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    poetry


    --Elite Writer
    Alias: mysteryed
    Name: Edward Jones
    ASL: 44/male/california/usa
    Website:[ Education ]
    Days Away: 5267
    Life Story: tramatic
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    Signup Date: 5691 D
    15.59 Years 1.56 Decades
    189.7 Months 813 Weeks
    5.691000e+8 Heart Beats
    -There you go eggman
    Quote:
    its not a good life, but its the only one I have.

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    A MOTHERS TOUCH



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    Journal: who am I
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: Depressed
      




    To start with, I was an unwanted child, my mother only took me because she didnít want my father to have me, we moved a lot when I was young, at first I didnít know why, but I do now, it was to keep my father, and my sisters from finding us, my mother was one of those women who should have never had children, in my 44 years of life I do not recall her ever telling me she loved me, or holding me when I was hurt, or even give me a word of encouragement, my fondest memories of her are when we would smoke marijuana, she would laugh, and I would do anything I could to amuse her, to try and keep her hatred of me in check, she didnít hate my sister, only me, when I was 12 my mothers boy friend left her, she started to get drunk a lot, she would walk around the house nude, I really didnít like her drunk, she acted strange, she would come over run her fingers through my hair and tell me hiow much I looked like my father, and tell me how handsom I was, she was always asking me to look at her when she was nude, to tell her if I thought she had a nice ass and breasts, one night she crawled in to bed with me, I cant say more then that im sorry hurt to much to talk about, but I didnít have intercourse with her, she laughed and said it was to small for4 her, I never understood that part of our lives, every time my fathers private eyes would find us, we would move, during these times I found that the beatings would get more intense, I think my mother hated men period, she used to make my sister watch as she beat me, but never once in our lives did she ever lay a hand on my sister, I speak to my sister often on the phone, she says that she is haunted by nightmares of these incidents, frightened that it would be her next being beaten by our mother, my sister turned to god for guidance, she now lives her whole life around the word of god, which isnít a bad thing if you donít let it go to far, but she is of the mind that if she prays hard enough god will do the dishes, this is what the love of our mother did to her, so you can begin to imagine what her hate has done to me, well I will start here, its as good a place as any, As a child my family owned a restaurant in oakland California, I was 13 at the time, 2 black men knocked on the door and asked if they could get a few donuts after we had closed for the day, I opened the door, I had been told many times never to open the door after we had closed, one of them pulled out a gun and dragged me into the kitchen, the other one started to beat my mother up asking for money, but there was no money, so he knocked her to the floor, and started to rip her clothes off, I tried to look away, but the one holding me hit me with the gun and told me to watch, I had to watch as he raped my mother, the one with the gun ran his hand down my chest and grabbed my groin, he bit me on the neck and squeezed hard, he then took me down the hall to the bathroom, when I looked back to the kitchen I could see the other guy still raping my mother , he was on the floor on top of her, and my mother was looking at me, she was nodding her head and had that look I have seen so many times before, she hated me, but this look had more hate in it then I had ever seen from her, if looks could kill I would have dropped dead on the spot, when we got to the bathroom he hit me on top of the head real hard with the gun and told me to suck his ####,he kept shoving it but it was to big and wouldnít fit in my mouth, so he kept hitting me with the gun and said open you mouth wider, then he said f### it have it your way, pulled me up by my hair and said to take off my pants, he put liquid soap on his p##### and pushed me over the sink, when I felt his p#### on my butt I started to fight and kick, he grabbed the hair on the back of my head and started ramming my face into the sink, very hard, I only remember hitting 3 times, the first hit was on the faucet, I could taste blood and one of my teeth and blood fell into the sink, the second hit I felt numb, I barely felt the 3rd,and then I was dreaming, I was on my bike riding down the street that I live on ,and a black car was chasing me, when I woke up I could feel him inside me I started crying ,he hit me with the gun again and says shut up , its your fault I told you to suck it and you didnít want to, he pulled my head back so I could see him in the mirror behind the sink, and told me to look at him , he wanted me to look into his eyes the whole time, when I would