Hurting When I Write – Charlottes Art

March 25

The Back of My Mind

Here comes the night again,

Left feeling so hurt for two little girls.

Makes it hard to pretend,

I’m okay with what life sometimes unfurls.

I hold you both close in the back of my mind.

But I know it’s for naught,

Because he doesn’t play like our kind,

I am painfully familiar with the onslaught.

The hole in my heart like a vacuum,

It whistles, what if you fail again?

All his ugly words well up in the void like a sad tune,

But my little engine fights, says I think i can.

So I hold my little girls in the back of my mind,

Whisper for them to be strong.

Now I pray to God for strength in any sign,

For I gave up asking him why things went so wrong.

My apron strings stretch for miles, my little girls.

My hope and faith and determination with them.

But when big blue eyes sprout tears like pearls,

I feel like the loveliest of flowers crimped at the stem.

So let me hold you tight in the back of my mind,

Where he cannot reach us.

Listen when I whisper be strong and act so in kind,

Never let him pull asunder our mutual trust.

So here we three are, my arms wrapped around you,

I will sing you songs and stroke your long blonde hair.

Please don’t forget it’s your mama who will see you through

For it is I who lives and breathes for your every care.

April 16th, 2014

Charlotte von Wolfle Greer

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March 25

How?

How does one make it stop?

How do you keep them from hurting you?

I run till I drop

But they keep getting through

You get lulled into a false sense of security

you think you are safe

you let go of your purity

and find that it only chafes

I am battered

I am betrayed

get in line

only to be dismayed.

Won’t you let me go?

can’t I be free?

am I allowed to say no?

or am I succor for your greed?

Will you or any man ever admit his faults?

can I believe you when you speak?

I cannot jump all the vaults

only to come to the end and be meek?

Don’t you dare love me you traitor

You are not allowed to speak

I am cut as if by an abattoir

and I begin red blood to leak

You are not allowed my succor

you are not given my feast

you are cast adrift without pucker

and lacking courage of the very least

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March 25

Fear

I am so very nervous these days- My hands shake, I am so jumpy. Chris is begging for chances I will not give him, and being way too nice. I am cringing and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I sit here in Lexington, Kentucky Cracker Barrel eaten alive with nervous ticks- back against the wall, fearing him eight hours away.

I just want control of my life again, I need that power back.

No more intimidation, so subtle his parents blindly overlook it- no more promises….Just a peace within me and focus where it belongs.

I untether my happiness from my circumstances.

~Charlotte Greer Slater

5.5.09

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March 25

Their Adult Realization Is Coming

Editor’s note: This was untitled but it deals with how children can be estranged by a parent by many things. Eventually though, children become adults and question everything they were told. And many come to find out the truth. Until then…

I put my love into photographs, slowly pictures replaced people in my heart. I often stifled panic, fearing that I would not recognize their voices if they were to finally call. For them, our shared memories are bastardized by propaganda, denuded of value, poisoned over time. I feel as if I sit quietly in an anteroom waiting for death to find me. Waiting for all the hurt to become too much to bear. But I am left wondering how much hurt that will be… how long will it take? How much more will I have to endure? More importantly, how much will my girls have to endure?

The truth, is it too dangerous for them to see the truth? Would it spell disaster in their existence? Or would they bravely come to see that truth? My girls are the real victims. How would my poor girls reconcile the truth with their reality? Would they be able to? They would have to have a fortitude of epic proportions.

Would it be better just to seep into the background and not ask for such truths to be rendered? Would it be better for them to just live out their lives in ignorance? Their father certainly Hope’s they never see the ugly truth of what he is capable of.. the girls would be left feeling like innocent lambs succored by the very devil himself. And the betrayal would burn for all eternity I fear.

I am so sorry MacKay and Piper… sorry for what he did to us. It is all a lie.. that which he has fed you, and the paramour only swooped in to steal my children from me… she is a pox. One day she will betray my girls the worst.. she will twist the knife like no other in my girls world.

3.24.2020

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March 9

Why did he do this?

I am a mother, often left not knowing the well-being or the whereabouts of my daughters. My
daughters were made to believe their mother was a terrible person that didn’t love her children,
that I chose something, anything else over them, that I was somehow unfit, abusive and crazy.
Their heads were filled with outright lies about their past, their little minds tasked with rewriting
of their history. Neither my girls nor myself were afforded the opportunity to be present in each
other’s lives for a long and important period of their lives. No matter the intentions, what my ex
husband has done to both his daughters and me is wrong. Why did he do this? He has
exacted his revenge down to the last, because I left him due to years of abuse, because I was
afraid my girls were going to witness the total unraveling of their mother at his will and his
hands.

