The Tragic True LOVE Story of Blanche Monnier

Just for falling in LOVE
With a commoner
Blanche Monnier was kept in attic
For 25 years
Blanche's True LOVE survived

The year was 1876

In midst of the Third Republic period in France
When the historical power struggle of royalist ******* and republican radicals were discussed in bourgeois socialites
That's the time when
In a small place called Poitiers
Four hours away from Paris
There lived:
Madam Louise Monnier
Wealthy and prominent
Member of CLASS society
Known in Parisian high society
For their charitable works
Who had received many community awards too

With her son
Marcel Monnier
A brilliant student
And a prominent lawyer
Well respected in Paris

And her daughter
Blanche
(Marcel's sister)
Twenty Five years old
Beautiful beyond words
Intelligent
Very gentle and good natured
A young socialite in rich circles

Lived happily in their
Monnier Estate

It was during this time
Blanche fell in LOVE with a suitor
Let us call him
James
Who lived in her neighborhood
Sadly he was not young
Nor was he from rich aristocrat family
He was elderly man,
Basically a commoner
And an unsuccessful penniless lawyer

Madam Louise Monnier - disapproved
Of such alliances for her daughter Blanche and
Insisted Blanche to marry a more suitable man
Of her own age, class and status

But in passion of her LOVE -
Blanche profusely disagreed
And Madame Monnier got angry
They quarreled and argued
One day Madame Monnier locked Blanche
In a dungeon attic ordering
"Until you would agree - you are imprisoned"

Years passed
But Blanche was stubborn
So much in deep LOVE with James
She did not relent to her Mother's wishes

So the story goes....
Nine years passed

On this side James - Blanche's suitor
The beau too died in 1885

It is said that
Blanche's brother Marcel apposed his mother
To at least set Blanche FREE now
But Madam Louise Monnier had absolute
Stronghold and control over the family
Thus Marcel aboded to his mother's decree
And Blanche was kept locked still after

In the eyes of society
Beautiful young Blanche had simply disappeared
Without a clue

Madame Monnier and Marcel mourned
In front of everyone
Stating Blanche ran away
And continued to live their lives
As normal as those rich aristocrat families live

No one gave much thought to this
Everyone went about their life
As if nothing had happened

With time - they say
Blanche was forgotten
From everyone's memory

For over 25 years,
Blanche remained in a attic dungeon
Tied to her bed
Waiting for her LOVE
To LOVE, to be LOVED by JAMES
But her mother Madam Louise,
And her brother Marcel
With their two servants
No one helped her to be FREE

Blanched was chained in a dark attic room
She was accompanied by rats and lice
Day after day
Living in dirt and darkness
Alone, isolated, in solitude
Blanche became insane
Drown in her own tears and
In company of
Rats, bugs and pests...
And rotten odor

Rumors say that it was one of the female servants
Who slipped the secret of
Monnier Estate's beautiful daughter Blanche
To her boyfriend
Who immediately wrote a letter to
The Attorney General

In 1901,
Attorney General of Paris
Received an anonymous note
Handwritten and unsigned

The content were disturbing
And The Attorney General
Sent his police team to investigate
The Police arrived to search Monnier Estate

At first,
Police couldn't find anything unusual
Until they came across strange odor
Coming from upper floors

When the Police went upstairs
Madam Louise Monnier sat
On the ground floor living hall
Calmly reading a book

When the Police approached
The attic room
From where the odor was coming
They saw that the room was padlocked

Realizing something amiss
Police smashed the lock and
Broke open the room

The horrors lay within

A pitch dark room
With only one window
Shut closed with black curtains

The stench of room was so over whelming
That immediately the window was broke open

With the light coming in
The police realized that the bad odor
Was because of rotting food
That littered all over the floor

And in a corner - there was a bed
Where an emaciated women was chained

She was our Blanche Monnier
Fifty years old now
Tied to the bed
It was over two decades
She had not even seen the sun
And she had lived
In her own excrements

That beauty of youth
That youthful LOVELY being
A divine, kind, pure hearted girl
Did not even resembled like a human

She was naked
Chained like animals to the bed
Lying on a straw mattress

She was completely
Frightened and delirious

She weighed just 50 pounds (22 kilograms)

Police covered Blanche in a white sheet
And took her to the hospital
Madam Louise Monnier - and Marcel were arrested
For this atrocious inhumane crime
Of imprisoning and treating Blanche
So badly
For what? -
for a natural act of LOVING

"We can not even comprehend
What a LOVER goes through
When subjected to such punishments"

Blanche was horrendously malnourished
In hospital she was lucid to be rescued and freed
She exclaimed...
"How lovely it is to breathe the fresh air"

When she was informed about James
She could not even remember
The reason for her current state -
Was "LOVE"
Her eyes were hollow, her face was blank

There was public out-cry all over France
It was loud and clear
Public out-raged was brimming
They wanted the mother and brother punished

And Madam Louise Monnier -
Who was seventy years old then
suffering from heart disease
Could not take the shock
Of such societal backlash
For the horrible crime she committed

It is accounted that
Madam Louise Monnier
Died in police custody
15 days after Blanche's rescue
Police say -
Probably of a heart attack

Brother Marcel was imprisoned for 15 months
He confessed of
Not being directly part of the crime
But just acting under pressure of his mother

The whole blame was put on Madam Louise Monnier
Brother Marcel was considered only an accomplice
And thus when Marcel pleaded innocent and sought pardon
He was acquitted and set FREE
Such were the laws of those days

Our LOVER - Blanche Monnier
Had suffered greatly
The mental trauma
Of LOVE longing had
Lasting psychological damage

There after
Blanche lived in a French Sanitarium
Till she died in 1913
Twelve year after she was liberated

People say - that at times
The nursing staff used to hear Blanche
Sing the songs of LOVE

And they used to see Blanche
Talking LOVINGLY with a non-existing person
Most probably that person was "James"
The man she LOVED more than her life

Thus is remembered
The story of Blanche's LOVE

She suffered but never relented
To her mother's wishes
"To forget her LOVER James"

It was impossible to survive for 25 years
Without proper food, light, sun, or any human company
In that tiny dark dungeon attic
But Blanche did miraculously survive
With the hope that one day
She will be FREE
She will meet James
And she will LOVE James
And she will say to James
"My Jamie, see I did truly LOVE YOU"

That's the power of TRUE LOVE

What's so illegal about wanting to marry?
What's so illegal about not wanting that weight to carry?
What's so illegal about inhaling the pain away?
What's so illegal about not living another day?

Our choice, our freedoms, once all in the same.
Now apposed by laws and wars and the Government's games.
War on drugs, anti-gay marriage,
No more abortions might as well lead to "accidental" miscarriage.

Suicides and trespassers both shot in the head,
Hacking games and fake identities, you might as well be dead.
Everything we fear the pessimists then "amend"
Pretending to be gods as if their hands are to be a lend.

What happened to the world when freedom was a lifetime?
Not where fat bellowing rich men made ruling us their pastime.
A rebellion is out of the question,
For people are afraid of more oppression.

Somehow comfortable in homes where brains lie with matrix,
Merely made up of fools who are not creative.
Sick of living in these countries of lies,
Freedom is all I ask but it is what others despise.

What's so illegal about being free?
What's so illegal about being me?

“Opposites attract”
Now there is a cute term that
Was first deemed by someone who
Was not apposed to attractiveness, but
Was also the opposite of it.
Cute, aint it?

I'm not afraid to say that I am not afraid,
but I think we're lost and it's unsettling.
And I'm not afraid to say I love you to my friends,
and that we like drugs.

If I don't find a perfect job and buy a perfect house
will I meet the standards?

We'll  I'm not afraid of being poor and hungry.
I'm afraid of being Fake, and filled with Hate.
And I'm not afraid to say I'm sick of ***
and the way it makes me think.

Because the worst war is in my head
And the first step would be keeping to myself
But the worst part is in my bed.
when I get anxious I can't sleep..
So can we go
and waste some time

I'm not afraid of being put down
I like the way I live and the way I dress.
And I'm not ashamed
I spent those checks on gas and whiskey
and cigarettes.

If don't purchase trendy clothes and I don't bother lifting
Am I still a man?

Well, I'm not afraid to say that superficial people make me
sick.
I want no part of it.
And I'm not apposed to hearing
things you have to say
but I get mad.

Because the worst war is in my head

I'm not afraid to say that I am not afraid
but I'm ******* Scared.
Because all our time is spent with technologies instead of Love,
and Loving life.
I'm not afraid to help you see, but I wouldn't Know.
Because if I say we're slaves to phones and Facebook,
I know that you'll go home,
and you'll waste your time on it.

"Life's not fair" you used to say.
I told you that life isn't fair for anyone which is what makes it fair for everyone.
I wondered if my words had reached you, if you saw anything past the horizon, why you read so many books.
I wanted you to go outside and play, to cause some trouble, to kiss a boy or two. Instead you locked yourself inside a world of solitude where your only friends were the characters of the tales you weaved in your head as you read.
You had tossed away many of my expectations, my hopes, of fathering a girl. You gave me no boys to intimidate, possibly to scare away. I never once had to wait for you past midnight, after hearing you sneak away. How I yearned to help you pick out your dress for each or one of your school dances. I would see you draped in a black scarlet silk, shoulders and back exposed enough to tease any young mans heart, yet only slightly. Mid back would suffice. The dress would hover inches away from your ankles, and this is where my influence may have been involved for I never once saw you wear high heels, anywhere, to my joy. I wouldn't have apposed ***, but I'd let you know just what your mother went through having you. I'd tell you how she smiled before she died, exhausted, saying without speaking a word, it was worth it. But only when you're ready. I wanted to explain condoms, embarrass you with a banana, but these things somehow you already knew.
I don't blame you for being you, my dear, no. I just always had an image in my head, that you erased and redrew. I've grown up believing every experience is a lesson, every person a teacher, and every star another reason to love. How I loved watching you grow, even though I always wished for you to experience, something, more. I'm sorry I wasn't the father I had imagined I'd be. I just, had never experienced such loss. Your mother, without realizing it until she was gone, was my life. I adored her beyond reason. You look just like your mother as you read. When I would pass your room, seeing you in the crook of your window reading whatever book you were reading, it was as if I were looking back in time. Another gift you gave me without ever knowing it.
I hadn't meant to be so silent, so distant. Is that how you learned to keep to yourself, was it so easy not to laugh? You were always quiet as a baby. I can't remember what your cries sounded like, they were few to never in between. Perhaps we taught each other, yet your eyes were always filled with age. How you knew without knowing, scarred me. You frightened me child. I felt but a boy in your presence.
A worthless father, I know, intimidated by his own child.
But how I have always loved you, how I love you still.
How I wish I could tell you, just once, before you left me like your mother.
Do the dead listen when the living speak?
Is it worth hearing the cries of an old man broken once too many times?
Darling, tell your mother hi for me, tell your mother, I'm sorry.

Is it true that nowadays the value of a man is in how many women he ***** on a daily basis?
Is it true that nerdy is only good when it’s a vulnerable female rather than a young boy trying to actually get somewhere in his life?
Is it true that women consider themselves ******* and that being a “lady” is simply for the old or stuck up hoes?
Excuse my vulgarity.
Is it true that if I were to back into, *******, and ******* on you, you wouldn’t mind? Hell, it’s a dance, relax.
Is it true that if I were to come to you as a true gentleman, opening doors and kissing on your hand rather than trying to **** your face off in the first 15 minutes, you’ll deny me, not because I’m not a good guy, but because that style is dead?
Is it just me, or am I holding on to a time of the dead? Is it just me or are we in a time of complete confusion?
Is it true that If I were to show you intimacy and go deeper to showing feelings of actual love, you’d simply consider me a boyfriend and not actually a counterpart?
Where did it go? What happened to the times when a love was formed and built rather than packaged and given easily? What happened to the times when you’d say “girlfriend” and think of love and consideration rather than just the title itself? What happened to actually loving your counterpart as apposed to simply having them around you?

You don’t see what I see,
Is your perception of the world the same?
To how I see.

Contrary of what you see, I feel.

And my feeling towards you empties as I echo the recollections of you, of the nothingness I feel now Apposed to how I felt then.
Or did I ever feel what I thought. I think I will know when I truly feel.

If months were steps, I would walk back down, never to choose that route again.

I finally got front row nosebleed seats,
I looked at you like a blind man seeing for the first time, and you look like the rest of my life,
My heart became a macaw in a canary cage as I envisaged little red ticks marked all over your skin,
You blew smoke rings like halos from your lips, you made death look beautiful as they burnt umber through my lungs as I inhaled, and I inhaled a lot of you,
Every strand of my hair became a kite string,
My ribs wore my skin a size too small that day,
There are some things in life that are so beautiful they hurt,
It hurt when I looked at you, and it hurt when I didn't. But my heart still became a runway.
A flash. This all happened within the first ten seconds of meeting you, after your very first words to me;  them being; "oh ****."
I didn't know entirely how to take that, but I always liked making an impression, and if; "oh ****" was it, then i'd take anything.
You made me stand in the very middle of the haunted hollow tree, although i'd already picked up on how beautifully you filled spaces.
You had your suspicions about the supernatural but,
Your hands and heart are made of all things we have trouble believing,
Like an ocean, you had the waves and I was a girl again, terrified of swimming,
We sat before the sea for hours, watching the clocks dance around us until time became nothing but the rise and fall of our heartbeats.
Feeling you near me, as apposed to any other woman before was the difference in being drunk and being sober, women like you slay anything ordinary.
You quickly became everything I saw, everything I did and everything I felt.
Whenever you tell me you had difficulty with words, to make sense of what's inside of you, words are just tiny winds with sounds of different arrangements, and even if you are never able to find the right ones, know this; you have and always will make sense to me.
I want to press you, not in a book, but against me, imprint the lines of your fingertips on my ******* like maps of Atlantis, because I want to go places with you that I never knew existed.
I want your nails engraved on my back like train tracks, so I can always find my way back to now, to then. Red arrows pointing North, South, East and West. Forever leading me to the auroras beneath our eyelids.
I keep wishing on your eyelashes, hoping they'll fall as fast as I do.
Push your nose against mine one more time before I leave to my own bed, how you wait for me to get my key in the door before you even dream of driving away.
Little do you know, you are home, I never knew I could feel homesick from a person too.
How I wish I could carry on the kiss from your car door, to my room, where our waists crash together so hard the earth spins off its axis. Pressing my lips onto yours like the little red button in the presidents office, the one that puts an end to everything.
Escaping to a world where I can use the wool from my eyes to knit me a telescope to see the stars between your thighs.
You're the one I think of when I stand on a mountain, before the open sea, when I look to the sky, and when I nuzzle my face into my pillow at night.
One day we won't have a twenty year olds legs, or a ten year old heart,
My eggs are all in one basket, that's true, but I wouldn't have it any other way,
I could drown myself in cups of coffee, in nicotine, old books, and whiskey.
But that won't make me crave you any less.
I could immerse myself in the deepest of enthralling literature, poems, a sea of colloquy,
Waves, strangling the current of my mind.
But you'd still be the resonant word.
I could listen to the sweetest of voices on repeat, golden like honey, sticky,
But my ears would only ever truly answer to yours.
This may well destroy me,
But you know what?
I am entirely,
Completely,
Magnificently,
Alright
With that.

I sought out just what I've become

Numb to trepidation, apposed to emotions
I choke on sensations, opening to oceans
Of blood soaked remnants I can't fathom
Begin to comprehend, or otherwise justify
To myself

And It's square on my shoulders

If I like it or not

Sating my lust for life, finding out how
To revel in spite, in spite of myself, honestly
Grating, the thoughts that haunt me through
Sleepless hours and all the mindless rambling I do
To myself

I wanted to change, and I did

I did change

Bought at the current rate
Life condensed to a price
I wanted everyone to pay
Besides me. Never me

I thought it free, until someone came around with
The promise that they'd take it all away

Breaking ground, like the words I said
What I say in my day to day
Breaking ground, foray into something
I'd call a grave mistake

Try to justify it, screaming at the sky
Trying hard to hide what I swear I left behind
Blame it on society. A scapegoat that never falters
Hurdles that I prayed would change, and yet
They never falter
So, I blame it on you, and then you blame it on me

I blame it on myself

...

I blame myself.

What it always comes down to

And I turned into what I had always planned to turn into
Go figure.

Pain is considered an enemy
One we should all avoid
( Physical, mental or emotional ).
Yet in doing so you call for man to avoid pain by walking towards its opposite . Pleasure .
A generation founded on pleasure will often reflect shallowness and little to no self control  .
Why then is pain an enemy ?
Perhaps it seems that pain is the precursor to knowledge.  For in everything, we learn most through pain . Even the seed screams as it bursts open .
The muscle grows only after tearing .
The mind expands only after the destruction of old misconceptions.
Perhaps it is not pain that is the enemy .
But knowledge.  
To create a society of ignorance .
It takes pain to see passed this ignorance.  So the question becomes . What is pain to you ?
An enemy .
Or respected opportunity.
Holding meaning as apposed to loss.
Strength as apposed to weakness.
And compassion as apposed to fear.
How can you know that pain is the path to betterment if you avoid the path of pain in its entirety .
Choose your paths not by what you are told  .
But by what is right and gives to you
(beneficial) .

