Seeking Refuge.Ameido Amevor
It was the year 1994.
I was young and wouldn’t understand the genocide and atrocities that occurred in the small, central African nation until years later. My little mind and body, however, could feel a lot more than they could understand at the time. I sensed the pain within them and wondered what could have made them both forget how to smile. Somehow, it felt familiar. BEAUTY FROM (TR)ASHESKathleen Trescony
He stepped closer.
Bottlecaps, bent nails and old wrappers made up most of the continental United States. The Pacific Ocean read Aquafina in a few places, Dasani in a few others. Southeast Asia shimmered with broken necklace chains, single earrings, and scraps of foil. Antarctica was jagged with broken glass, and Saharan Africa was covered in bits of old sandpaper. Unanswered.Anonymous Contributor
"Sometimes though, I see the painting and have no idea what it is I'm looking at yet, even though it's ready for me. "I've asked you a question, but instead of answering me, all I see are a bunch of messy brush strokes on this canvas you've handed to me... what am I supposed to do with this? " What Pain Taught MeKathleen Trescony
As a culture, I’ve noticed we’re not exactly fond of pain. Pleasure? We’re all over it. Food, travel, music - we’d much rather focus on the things that bring our souls up, not down. Let’s face it: no one Instagrams their pain. No one’s out there taking pictures of their tear-stained pillowcase like: just cried myself to sleep! #epic. I'm (No Longer) On a Boat?!
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ABOUT...Writer/ social worker/ (seriously amateur) baker out of Minneapolis, MN. Formerly broken; forever made whole. Lover of God & good stories. |