Hannah once again with tears streaming from hazel eyes silently praying, "Oh Lord I need you desperately to show me how to make the best of this situation." Using her delicate hands to cover her face and trying to reason with her own heart. "Josh deserves a wife who can return his love, a wife that can be madly in love with him. I want to be that kind of wife. I want those feelings. I would hate to spend a life time in marriage where there is no love."
Hannah looked down at her hand and remembered his words when he'd given her the wedding rings. "I will wait a life time for you to love me if that's what it takes. I love you. There's no need for you to force feelings for me Hannah."
Regret hit her hard at how easily it seemed when she foolishly gave herself to Jake.
He showed her a different kind of attention that she needed. It dawned upon her right then that Jake didn't love her nor him. She confused it for love. She'd found a stand-in for the attention she craved from her father.
She was more naive but Jake was more crafty. There had been a great hole in her that she thought Jake could feel... an emptiness that only God could fill. Perhaps now she could love Josh as God intended. Now that she set her selfishness aside and forgiven her earthly father and would be right with her Heavenly Father again. She understood love and all of it's honesty now. Maybe it wasn't too late.
A tinge of fear seized a moment making her wonder how she could ever forgive herself. Then questions filled her mind as if to tell this wonderful, loving husband of hers of her betrayal and sin. And if she did would she lose him forever. Wondering if she could keep it hidden from him but if she did how could she feel good about it?
"Oh dear Heavenly Father," she tried once again to pray but only heart breaking sobs came out.
~Author Ven J. Arnold (rough draft).
~(SacredInkedBlood)

Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished.
Like us, a draft
of what can be called
"the both of us."
A draft created
that's open for change.

A change
to be better
---better
than who we are
or what we are
in the midst of the conflict
that floats around us
for the sake of us
for the both of us
---for each other.

A change
to be smoother
---smoother
with no mistakes,
with everything
in order;
consistent,
and coherent
even with the dialogues
we say that matter.

A change
to be clearer
---clearer,
meaning it is
at least what it is
meant to be conveying
with no underlying
vague wordings
when it comes
to our feelings
---for one another.

But that's there all is:
a draft
of what could be called
the both of us;
a product
of what we can become
if we make it become;
a product
of the possibilities
of what can be us,
of what might be us,
of what is it between us
between the fragments
of the words,
the lines,
and the series
of all of them
that constantly paint
faint descriptions of us,
descriptions
created [fabricated]
in my mind
like a work of fiction,
of pure imagination.

Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished,
l­ike the poems
I wrote for us;
like the poems
about us;
like us, a draft.

They might be glow
The bright flows
Everything was on snow
And it be another row

They like it more in the dark
The moon barks
The stars make an ark

At least they know,
It's the time.

[Hashtag]MeToo
Here it goes again,
trending on Insta and Facebook.
Where real awareness stems.
Mind the sarcasm,
social media’s a powerful tool
not knockin’ that.
I wonder though,
does the mind of the follower
understand the context of the hash?
Do they get it should be a call to action?
Not necessarily at the keyboard.
More like on the couch with their children,
Giving the conversation of consent.  
Most people do not even understand it by definition .
The meaning of yes and no convoluted by scenario.  
Bias boils over like milk and water over full flame.
The posts bubble out and stick to the side of the pan,
quickly drying; leaving their mark.
Until the soap and warm water flows over them,
and the steam evaporates the confessions.
Until they are again whispers we all hear and know.
It’s whispers from the alley ways,
and from married couples bedroom doors.
The woman is the property,  
the man is the proprietor.  
We refuse to address the real problems,
the failures of our up-bringers.
We point fingers and slay names
yet the statistics provide the truth.  
One in four for females, one in sixteen for males.
We all have been violated, slandered, and forced to say
[Hashtag]MeToo
Not going to say I did not share it,
I know the touch of unwanted hands,
the invasive *******.
All for the sake of the insanity,  
in repeating a useless gesture.
The only difference is
My hashtag went to my Senator.

A women boarded the same subway stop as me today.
She wore a white, flowing shawl with tiny purple flowers on it
that stretched down to her knees.
She reminded me of my childhood and of my mother in her thirties.
She held a grocery bag with daffodils in it,
and I felt she was something rather special.

Perhaps we had been joined in each other's lives
for these fifteen minutes,
for some strange reason,
much unbeknownst to the two of us.
I tried to figure it out,
but ran out of time,
and as we emerged from the station,
she walked north,
and I went east.
Maybe I'll never know.
Maybe she was just a woman
with a white shawl and purple flowers.

She called me her savior
for watching her dog
while she was away.
     Savior? No.
I can't even save myself.
Hell, I even forgot to feed the dog once and now her couch is in ruins.
But if she wants to keep thinking it,
     she can.

i wonder, at what age
you became out of my reach;
i wonder, if i even
tried reaching for you

i know that history leaves its mark on everyone
(but not many have been hurt by the tracks
left behind in the dirt
like you have)

you can sit there for days, weeks, months
while we contemplate your fate,
tossing the choices in our hands
like dice

you hear the word expendable
mumbled in countless conversations
and wonder, at what age
you became in our reach

you think of the family you left behind
and hope they will find their way to tennessee
to a better life that is  
quiet. peaceful.

will they miss your selflessness;
your keen, incisive way with words;
the bumps and hills of your rough skin;
the smell of your perfume?

i miss your evergreen smile;
your poetry;
your skin against mine;
the wonder in your eyes