Demonic Virtues

There’s a beautiful struggle in a wicked love,
For a rebellious faith is a faithful heartache.

Hot ice, cold fire, death in sex.
You’re such a tasty venom.

Dying alive in your malicious kiss,
Your sweet blood is forever falling.

A wicked touch in such a deceptive friendship,
Such devious kindness

Within every one of your evil longings
I find such demonic virtues.

Yet within the shallow depth of your prison of freedom,
I’m shattered dreams.

A loving hate can be an aching pardon.
Your death is such a romance.

5-3-1994 Tuesday
Written by Gail Brookshire
PS. This was written as a strong play on oxymorons to emphasize a strong struggle going on inside of life seeming to be nothing but a lot of things that just don’t make sense and simply should not be! The title itself are two words that just don’t belong together. I am so grateful that God’s love makes life make sense.

Essence of Rebellion

Your vile deception, your tangled blood,
Your demonic web defies my love.
Deny the skin, disgust my flesh.
Your devious betrayal tortures my chest.
Hatred in beauty, pain in romance,
The depth of your death is lanced.
For whatever injustice your evil liars escape,
A conceited traitor will be faithfully two-faced.
The essence of rebellion is pathetic,
But slain at the heart, I love it.

4-26-1994 Tuesday
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: Creative Writing Class, Spring 1994
Taught by E.P.

Letter to Josephine Humphreys

Dear Josephine Humphreys,
Reading your novel excerpt brought me an image of a woman who is being used by her husband and doing nothing about it, except maybe taking it out on herself. I could see her laying in bed with her eyes closed, pretending she was asleep, as she listened to him dress and leave, and sometimes, when it was safe, opening her eyes, but not moving, or speaking, or anything, just listening and thinking. What pain this woman must be in to just lifelessly let her heart just slip away. It certainly must be routine, if she doesn’t move because she knows where he’s going. I have been in this situation with fiances, who were seeing my best friends. When you know there’s no proof and there’s nothing you can really do, you know you’re wasting your energy, energy you need to survive with while waiting on him to change, but knowing he will never change. I must let you know I feel for this woman, am angry at this woman, and understand this woman. I could defend her actions.
I sympathize with the woman when “she marvels at the single,” thinking of how “their bodies and clothing and cars are bright” and “they don’t have husbands in love with single girls.” and not only that, she is haunted by Claire, “the girl… who is lovely, whose teeth… eyelashes and hair shine,” and is “energetic.” It’s so easy to be intimidated by youth, beauty, and life, even when you have your own great qualities. This wife has every reason to feel down, but at the same time should at least defend herself. She does have the husband still in her house, her bed, her life, and the life of the children they conceived together. The mistress, Claire, has a job and great sex, that’s not a lot. That’s nothing compared to what the wife has. If there is one thing I’ve learned in life, it is to never let anyone take me down, especially someone who is intentionally hurting me. That is what Claire is doing, and giving up gives Claire an edge over the wife with insecurity, an edge that even the husband hasn’t given Claire because he’s still living at home with the wife and kids.
What surprised me at one point, was Will’s’ mother, Marcella. She knew, but didn’t confront her son. She even told the daughter-in-law first, as well as withheld it from her son that she knew, and that she told Alice. Usually, it is the precious momma’s boy that is confronted, to see if it’s a fling, if it’s trash, if she’s better than what he already has, or to simply find out just what’s going on. If the mother-in-law likes the wife, she usually doesn’t tell her (the wife) in hopes the couple will work it out, so the wife won’t leave. If she doesn’t, she usually keeps it to herself to give her son the room and freedom to play, to maybe fall in love again, get the mistress pregnant, or maybe to know something that her daughter-in-law doesn’t know about the husband, something that would only hurt the wife even more while the mother-in-law smiled. It was comforting to see this mother-in-law was honest with her daughter-in-law for good reasons, and trying to help her with encouragement.
This can be a major reason education is so important for a woman or a man. Though society paints a perfect picture of the “perfect marriage,” the “perfect family,” and the “American dream,” life teaches us reality, that there is no guarantee for no one man, woman, marriage, family, or soul. It is an education that gives us our skills and knowledge, as well as our personal growth, to support ourselves, so that we can survive the loss of our other half (our husband), our children, our lives (though we still have a whole new one waiting.) Education can be the key to getting past the heartache, helping pass the time, learning to start again, to rebuild, and to succeed. We can be shown we can make it on our own, that we have a lot offer us, not pain. This is something we can educate our children with as I do my son Anthoni.
I truly enjoyed your story and in the future would like to finish reading your novel, simply to see what happens, and how everyone feels when all is said and done. Compelling and enchanting, I am thoroughly moved by this simple small piece. It is an universal issue that all women, and yes, some men can relate to, being betrayed, by someone you love, someone you trust, and someone you gave your life to. May your days be filled with God, love, and beauty, and just in case this is a true story, if he (the husband) leaves, he’s an idiot, and you’re better off. You deserve better. If he stays, I told you, the mistress has nothing until he leaves. That is why he doesn’t leave because he knows she has nothing. Either way, you’re still a great woman regardless of what a man does to you. It doesn’t take a man to make you who you are, it only takes you. Only you can make it happen. Believe in yourself!