look away he would hit me with the gun and tell me to keep looking at him , look into my eyes he would say, I donít no why but I started counting every time he went in at 63 he pushed in as hard as he could and somehow went deeper, it felt like something was splitting in side me when I screamed he started pounding my head into the sink again, I hit 4 times but I didnít pass out I wish I would have but I didnít ,he started in and out again for 13 more times he never pushed so hard again atleast,when he was done he grabbed me by the hair and put his p#### in my mouth ,then slapped me in the face with it ,and told me to lick it clean ,there was blood and crap all over it, he kept saying oh ya that feels good lick it all over get it all .then he squeezed out a little se### and said swallow that, I was gagging and he said if you throw up my cum and well do it all over again now swallow, ya that tastes good donít it, I nodded ya,so now finish cleaning up your mess I want you to lick it all up every last bit and swallow all of it. He said if I told anyone what I did they would call me a fag, then he pointed the gun at my head and pulled the trigger, click, thatís all there was a click, then he said Ēoh ya thatís right, no bulletsď, you donít know how many times I wished there were bullets in that gun, I get mad thinking about it, there were no damn bullets in the gun, as soon as the 2 men left, my mother was calling my name, yelling for me to get in the kitchen, saying you fu##### little piece of sh## get in here, when I got there she was holding a spatula, she told me to get over here, and commenced to beating the crap out of me, she usually used a belt at home, or a hanger, but none of them ever hurt as bad as that did, afterwards she told me when the police came, to tell them that the 2 men did it to me, I was black and blue, my nose was broke, by her not them, my face was so swollen on the left side it didnít look like I had a nose, if I seem to go back and forth with things forgive me, writing this is very hard to do, I keep having bouts of crying and have to stop for a while, and its to hard to read back what I have already written, so please forgive me, I never said to any one that I had been raped, until I was 25, that was the first time I tried to kill myself, I hung myself in a jail cell after I was accused of sexually assaulting my 2nd wifeís daughter, my wife was in the army, and I was left home lone with the 3 kids, Gregory 8, Michelle 5, and Jennifer 3, well im not very good with kids, I love to play with them but I donít know enough to raise any, well Michelle wet her bed and I sent her to take a bath, I made the mistake of letting her run her own water, she fell into the tub and it was hot, she got burnt, I didnít have a car, so I called my wifeís mother to take us to the hospital, once at the hospital the dr.s said that she had been molested, and that she had told then her papa had done it to her, well the kids called me papa, and I was asked to leave the hospital, so I did, I was 70 miles from home but I started to walk, about 10 miles up the road the police pulled over and picked me up and took me to jail, I was being charged with sexual assault, of a child, when we got to the jail I couldnít handle what was going on, I wanted so bad to just die, so I took the sheets off my bed and hung myself from the bars, I was dead for about 5 minutes they said, but the EMTs were able to get my heart going again, I was sent to the state hospital for a suicide watch, when we got to court I was cleared of all charges except one, criminal negligence, which I agreed with, it was my fault she got hurt, but when the kids told the jury who had molested them, my heart broke, Michelle said that its not that papa, itís the old one, my wifeís father, when they went to his home to get him he was gone, my wife later told me that he had molested her when she was young to, but he was so old and in bad health she just couldnít turn him in at the time, I tried again right there in the court room to stick an ink pen in my neck, in total I spent 13 months in the hospital in Arkansas, 6 months before court 7 after, I divorced her and came back to California, moved back in with my mother, for 2 years I had to listen to her call me a child molester, a pedophile, innocent or not she used those words to hurt me when ever she could, its been 30 years, since the rape of me, I am 44 now, I did meth for 8 years, ive been clean for 30months now, on October 31st of 2005 I will have been off the drugs for 3 years, I have had nightmares ever since, I started to have night mares about a d### coming out of my mouth, then I started to get the feeling like my mouth wasnít clean, so one day I had all my teeth pulled out, I am sorry I did it now I look so ugly and feel so ugly, I have had serious relationships with 3 women, but they donít work for me, when I have sex I feel like im hurting them, so they all left me, ive been alone for 9 years now, I am so lonely, I have a very hard time looking in the mirror these days, I cant shave, things are getting worse, allot worse since I stopped using drugs, I sleep maybe 3 hours a night some nights