If Fear Wasn’t A Factor

If fear wasn’t a factor, I’d run to him. I’d love him—best I know how (that’s fear being a factor).

I’d bring him comfort and solace—if he’d take it (that’s fear speaking too).

Fear, you need to have several seats.

From my current point of view, I like him; his kindness wisdom quirkiness and humor.

Funny I never thought of returning to him—just thought us to be old flames with no embers smoldering.

Since his status change and he reached out to me, I’m seriously considering him.

Fear speaketh: What makes you think he wants you?

Fear, I asked you nicely to have several seats !

Well, as you can see, fear is a factor here. I need God’s guidance.

Long ago, I fearfully ran into someones space, not his arms, to rescue me from my torment. I put my own selfish desire first—to be comforted without giving comfort or love.

Got hitched.

Was miserable.

God wasn’t key; we were barely speaking.

I wanted what I wanted and it ended as a hot mess. Broken-hearted people scattered all over the lawn with rings, a name change, and papers.

Ten years out and I hope I’m wiser. I’ve learned the hard way that you can unwisely put yourself in the midst of something you can’t sustain. Or, you can seek wise counsel to live your dreams with fear not being a real factor at all.

I‘m choosing to be fearless this time by…

… seeking wise-counsel and walking in it.

… giving love as well as receiving it.

… being on speaking terms with God about his promises for me—yes and amen.

Fear, you are not a factor.

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Sucker Punched

Why are the young so happy?

Full of optimism
Full of glee

Nothing’s too big for their imagination

Anything’s possible

Then LIFE strikes…

One stumble: “Oh I’m good. Just a slight misstep. I got this.”

One stumble turns into years of pileup.

Your light dims.

Sucker-punch after sucker-punch.

Bitterness & apathy are no longer weekend guests; they’ve become unwanted tenants.

Folks start peddling you all kinds of sworn tested & true remedies in the name of “help you feel better”.

Thing is, they only work for so long before you just shrivel up and die while still wide awake…

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Max Ginsburg, Artists 

Plaything 

ART: PAUL CHATEM, DEVIL’S PLAYTHING

She purchased me—like I am a hooker or something. Supposedly, she needed me—instead she hid me away, out of sight out of mind. Occasionally, she glances at me when she is nearby—toying with me like I am her plaything. Even though I am available for her, she goes to someone else instead of thinking about me. 

Sometimes desperation causes her to grab me, loosen me, and pour me over her cushiony friend. After I satisfy her sweet spot, she is content—casting me aside once again. I return to my isolated dark place longing for her return. I know I behave foolishly by acquiescing to the way she uses me. She willingly, openly, and freely allows her friends to pass me around tending to their little dirty deeds.

These acts leave me humiliated—feeling so cheap, and filthy. Her constant neglect and disrespect frustrate me—rendering me helpless because I am in her possession. However, I wait in desperation for her return to me.

Signed,

Her Nail Polish Remover

Nesi Writes