Thoughtfully and Sincerely Yours,
Gail Brookshire

4-15-1994 Friday
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: Eng152 D1 Taught by L.J.

A Portrait of My Lover

This is the way to live, to love, to be.
This is a way to bleed.
This is a way to kill yourself
And give the villain your help.
Standing in his spotlight,
You give him the right to insight
Of what makes you breathe and tick.
This is the way to enjoy the sick.
What would be an easy way
To find an escape… far away?
Surely you don’t want to really flee.
This is the only way to let your lover be.
Try, cry, and die again.
This is the way to your end.

4-14-1994 Thursday
Written by Miss Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: assignment from Creative Writing Class, Spring 1994
Taught by E.P. This particular day E.N. was substituting.

Before I Knew You or Loved You

God, my God, I love You.
Thank You for loving me.
I’ll never love anyone like I love You
… NEVER!!!
And I’m glad.
I’ve always loved You
And I always will.
Thank You for being there before I knew You,
And before I loved You.
I’m sorry I ever rejected You.
It was the worst mistake of my life.
The best thing was when I came to my senses
…and fell in love with You.

Written by Gail Brookshire

A Dream Within a Dream

Dreams… I’m told are a moment
When God talks to you at heart.
And this I can believe,
Being as I’ve seen a lot within the dark.
Men have died.
Children cried.
And still when I awoke,
There was no one
To take the gun,
Only laughter for the joke.

Written by Gail Brookshire

Stepping Stones

The first time I thought of myself as a SELF I guess,
Was when I first realized I had something to hide,
Be ashamed of,
And something to fear from someone else.
Knowing others could escape it, change it, or defeat it,
Was something to make me feel like I was all bad myself,
And by myself in a world of good and bad people.
But also somehow I knew I was not guilty,
Had no reason to be ashamed,
And that even though I feared it,
As soon as I grew up I would defeat it,
And never worry about it again.
But also, in a little way felt like I was the only one who knew
Why I had nothing to be ashamed of, or fear.
It was a great, wonderful miracle of GOD to discover the world agreed with me
Because when I grew up it made me feel so much better about myself,
And about the world and myself getting along.
Now I’ve learned to love myself and others,
Even more, the best things… Life and GOD.
Life was what I hated, and GOD I never knew.
Now they are my favorite inspirations,
My only hope for survival and eternity in love.

Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: assignment from Creative Writing Class, Spring 1994.
Taught by E.P.

My Favorite Cliche

“Jesus Christ died for you! What more do you want Him to do? – Die Again?
Love is sacrifice. What are you going to do for Him?”

This is a cliche that I must be selfish with because I love the meaning behind it.
I love the fact it asks so bluntly, “What are you going to do for Him?”
and “What more do you want Him to do – Die again?”
It is so sad to hear the question of dying again.
It makes you feel a closer connection of what it meant that He “DIED!”
This is also a very sympathetic emotional plea and sentiment.
It makes me feel like I need to think every time I hear it.
I love You, God. Bless You and praise You, Father.
I love You forever! In sweet Jesus name I pray… AMEN!
Forever Loving You, Your daughter.

3-17-1994 Thursday
Written by Gail Brookshire
PS. Most times, I just say the first part:
“Jesus Christ died for you! What more do you want Him to do? – Die Again?”