The saddest thing of all, is that when the shoe was on the other foot, so to speak, and I
first left my now ex husband in 2009 (we ended up reconciling), my then attorney recommended
I go for full custody and I flat out refused. I explained I would never do that to my daughters or
him. I saw it as selfish and cruel… no matter his character or actions. Depriving a child of their
parent is unfair and damaging in the extreme. My girls tell me that when they ask him why they
cannot see me more often, or why I cannot do some activity with them, he blames Dr. Drutman,
or the Judge.. but never looks them in the eyes and give them the truth. The truth is he is to
blame for this misery, this great loss. He is the reason they miss their mother. He can never
not win, nor can he take ownership of his actions.

Category: Hurting When I Write, Longer Tracts and Essays | Comments Off

December 26

Try Again

It’s like a nightmare,

Just the thought of going up against him again,

Suddenly feel stripped naked and bare,

My whole being I must defend.

As if I’m back in the torture chamber,

Every nerve lain bare,

Failing completely to remember,

Any defenses I prepared.

Like the cream atop the milk jug,

Every insecurity surfaces,

Left alone once again with this thug,

I am at cross purposes.

Be courageous and fight for my girls,

Run, hide, find solace far away,

A myriad of hurts this next move unfurls,

Much to my ardent dismay.

Do I face a thousand more tiny pricks?

Day, after day, after day,

Or renew my efforts and get one big lick?

Either way I am easy prey.

I have mustered my courage time and again,

Only to be struck dumb by my attempts at defense.

But my children’s happiness impends,

Life is often lacking in pretense.

Charlotte von Wolfle Greer

Tuesday, September 25th 2018

Regarding petitioning courts for better custody again. My PTSD is getting the best of me, even contemplating opening this can of worms again, and with no attorney as a buffer…

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December 26

Gaslight

I stand here under the golden dim of the gas light.

As I have for fifteen years.

Afraid to move or relieve myself from this plight,

afraid to give up the fight.

The yellow cast of sulfur light washes the color from my face,

denuding my visage of its true colors,

humiliation my badge

waiting for time to turn wrongs to right

making great attempts not to cadge

Who knew the torture had a name?

A phrase for his invalidating ways

I was part of his control game

Oh how the heart betrays

Instilled doubt denudes reality

overwhelms perception

Ceases to honor boundaries

draws the real truth away like a siphon

I doubt my world

I doubt my sanity

retreat to the little girl

where I pray he can’t hurt me

I find myself isolated

try harder to do his right

all the while my sanity is debated

many cannot see my plight

His opinions are fact

His stories carry impact

deftly applied with great tact

He continues to distract as I slowly begin to crack

Shamed for standing up for myself

accused of abuse for reactions in self defense

suddenly comes the big crack in your health

up and over psychoses’ fence

Borderlines feel like the victim

Narcissists make you theirs

wisely fear the narcissist’s conviction

while you marinate in you own despair

go ahead and run circles around me

It doesn’t make you right,

only lies presented cleverly

In the dimness of the gaslight

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December 26

Artifacts of Change

Teardrops meet my face. I am fearless in my resolve. I must devolve, reprogram, and loosen his hold on me, so I don’t spasm with nervous ticks at the thought of being in the same place as he. I must build my wall ever higher. I must not tire in my vigil. I must repair the cracks in my façade- Hide the worry and present a strong face. I will not allow him to debase me, efface me, and disgrace me any longer. Love is a doing word- Love is not in this equation. Teardrops are mere artifacts of change.

~Charlotte Greer Slater

4.29.09

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December 26

The Back of My Mind

Here comes the night again,

Left feeling so hurt for two little girls.

Makes it hard to pretend,

I’m okay with what life sometimes unfurls.

I hold you both close in the back of my mind.

But I know it’s for naught,

Because he doesn’t play like our kind,

I am painfully familiar with the onslaught.

The hole in my heart like a vacuum,

It whistles, what if you fail again?

All his ugly words well up in the void like a sad tune,

But my little engine fights, says I think i can.

So I hold my little girls in the back of my mind,

Whisper for them to be strong.

Now I pray to God for strength in any sign,

For I gave up asking him why things went so wrong.

My apron strings stretch for miles, my little girls.

My hope and faith and determination with them.

But when big blue eyes sprout tears like pearls,

I feel like the loveliest of flowers crimped at the stem.

So let me hold you tight in the back of my mind,

Where he cannot reach us.

Listen when I whisper be strong and act so in kind,

Never let him pull asunder our mutual trust.

So here we three are, my arms wrapped around you,

I will sing you songs and stroke your long blonde hair.

Please don’t forget it’s your mama who will see you through

For it is I who lives and breathes for your every care.

April 16th, 2014

Charlotte von Wolfle Greer

Category: Hurting When I Write | Comments Off