Unfolding and revealing
Each costly word still staining

Apposed to sweet sustaining

It feels me as it sinks in
The deeper grows this feeling
What do I bleed
Will I live

In this pain
I know
I needed

It's a strange thing to notice.
Youve known me for more than just awhile now but still know very little about me.  

You have not seen the inside of my mind
When the only thing that gives me the slightest satisfaction
Is the thought of the world without me.
But that would mean you'd be without me.
Well, I'd be without you..

Its just that
I'm a mess and I don't know how to fix myself.
Since meeting you I've began wishing for more time
Apposed to wanting less.

I fell asleep at 3:24am whispering things  only the sun knows now.
I told the man on the moon about you. I hope he's good at keeping secrets.

She was a skeleton inside a snakeskin canvas;
the smoothest of hands to hold it’s madness.

She punctured the cliffs edge
but she wouldn’t meet the venom;
too dull, too grey,
pull at the tendons and never see heaven.

Did the momentum fade with the rain, was the rain golden?
Was it frigid, did everything stand still or was it fallen?

The more I reap the details in which mystery was apposed
the more I sew the waves with my narrative and dizzy words.

I picture a youth in my arms; squirmed in me and yanked out.
I’m too much of a charcoal cloud,
raw, cold yet loud.

Maybe it’s me above the harbour,
I’m curdling on the brink
like pale suns in vintage skies;
there’s nothing else to live for.

She bathes below the faucet of the sea and takes in discolouration.
When the windscreen wipers stop, breathing stops in full acceleration.

Politics,
a waste of what is left and what is time?

a construct?
the ultimatum?
destination?
a selfie of a self destruct?

****** if I know
but
I care even less


Banks.

if it's a mess that we're in
let them
deal with it,

I'm off and into the wide blue
you
city boys
can poke your *** toys
up yer arses.

horses for courses
where water once flowed.

hey
as opposed to hay
(or it could be apposed
I suppose)
which is a crop,
stop rambling John and
get on with it.

Politics,

Labour?
what labour do they know?
the working class did not pass go
the light's have always been on red,
vote?
you might as well smoke blue fin,
which is packed in a tin can
by robots and
not by the working man,

The kiss my *** system
and the men
who rule the ruling class
would never have
the dream when
all
men are equal

that'd be their nightmare.

Some people say talking stuff out works to be honest not really when you have to sit every day with a tear in your heart, when every moment you have alone that's all that fills your mind, it makes you cold, it makes you unhappy it makes you furious and you cry. Then you tell yourself that yeah I believe in him/her and they'll change. Truth is that believing they'll change is 50/50 because every time we look at that person we just feel to break down and cry, like over and over, and you keep saying to yourselves  that how you say such things like "you love me" and this has me not trusting you, not believing you and accepting anything good that comes out of your mouth anymore. Then we smile it away, this ******* HURTS everyday.

Pain doesn't rhyme.

We try to hide it, and it's not that we want to let go, it's just that you placed so much trust in this one person, that you apposed your siblings, your parents, your friends and anyone else who speak bad about them. You gave them a place you never wanted to give anyone else, you shared things you never wanted to share, you cried in front of them, smiled, laughed and sometimes just ain't do ****. And it all just breaks apart after all this time why should I trust you again, will you change, are you lying or will you be honest, FULLY honest, what are your choices now, what will you do to regain. It's hard for either man or woman, it emotionally, spiritually, physically, mentally breaks you in pieces.

Pain doesn't rhyme.

Even when you reach that point where everything is back on a level of faithfulness, commitment, loyalty and true love, that tear remains, that hurt remains, and your heart tells you fix it with that same person. So we will get to pass it someday. I'm getting pass it, some day.
Help me please, help mend the tear you create.

That word, juxtapose.
Oozes from your lips,
Like lava flows.
Or melting snows.
Yet usually, it is supposed,
to show contrast in those,
that are apposed!