mat and allow the aggressor to walk all over them?
The sad reality is that the World is just what it is. It’s not going to change for you because as long as there’s mankind, there will always be those who don’t care about hurting others.
Rather, you will be the one to change your way of thinking and rise out of that slavery mentality that envelopes your mind.
Once you rise out of such thoughts and break free from victim mode, you actually defeat your aggressor by no longer lending him/her free room in your life.
©Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
They created illusion for themselves
Living out their fake lives
Even as the noose tightened
With each passing day
He, in his fast car
And skimmed funds
He ran from the drug Lords
They are fast on his tail.
—–
She lived hers in the bottle of illusion
Where all was illuminated through her languid gaze
Fake, starry aura induced
From needle pricks
That zig-zagged
Through her veins
Until the glass fell
And shattered in the cold silence.
—–
Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Fake, The Daily Post Prompt
It was the perfect wedding. The sun had shone just at the right proportion. The storybook garden where they shared their vows was dreamy. Everything was as it should be. Sublime.
Yet Cecilia felt some restlessness in her spirit. Helmut is a perfect match. Mother loved him very much and approved of him. Even her picky friends liked him well enough. They considered him the dashing, wealthy European.
Their marital vows felt like a constriction to her vocal chords. She shook off the inner voice and focused on the sizzle. She loves Helmut, he’s a passionate lover and even as every cell in her body screamed ‘don’t‘ she said I do.
It didn’t take a long time for her to realize that the marriage was a huge mistake.
Helmut’s perceived candour turned to blunt cruelty. His passion became an obsession. He smothered her to death.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Image credit..pixabay
She dabbed on several layers of concealer,
In an attempt to hide her bruised cheek.
She covered her eyes with big, dark sunglasses,
So that no one would notice its pink-tinged state.
She wore turtle-necked and long-sleeved loose tops,
All bright and shiny,
To hide all the bumps and scrapes.
But what she failed to do,
Was to conceal the damage to her heart.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Conceal, The Daily Post
It’s important to note that no amount of hiding and disguising can protect or help an abused woman. If you are in an abusive relationship, seek help before it becomes too late to do that.
Linda mentions ‘ball’ as today’s prompt and I think of the different balls that I am playing with right now.
The fleeting thought of my young sons ball comes to my mind and I pray his fever will break so that he can play happily.
It’s my birthday tomorrow and I should be preparing to have a ball, but I am just not feeling it.
A few days ago, I was excited and gearing for an awesome day and I still hope to, but when you have a child a little bit down, the last thing on your mind is a ball.
However the big ball that forms in my stomach makes me feel so sad and almost reluctant to talk about it.
As much as I can, I avoid race talks because it only stirs up strong emotions.
Last night a friend sent a video of a black girl being pushed around and insulted and insulted by some guy’s – white.
I wanted to stop watching it, but I continued. By the end of that short video, I had tears in my eyes and just felt so heavy.
I can’t even begin to articulate all the thoughts that went through my head.
My question has always been, are we not all human? Why are some people like this? What’s the benefit of such ugliness and discrimination?
We claim to be different, to be enlightened, we claim not being racists, yet at every turn it stares us in the face.
These boys who pushed a young girl about and called her ugly names, learnt it from somewhere and most likely their homes.
Racism is learnt ‘cos no child is born that way.
I have no answers just a ball of sadness that sits in me and I obviously went to bed with that thought and it’s been more so on my mind after watching the fiasco of American campaign trails in Chicago.
I strive to teach my children to work hard and rise up and above expectations.
I try to teach them that before God all men are equal.
I try to teach them to embrace life with an open mind, but sometimes society makes playing this ball so hard.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
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a cooking pot and twisted tales 