not at all,im on 4 medications,200mg Zoloft, in the moring,it seems to help allot I donít cry as much since I started zoloft,30mg remeron,400mg seraquill, and depakote ,these 3 are supposed to help me sleep and stop my nightmares but they dont,dr.s keep trying different drugs and combos but nothing works, my nightmares are getting worse, 2 nights ago I dreamt I was being raped again and when he pushed real hard I could see in the mirror his p#### coming out of my mouth, I woke up throwing up on myself, ive never had a dream that bad. I have attempted suicide by hanging myself several times, I spent 13 months in the state hospital for that the 2nd time, and 9 months another time, and 7 months the last time, I used to cut and burn myself a lot, for some reason physical pain helps ease emotional pain, but I found that letting women hurt me helps even more, the first time I was hurt by a women was when I was 17, the girls name was carol, we called her cocaine carol, because she always had coke with her, she used to tie me up and whip me, and for some reason it seemed to make me feel better when she did, as time went on she would put vasoline on my back, and take a soildering iron, and write her name, or draw pictures, the vasoline she said kept the skin from coming off, but I didnít get the same feeling of releaf as I did from getting beat, I cant begin to remember all the women who have hurt me, if I would have had sex with all of them then that would really have been something to brag about, but I didnít, most of the time when I had sex, it was to have someone hold me, I very seldom ever climaxed, I think that was why I managed to get so many girls, because I lasted forever, but I always told them, afterwards you have to hold me for a while, as I grew up I would tell them I would but they had to stay the night with me, I learned a lot about women, I never went looking for them, they seemed to bring there friends to me, several times 2 or 3 would come over at once, many men would think this a fantasy, I didnít, I knew all that this ment was they were going to leave when they were done, and I would be alone after, the nehbor across the street from me, mollie shanon , everyone used to call her hot tamollie, when her husband was at work, she would come over to my house wake me up, I gave her a key, she would just jump into the bed, do her thing and leave, she knew how I felt about that but she wasnít the kind of girl to get to close to someone, so she would always bring friends over to spend the night with me, but I never once really felt like the men I see in the world, or on TV, the few friends I did have always told me how lucky I was, but I never felt that way, I always felt used, like I was some kind of thing, I guess I never really enjoyed sex much, I mean there were a few times I realaxed enough to enjoy it, but not many, except for the time I was with Francine, for 7 years I was happy, and normal as far as normal is for me, she is to this day the love of my life, and the inspiration for 2 of my poems, HEAVENS IN MY EYES, AND BEFORE, sex was good with her, always, but in the end of our relationship, something happened, I donít know what, but I started to have dreams, about having sex with men, not kissing or anything that I would call making love, just strait anal sex, and for some reason one day I did it, to this day, that was the last time I had sex, I tried to have sex with Francine but it wasnít the same I couldnít do it, shortly after she left me, ive been alone ever since, that was 9 years ago, in the last 3 weeks we have been seeing each other again, I am hoping with all my heart and soul that she will have me, but sex, it seems to make me feel sick, ever since the sex with the man, I am very defensive toward men, I cannot stand to be in a vulnerable situation with men, not even my own father can touch me without me feeling the need to get away from him, I feel disgust toward myself, I hate myself, and I no other people do to, I feel that most people think I am a pervert, and see me as weak, its like people no what happened and think I wanted it to happen, I have decided to spend the rest of my life alone if I cant be with Francine, I cant take the pain of loosing someone I love, I donít know how other people can take it, so I save myself from that pain, the emotion I feel the most is shame, I cant tell people how I feel so I stay away from them, I cant even talk to a person without feeling that I have somehow said or done the wrong thing, so I talk in rooms like this, that way know one sees me, I always think wouldnít I be better off dead, and yes I would. But if I kill myself, and as my father told me, what if there is a god, and you go to hell for killing yourself, what if your hell is to feel as you do now forever, or worse. Now my fear of dying outweighs my fear of living, my therapist has me write down what I would like people to no about me, but the page is always blank. But then thereís the things certain people need to no, and thatís what this is, you need to no. Telling in this way is easier thatís for sure, and she says that as more people no about me I will start to feel better