This book has been eight years in the making. It is mostly a jumble of thoughts written down in old spiral notebooks and hidden in the bottom drawer underneath various manuals for software packages and hardware long since turned obsolete.
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The Ravyn's Nest
I owe the inspiration for compiling all of this into one volume to many people. First of all I would like to thank Rachel for believing in me, Judy for taking Rachel's belief and turning it into an opportunity for a real life, and David for being a kind of "father" to me these past seven years. Alexsya, for staying by my side through thick and thin, good and bad, hideous and beautiful; we are birds of a feather, you and I, now let us fly free. Kate and Ken, for being there when I needed support. Everyone at The Poetry Pages, you are my inspiration, my hope and my will to continue on. Finally, Lisa, Serena and Sarah, I can't express in mere words how much I love you. You are my life, my reason, my "wings" and my soul. May each person take from this book something to call their own, a little hope, a little insight, a little inspiration to help those in need. Remember to love each other, all of you, all of us.
To all of you who know first hand about abuse of any kind, my heart goes out to you. Remember that you are not alone, and that no matter what you may have been told, had beaten into you, you are NOT at fault. The fault lies with the abuser, always.
To those of you who are or feel you may possibly be abusers, please seek assistance. The damage you do can ruin a person's life forever, perhaps even end it. The after effects of abuse last a lifetime. I am still young so, in theory at least, I will be dealing with my past for 50 or 60 years. Think about that before you act. More and more people are coming forward with their stories of abuse and survival. That doesn't, however, mean that more and more abusers are being either sent to prison or made to get psychological help. Most abusers get away with their crimes. It is up to all of us to end this self perpetuating sickness. I plan on doing my part, what about you?
Jennifer Anne Sloan
The dancer spins her minuet
feet seeming to float above the floor
and the menfolk watch lustfully
their faces folded against one another
the dancer spins on unheedingly
her grace and beauty shine
like a diamond seen through
and the men jostle for position
to get a better view
to watch the dancer spin and twist
and, perhaps, to take a turn with her
upon the great dance floor
But the dancer is oblivious to all
her eyes open, but seeing not the throng,
but something deep inside herself
and she feels not the hands of the men
upon her flame scarred flesh
nor the hot cruel kisses
nor the biting, grinding pressures
she is lost in another world
where men do not exist
where there is no such thing as
pain or rape
endlessly she spins