House of Memories

My favorite room,
In one of the houses I lived in throughout my life,
Is really outside.
The yard was always so beautiful, big,
And everyone could play, relax,
Or work in their own little world.
It was always easy to see the neighbors at home,
But you were so far away and in your own yard
That you didn’t have to visit if you didn’t want to.
I played in the street a lot, too.
I cheerleaded, played baseball,
Was a complete tomboy,
And lived behind the projects,
As well as lived on a street with a lot of children.

This house in particular,
Out of the twenty or thirty homes I lived in,
Was simply the enjoyment of
Having a lot of my most important life events
Happen there.
I found my first love, my first crush,
My first kiss of passion, my first of sex,
My first best-friend.
I only lived there three years straight
(the longest we had live anywhere),
But that was the nearest thing I had
To being permanent in my life.

3-8-1994 Tuesday
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: assignment from Creative Writing Class of Spring 1994,
Taught by E,P.

Friendship? – What’s That?

Friendship? – What’s that?
Is that what you were laughing at?
You could’ve fooled me with that
Wicked smile.
I thought you were going to
Play awhile.
You sure are slow
At letting me in,
But I guess that’s the only way
You can win.
Which is more important?
The victory or me?
Oh, it’s the thrill
Of being set free?
Well no problem.
You can walk away.
Just don’t come crying
On a lonely day.

Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: A person who was known to be a good friend to me was trying to set my brother up to be jumped and beaten for being gay, trying to impress her boyfriend and his friends, and tried to trick me to make it happen, all the while smiling like she was my friend. They were trying to do this on my birthday, trying to take advantage of it for a distraction. I ended our friendship right there. Weeks later on her birthday she came crying, trying to get me to restore our friendship as “best friends.” She was even using my brother, crying about missing me, and it being her birthday. It did not work.

You Can’t Have My Love

No. You can’t have my friendship back.
You betrayed me. Concern you lacked.
You brought me pain and smiled in pleasure.
My worst nightmare was your to treasure.
You hurt me so bad, I cried.
My friendship with the world died.
You can’t come back and pretend it’s OK.
You never even apologized for hurting me, in any way.
At one time, you never thought you hurt me,
And still didn’t understand why when you heard me.
You just came crying about your life in despair.
I guess you thought I would actually care.
But when you choose our friendship last,
You made it a permanent part of our past.
Friends who saw me through my pain with support
Need my love and concern. They deserve so much more.
So no, I won’t exclude them, or make you the only one.
If you wanted my friendship, you shouldn’t have done what you’ve done.
Progressed by pain, I’ve grown through the ache.
To let you back in, would be my only mistake.

7-3-1993 Saturday
Written by Gail Brookshire

What Happens With Men

Woe, woe, oh to the slow.
Watch the water, but let him go.
He’s a beginning, a way to be all.
But he’s got to wait for the final call.
Hold up a hand, help him inside.
There’s nothing left, no one to hide.
What?! When?! Where do I run?
There’s nothing there, but the damage is done.
You could be wrong. You could be right.
You could be a rebellious fight.
Someone help – my baby’s falling.
I came to him – his final calling.
He came to the end. He came to the place.
I could show you his mark, but I forgot his face.

Written by Gail Brookshire

A Plea to Live

Stop! Watch! Turn on the light.
It’s got to be so fun.
No – please – Don’t leave me!
I’ll be the only one.

Someone locked me in here years ago,
And left me here to cry.
I’ve tried to scream for help,
But people just walk on by.

‘You could at least leave some air,
I’ve been dying to have a breath.
Lying in this box so long
Is going to cause my death.

I want to play a little game
And live a little life.
But no one lets me out of here,
So I lose again to the knife.

They cramp my every aching muscle,
And suffocate my dreams.
I wish there were a way to escape,
But the thread has ripped its seams.

6-14-1993 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire

Drowning In My Struggle

I’m exhausted. I’m trapped,
And I don’t want to be here.
Can you help me out? – No?
Oh darn! I was so hoping
You could and would.
I’m really worn out.
I need the break
That I’m not going to get.
Life will take me down
And I will be the victim,
And lost.
What is it going to take
To ask you to help me?
To rescue me from my drowning?
I know I’m able to swim on my own,
But life is cramping my strength.
I just need a little help.
Please be my lifesaver.

5-3-1993 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire