"Hope's Walk" I am here alone to the dark of a desolate beaten path, often traveled and packed by the weary tread of wayward soles. The path of heartbreak, the path of shame, a path so broken not cared to name. Time a wisp to lapse, pain no stranger to drive me through memories looked upon as wasted endeavors. Memories that do bring joy that fades to strife, and comfort that bleeds into remorse. I'm shut out and shut off from the world around me, portals closed and electric off, I peer through the darkness to shout against a storm of internal anguish. My soul a blackened lit candle suffering a tumultuous gale of doubt and ridicule. I strive to yield not to the hurricane of depression derived from what is and what may be. I struggle to lift myself from the well of the fallen to set my mind free, free from the torment, from the turbulent turmoil that festers within me. Faith, I keep, in me, my spirit, my light within. I will walk this weight weathered path that stretches before me, ever optimistic that my second chance will find me... or I... find my second chance. (Image courtesy of www.freepik.com)
The mind can be a wild rollercoaster into a whole new world that connects you through these wiggly bloody wires in our heads. You never know when one will dry up and set you free into a semi-normal life, for me life was beyond that. Growing up in an unpredictable environment with a mother who had many loose wires that connected to who knows where. I am even surprised I called her mother; she was more of a mental case than she was. We will go into more into that later, don't want to spoil it. To let you all, know, the only way to take a peek into my life you will have to ride my mind wires to see behind these odd eyes. I was only seven years old; I wrote my first poem and boy was I so proud. I knew my mom loved yellow roses and I wrote her a poem about her favorite rose. I give her credit she did read it but only laughed in my face telling me it wasn't any good. In my eyes, tears slowly streamed as I watched her rip it up like it meant nothing which it hadn't. At that age, I didn't know how to take in her actions so I wrote in secret. In dark places where I couldn't be found like in the corner of my closet letting words take over my mind. After a while, I didn't live in reality. I started blocking out my mother's abuse that is being physical or verbal. I just stopped caring and made friends with those voices that lay dormant within my mind. I eventually started seeing sounds, yeah how nuts is that? I think this is the start of me becoming mental. I mean be very quiet, can you hear them through your eyes? Tick Tock Tick Tock oh yeah and tick-tock the sounds of an antique clock that never did exist. Well for me it hung on my wall as bright as the sun in the sky. Dancing to the moving hands of the clock ticking and tocking in my mind. Okay the sounds of well pure nothing, my mind is a mess as you can read. I think it is time for my white padded mental room that has just one little window with a door of no knobs. How pathetic is it to have a window and you can't even get up to look out? Here I thought I was nuts but guess what I am headed that way. I am in this jacket that I call home that ties my wrist with white clothed chains holding me down. You see I make up my clocks of sound when there is absolutely nothing for my eyes to take in. I still can make music you know through dancing words. Oh, man! Here comes the nightmare called my mother that woke me from my sleepy time mind. “Where the hell were you? You are so lazy, why are you even mine you worthless little monster?” Screams my mother in my face. By this time, I could care less, “ Well I was dreaming of ways to get rid of you in my mind because well you are nothing mommy.” Yeah, you guessed it I got the hit of my life but the tears are dried like a river in a desert. Only sands of blood fall from these eyes of mine. The looks my mother gives, makes me laugh as she plots to break me. Hmm, wonder who is breaking who? The best days of my life were when she was gone, I lived more in my freaky mental mind maze. At least there the bruises never would happen upon my face. “Oh Wait! Do you hear this? That ticking in my ears for crying out loud does it ever stop! When will the batteries in my life just fricken stop?” Yes, the batteries keep going and yeah, I do lose it from time to time almost like a spider with no legs trying to make a run for it. I think I am sick; my eyes actually grimace and start smirking at this thought. This just proves I am just not right in the mind but that Is what I get for having my parents of mine. I know everyone says “I don't have to be who my parents were. I can break the cycle of the abuse.” I think about this but I know I couldn't write up these messed-up mistakes. I blame my mother for my mental freak mind that loves to come out and surprise me. If you could only live in my white padded room with just one peek-hole window with a door with no knobs, you just might think this world of insanity isn't all it is quacked up to be. “ Oh no, here my mind is getting away from me. I am scratching my head, well darn how in the world can I scratch my head when I am tied up in sharp white-clothed chains? Holding me back from ripping every little strand of hair off my psycho head. What in the world is wrong with me? Oh, shush, be very quiet. They're right outside my door talking but I do not know what they say.” The funny part is they tell me I am not insane. I often wonder where do these docs get their medical degrees. I know it and you all know it by now I am not all that I appear to be. You can say my mother put me here by not listening to me. In her eyes, I was the devil in disguise. I wasn't stupid to fall for her chemical imbalance mental lies. My mother had a way to make people think she was the heavenly angel when behind these doors she was just as mad as me. Knock knock, you are supposed to ask who is there? the mental house freak who left your world mysteriously cold.
Kelonie Utley began writing poetry as a way to deal with her experiences of bullying and abuse. Now, with her unique blend of gothic horror and stark reality, she brings together a collection of poems on themes of heartbreak, pain, loss, and suffering. Yet within this pandora's box of verse, there lies the ever-present spark of hope. Moments of light break through the darkness. There is always the chance to break free.
The Black and White Challenge also known as #Challengeaccepted began in Turkey to raise awareness against femicide there. It started after the brutal murder of a student by her ex-boyfriend. The Turkish women, frustrated by the unchecked femicide rate and seeing a picture of a victim almost daily. Through this movement, they tried to make a point that it could be them or their dear one next. When I read the posts of some supporters of this movement, I was not untouched by their anger and frustration. I had to pen down my thoughts and share Black and White Pictures What is to be said of cold cruel deaths How do you explain when all that remains is news in papers Black and white pictures of girls who weren't safe but still unafraid Who did things their way and dared disobey If you're a woman then it's a challenge #blackandwhitechallenge #humawrites #silkenscribblings
Excited to announce that I have been invited to do a poetry reading at The Alan Paton Literary Festival, being hosted at Eden Lassie, in the beautiful Tala Valley 🙏🌹 Come and get Lost in a Quatrain with me on Saturday the 7th March 2020 from 15h00-15h30 I will be reading poetry from my book as well as some new, unpublished poems Love to see you there 💖 💖#AdielaAkoo
Today, I read a small introduction to a webinar I am taking through Friesen Press and it told me that I am an Authorpreneur. The term is very unique to me and it made me feel like my life long writing career has become just that, a legitimized career. I have been an Entrepreneur since the age of four with my first lemonade stand out side my parents house. I've always known I was a business minded person and today my writing career has really solidified it's position in my life. I am so overjoyed because the job part finally feels real and to be so open to the world is such an amazing and overwhelming feeling. I am humbled by this new experience. This is truly an amazing moment. In the next post, I'll have some examples of my work for You. My exciting novel "Viktor, Into the Light" will be coming out in the summer of 2020 and my Thanks goes to Friesen Press for making this lifelong dream come true. Viktor, called an "epic" good versus evil story by Friesen Press excites me to tell you about it. He's sexy and moral. He discovers a few things about his family and longs for one of his own. Look for it in the Friesen Press bookstore or eBooks and give a copy to your staff, friends, mother, sister, or your aunties. Viktor is a satisfying read for anyone 14+. Well, I'll post some examples of my work for you now. See you in the next post. Julie Ann
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