about myself, so far not true, but she said give it time, so I just want to say that in I am sorry, if I say or do anything wrong, I didnít mean to, it also seems the older I get the more I remember from when I was younger, my earliest memory is of my stepfather Ed Hall, my mother got him to legally adopt me so my real father wouldnít be able to find us, so my name was changed to Hall, one weekend my mother was at work and Ed was watching me and my sister, he asked me if I wanted to do something cool, well I thought Ed was cool, so I said yes, he took a can of starter fluid, the kind for cars, he spayed some on a rag and grabbed me and held it over my mouth, well I passed out from it, it turns out it has either in it, every now and then he would do this, when my mother was gone, it made me feel sick afterwards, like I was going to throw up, one day I told my mother what Ed was doing, she hauled off and slapped me so hard I fell down, she pointed her finger at me, and said donít you ever mention that to anyone do you here me, we need him, who do you think owns this house, not me, I cant afford a place like this, so just keep your little mouth shut, do you here me, I just nodded yes, and never told a soul, I didnít even remember it till about 20 years ago, from then on I donít remember anything till I was about 8 years old, when my mother took me and my sister to a hotel, we met one of the customers from our restaurant there, jack holsworth, he worked for grings pest control, his face was all scared from the chemicals I guess, well my mother put me and my sister in front of the TV and told us to stay there, well my sister wanted to change the channel but I was watching a kung fu show, so she started to cry, my mother came out of the room nude, asked what was going on, my sister told her, so my mother asked me ď do you know what I am doing in there, well I did so I nodded yes, well do you think I like doing that with him? He is ugly, she said, really ugly, but I am doing this so you kids will have presents for Christmas,Ē never really liked Christmas before that, I would get broken toys or clothes, and my mother would say I broke the toys and get mad at me for it and beat me, my sister always got cool stuff, but after that year I hated Christmas, its just like with my birthday, I have kept with the family tradition, every year for my birthday I find a women to just strait beat me, till I am black and blue, those are the days I like to get beat the worst, I donít know why, I just do, I killed a man when I was 15, I didnít mean to it just happened, my mother was going to send me away to a place called SYNANON, she took me up there to look at the place, but I didnít want to go, the people, even the girls had shaved heads, it was like some cult, or some thing like it, so the day before I was supposed to go I ran away from home, we lived on 98th ave just off east 14th st. in Oakland, it was about 10;30 at night, and there were a lot of people out and I got scared, so I went down a little alleyway next to a liquor store, I was hiding behind the dumpster, when a hand grabbed my shoulder, a black hand, all I could see was the hand that held me in the bathroom, a voice said hey boy what you doing down here this time a night, I was really afraid of black people then, I could see that just past his hand there was a piece of wood there, I grabbed the wood and started to hit him as hard as I could, he just kept screaming, he fell to his butt, and tried to cover his head, but I just kept hitting him, his hands went down and he just leaned forward, I kept hitting him, when I did stop there was blood squirting out of his head, in about 7 or 8 different places, squirting like from a squirt gun, little steams of blood, I looked down at the piece of wood and noticed there were about 3 nails, big nails sticking out of the end I had been hitting him with, I heard someone scream behind me, there were 6 people standing there, a women was screaming her head off, 2 of the guys there were saying you little f###### punk, and started to come towards me, I held up the piece of wood and backed into the corner, when the police showed up I knew them, at least most of them officer Brady was there, all the police came into our restaurant for breakfast, we had the early bird cafť at 6706 san Pablo ave. thatís where the rapes happened, so I knew a lot of them, he asked me to put the stick down, I did, next thing I know I am in Napa for 13 months, while I was there I got a letter from the man I attacked, he said to not worry, and that he forgave me, and understood why I did what I did, he died 3 months later, I never felt so bad in my life as when he died, when I got out of the hospital, that was the first time I tried to kill myself, I heard, he was just a little old homeless man, I hope he made it to heaven, I still have night mares about him, except in my nightmares he keeps saying ďis that all you got, hit me harder, common YOU LITTLE WHITE BI###Ē I donít know why but those last words hurt me so bad, just thinking them or writing them and I start to shake all over for some reason, I donít know where I heard them before but I have, and