Daily Archives: February 5, 2012

Sunday Shortie: Liar’s Dance


This post is the first Sunday Morning Shortie. I’m slightly long-winded, something I did not know about myself which, surprise!  is this Sunday’s theme. So just some quick thoughts, typed out fast, minimal editing.

The anti-husband said I was the stupidest smart person he ever met. About that, he was correct. When I walked out, I was ignorant in a whole bunch of ways.

I didn’t know I could get along with others.

The anti-husband said the conflict in the home was my fault. He said I provoked him and the children and this explained why my friendships didn’t last. Today I live in peace. The only break in that peace comes when something triggers a memory of his wicked ways and then the conflict is internal. Oddly enough, I play well with others after all.

He was wrong.

I didn’t know I could live under the same roof with a bunch of people in peace.

One full year without a raised voice, without an argument, without a single conflict. We talk about things and shrug our shoulders over differences. We respect each other’s boundaries. If someone has a rough day, we make cups of tea and sit on the porch. If someone needs privacy, the roommate sits on the sofa and plays Bejeweled. I did not know this was possible.The major difference? The beast no longer rages through my home.

He said the tension in our home was all my fault.

He was wrong.

I didn’t know I could sing.

For years, when I tried to sing along with the radio, the anti-husband said the sound made his ears bleed. He mocked my efforts, rolled his eyes, howled like a dog until I shut up. Not metaphorical howling, literal howling to drown out the sound of my voice. Once I left, I remembered singing solos in the church choir thirty years before.

I may not be trained, but I do not cause small children to cry.

He was wrong.

I didn’t know I liked poetry.

The anti-husband mocked poets.  I stayed away out of self preservation. To a predator, hysterical sobbing indicates weakness inviting an attack. Good poetry reaches through the intellect and speaks directly to the soul through emotional connection. Feelings are a luxury you don’t indulge when it takes all your energy to keep your soul in one piece.

The beast hated poetry. He said I didn’t like it either.

He was wrong.

I sure didn’t know I could write poetry.

Once those feelings roared back, I needed an outlet. God spoke to me through a lovely older woman in a poetry class so I tried a few lines. In five months, I wrote eighty-three poems. The next time I saw this saint, I showed her a few and we cried together. Today, they are my secret, an act of worship I share with my Creator.

The beast never discouraged me from writing poetry because never in a million years would I let him close enough to find out. More than likely, it never crossed his mind I would attempt such a thing.

He was wrong.

I didn’t know I had things to say.

For years, I didn’t know the truth, so how could I say anything? Once the confusion began to lift, I wanted to throttle him. How could I talk when everything came out in a torrent of word vomit?

Today is a better day than yesterday. I’m learning the power in sharing our stories to see the captives set free. I am loud. I remember how to laugh.

The beast badgered me into silence. He stole my voice. He thought I’d cover for him to save myself, keep silent to cover the shameful things.

But boy. . . was he ever wrong.