Unseen Reality Ch.1

chrysminter

I had finally made it, graduation day had come at last. I was accepted to UNCC to pursue a degree in creative writing. The program’s I was interested in was a toss up between writing and computer technology for video game development. Excitement  swelled within me to the point that I was crying.

A knock at the door brought me back to reality. My best friend Alaina breezed through the door all smiles carrying a bouquet of tiger lilies which happen to be my most favorite flowers in the entire universe besides the lotus flower. “Congratulations Bestie!” She screamed with so much energy that I had to ground myself for the impact. “Thanks Alaina, for a while with all the drama with my parents I didn’t think I would make it.” I sat down on my futon looking off into space. Alaina walked over standing in front of me, taking my…

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Frustration

Head in my hands,

I have lain.

Frustration rules my brain.

Doubts rearing,

Words written

With no readers opinions

To reach and sway.

 

Crippling doubt

Searing the mind,

Taking the muse

Leaving only frustration behind.

 

The pen a sword,

With a double edge so keen.

Severing the need,

Laying the heart so bare.

 

Spirituality Healed Me Of Anxiety

chrysminter

Written by Chrys Minter

I was out visiting a lady who was sick and shut in. I was in training by ministering with the first lady of a church I was attending I was learning how to pray for healing of those who were sick and facing illness. All of a sudden my heart started fluttering, I became completely flushed and I was really scared. I was totally outdone due to the fact that I had some type of episode in front of other people. My First Lady and her daughter were there at the time. At that point I didn’t know how to respond. They both helped me to breathe and calm down so the attack wouldn’t get any worse.

I wasn’t sure what was going on, but my first lady did. She told me I was experiencing an anxiety attack. She asked me if I had ever had…

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No voice 

Power stolen,Silence woven.

No voice left 

To the soul broken. 

Humanity removed, 

Difference exposed. 
Protesting the darkness 

For sake of grasping the light,

Only to find the soul

Just too weary to fight.
A voice stolen completely away 

Left by society silent today. 

For though I speak clearly, 

There is no one to hear me.

Untitled From Word Play 

Sleep sweet child, For day is done.

Rest your body

Before another 

Is begun. 
Calm your mind, 

And enjoy your dreams. 

Let all your worry

Cease and leave. 
All your troubles 

Be gone and done.

Close those eyes, 

My sweet little one.
When with the morrow, 

That sun does rise.

Raise your head,

And open your eyes. 
Explore a world 

So fresh, so new,

Explore the world.

It’s there for you.

Aesthetic ideals 

Each person views aesthetic beauty differently. As a writer I tend to struggle with the concept. Physical beauty has a different description depending on the narrator. So describing a character with a flair in many ways requires a narrator who is fleshed out and real in the writer’s mind. The narrator’s voice will also affect the character’s beauty. For example, if the narrator speaks of a woman “Her mouse colored hair hung limply over dull eyes of chocolate brown.. ” most will see her as unattractive.  However,  if the narrator instead says “Her lovely mouse brown hair sheilded her large chocolate eyes,  which were dulled with pain.” we feel an attraction to the character. 

So when writing one must keep the voice of the story in mind. We writers often see our characters as children,  and thusly love them all. My issue is that i am inclined towards gorgeous villains. I usually like to believe that most great villains have a backstory that explains why they are. The readers often do not get to read the villain’s story. Perhaps that’s why we judge beauty so harshly….because we see only part of the tale.

Perspective unique

                                                         I have been learning a lot about who I am and who I have been simply by talking to my twelve year old daughter.  She sees things in a very straight forward way. She asks questions about life and especially about the parts of human nature that often confuses her. Her questions are occasionally embarrassing and often thought provoking. For years I fumbled through life because I was more worried about how people saw me or the way people would react to me to allow myself the freedom of being completely comfortable in my own skin. I kept my secrets; My religion,  my sexuality,  my survival to myself. 

                                                        Part of the reason was because I was afraid. I spoke of my abuse. I was called a liar. I was told I was crazy. A heart can only handle so many blows before it closes itself off. Then as I grew older,  I found that I cared less. I surrounded myself with supporters who didn’t care about those things which seemed so bad before. That helped.  

                                                                                           I lost the innocence my daughter has too soon. I grew cynical because I needed a defense. I still clung to my desires to be a dreamer, even as I lived in a world made of nightmares. I used the ability to read to bury myself in places where the pain was not mine. I used the ability to write to speak with impunity my fear and struggle.  After all, my poems didn’t have to be what I was.  At twelve,  I tried to run away from home for the second time.  For my daughter,  home is where she is certain of the fact that she is loved.  I am proud of that fact. She still has many of the issues I had in dealing with her peers. She is very mature for her age, so she doesn’t understand conversation topics that amuse them. Also she has the same lack of filter I do. If it is on her mind, she speaks it. Yet for all that we are alike,  her mind is far quicker than mine.  She has a  brilliant sense of humor and more self confidence than I ever did.