to me they are the most painful thing anyone can say to me, they trigger flashbacks, not of just one thing but of many, some I donít remember, some I donít even know if they happened, but I do know there are things I still block out to this day, and I just hope they stay there, I have enough bad memories, I donít need more. Well this is the big stuff in my life, my big problems, unless you count the time my mother slit her wrists and called me into the bathroom and said that I caused her to want to do this, or the time she shot at me with a gun, or tried to cut my head off with an axe, or said it was my fault my grandmother died, or didnít even pick me up for the funeral, she told me to meet her on Pinole valley road and didnít come to get me, or how she would beat me all the time and have my sister watch, but never hit my sister once in her life, until one day I realized I liked it , that this was the only thing I would ever get from my mother and got a sick feeling from it, that was the last time my mother ever hit me, and the time I started to look for other women to do it, no I think ill stop there, I think this is enough for you to get the picture of what it is to be me, I would never wish my life on anyone, and I know there are people out there who have it worse then me, and I pray they survive, people say I am a survivor, well I am not, I have just learned to except suffering really well, I hope that someday something good will come from my life, save a child from a burning building and die saving them, or take a bullet to save another person, something that would have people say, he was a good man, instead of saying heís a freak, well thatís it for me, I could go on for days like this but I really donít want to, its to depressing to think of my life, and my eyes are really getting soar from all the crying, I donít even want to think about what is in my future, because to me it just seems like it will be like more of my past. Its taken me 2 days to write this in between the crying that just wont stop, every time I read a little to find out where I am tears start back up again, or those damn flashbacks, my problem now is being hurt by women, I feel bad for what I ask them to do to me, and im afraid ill end up on the side of the road being dumped out of a car again, with broken bones, they locked me up for 9 months for that because I asked 2 women to hurt me and when it got out of hand and I didnít stop them they dumped me in Tilden park, and I wouldnít tell the police who it was because I asked for it, I mean it was my fault it happened to me not thereís, they were lesbians and I kept calling them dirty dikes to get them to hurt me more, my therapist seems to think im trying to get someone to beat me to death, im not quite sure sheís wrong, all I do know is that being locked up in a hospital and getting tied down to a bed does not help me, and thatís all they ever do. So I go to rooms like this and talk to people, post my poems, it helps a lot, and I hope I do not offend anyone while im here, if at any point anyone feels that im am not welcome here please say so and I will leave, and I will not return, I will understand.

    People say if life gives you lemons, make lemonade, well I hate lemonade!




    ...Created 2005-09-20 11:09:39     [ View Past Journals ]

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    Featured: A MOTHERS TOUCH

     Citations of a lover scorned
    :|| V: 516 | C: 0 ||:
    :: : Class : Prose :
     To Believe, Or Not To Believe.
    :|| V: 653 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Serious : Class : Deep Thought :
     I am the Moon
    :|| V: 796 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Love : Class : Poetry :
     Nevermore :(rewriten)
    :|| V: 623 | C: 3 ||:
    ::Love : Class : Poetry :
     UNICORN SAGA (ALL 4 PARTS)
    :|| V: 645 | C: 0 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     UNICORN IN A BOX
    :|| V: 669 | C: 1 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     UNICORN IN A BAG
    :|| V: 671 | C: 4 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES
    :|| V: 846 | C: 1 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     FATHER, FATHER
    :|| V: 987 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     UNICORN IN A BOTTLE
    :|| V: 775 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     PAGING DR. TURTLE
    :|| V: 741 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     Wishing, Hoping, Praying
    :|| V: 691 | C: 3 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     PAIN FOR PAIN
    :|| V: 684 | C: 2 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     ME, MYSELF, AND I
    :|| V: 811 | C: 1 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     TO BE ME
    :|| V: 603 | C: 3 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     jailed, on ode to
    :|| V: 594 | C: 1 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Misc :
     Featured work A MOTHERS TOUCH
    :|| V: 567 | C: 3 ||:
    ::Misc : Class : Poetry :
     THE LAMB
    :|| V: 564 | C: 3 ||:
    ::The pain inside : Class : Poetry :
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