Category Archives: Story

The Preamble to the Constitution and its Meaning

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

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Establish justice: The reasons why there was Revolution against England were still important to the American citizens, so they wanted to make sure that they would have justice under the Constitution.

Insure domestic tranquility: One of the main reasons why the Constitutional Convention was held was because of Shays’ Rebellion. This was an uprising of farmers in Massachusetts against the state for having to repay war debts. Citizens were worried with the keeping peace within the country’s borders.

Provide for the common defense: There was still a change of being attacked by other countries. No individual state had the power to defend itself against attacks. Because of this, the Framers knew that it was important for the states to defend the nation together.

Promote the general welfare: This phrase meant that the well-being of the citizens would be taken care of as well as possible by the Federal government.

Secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity: The point of this phrase in the Preamble, and the constitution as a whole was to help protect the country’s hard-earned rights for liberty, unjust laws, and freedom from a tyrannical government.

Ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America: This last phrase of the Preamble is a powerful statement saying that the people made this document, and the people give the country its power.

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Filed under Anthropology, Change, civil liberties, Culture, Politics, Story

My Sacred Name

        By A.N. Bayat

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Unknown artist

 

You know my sacred name
not ever meant for all
You held me with your gaze
You hold my fragile heart
You’ve held it a million years
You’ve had it from the start

i should have walked away that day
i should have gone invisible
i  shouldn’t have answered your call
i should  not have given all
i should have closed my heart
i should have turned my back
i should have lost my faith
i should have sailed away
i should have forgotten you

no expectations
no love
no loss
no pain
no joy
no happiness
no us

what would life have been if I’d never looked your way?
What would it have been if I’d turned and walked away?
If I’d never taken a chance, what I would have missed?

 

i can’t imagine my life if i had never smiled
i can’t imagine it if i had never ever tried
i can’t imagine life if I’d kept it locked away
i can’t imagine it if I’d not left that door ajar

turned on that light
expressed that moment
or handed you my soul

What would our lives have been
without that loving tender kiss?
what would it have been
without that comforting embrace?

How would it all have changed
without your understanding smile?
How would it be different
without your caring patient gaze?

I would never have known love
peace
happiness or joy
I can stand every ounce of pain,
sadness and tears
because you are always here for me
to love away my fears…

 

who ever thought I’d love a man
so course and rough around the edges
but loving from the start
that’s  why over all the years
all the distance in between,
No one else has ever held my heart

 

or known my sacred name

You’ve held it a million years

you’ll have a million more

 

Save

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Filed under Art, bdsm, bondage, Communication, fire, Loss, Love, passion, Poetry, Politics, Relationships, Religion, sex, Story

Every Part of Me

By A.N. Bayat

I keep trying to see

what he ever did for me

he was never there

He never held my hand

 

He left me standing alone

in a cold desolate land

he didn’t know me

I left him far behind

  

He was never meant

into the sacred depths of me

to know my heart

to hold it tight

  

I hid all my joys

all my pain

every part of me

he could ever see

  

I learned to build

those walls

learned to wrap

in swaths of fears

  

I came and stayed

a mind full of turmoil

I hid my heart away

with all my repercussions

  

He was never meant to know

my lonely fragile heart

He was never meant to

keep it hidden away

  

I was never meant for him

Only for the wind

I was never meant for prison

Only freedoms I recall

  

He was just another captor

my first taste of loss

He was never but a incubi

the center of my chaos

  

He left so many scars

It was nothing but confusion

I set a world between us

where I could find my peace

  

He tried with every action,

and salty little lies to

drag me into his quagmire

I fought with every breath

to escape that fallow lonely life

  

He can never find his way

I was nothing but a mystery

behind a hidden door

He could never find the key

  

IT was only in my faith

I found my real escape

It was only with my love

I found my final freedom

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Filed under Art, Communication, Culture, Food, Love, Poetry, Politics, Prayer, Story

On Broken Wings: The Flaws of the System Series

By A.N. Bayat

child_abuse_big You don’t take chances with the life of  a child. The system is flawed. Parents allowed to commit fraud to further an agenda, social workers doing the minimum if at all of their duties to “fill out the paperwork,” and supervisors covering the flaws instead of putting the children first. Add to all the flaws in the social system to the justice system, those willing to look the other way at the cost of a child, their little lives at the mercy of a system caving-in within itself.

She was messed up and strung out for years on diet pills, a myriad of anti-psychotics and anti-depressants. She was the product of massive child, sexual abuse, incest and violence. She was good at hiding her addictions, and obsessions…the extremes of her emotional breakdowns and rages…until she wasn’t.

A parent with a stable background wants to do better for their child. A dad in society can easily become a victim of the system and it’s blind assumptions.

Even when you want to help, they have to want to be helped.

He showed up  one day, this little smile on his face, happy to see me as  usual and a deep dark angry bruise across his eyes. I was afraid to question her. I knew in her extremes that she’d easily take him, without considering his feelings and not allow him to stay. One black eye one week, another black eye another week and finally at the tail end of her abandonment the little one with a burn on his arm…all questions deflected…that gut wrenching feeling when she avoided eye contact and skimmed over details of these sudden vicious signs of abuse.

I wanted him to be safe. I knew if I reported it the system would fail and her usual lies would be accepted as truth. She’d lived it. She’s explained it, how her parents had used the system against her…the bias and conflict of interest in the  court systems. The justice system doesn’t work to protect the innocent. It works to defend the deceitful and the liars. The liars like her, who long ago as a child, learn to manipulate, lie and abuse the system. She relied on her aspects of truth, on her aspects of victim to form a truth only she could accept.

As she spiraled out of control. followed base desire and abandonment, my only concern was for him…the innocent  little life that would pay for the sins of her parents and now hers.

A good mother would not put her ego over her child’s best interest.

There were moments and days where I saw the signs. But, like  any other of those complicit, I began to see it in his eyes. But, never more than those last days before she was gone. She’d become the bane of his existence. How does a child find peace in a home full of chaos and deceit? How did she ever find peace? She became violent, aggressive, angry and sexually promiscuous.

What do you do? “Why didn’t you report it?” “Why didn’t dad report it?”
Don’t blame the abuser. Blame those who didn’t know what to do or how to react at the subtle signs until it was too late. Don’t hold the abuser accountable. Don’t make it about the best interest of the child. Instead allow the bias to seep through and do what is best for the  mother, be it she is a drug addict, a rapist, a violent sexual offender or an abusive rage filled alcoholic.

What do you do? You protect him and sit and watch for months while he’s still in her care. You risk that one day you find out something happened to him. Because the system believes the lies. So what do you do? You give a voice to that which has no voice. You speak for the child.

You gather the evidence to expose the violence, the and horror of a life in order to save another.

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Filed under Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Politics, Prayer, Relationships, Society, Story

That Love

I’m not a toy
just for pleasure
I’m not just a good time
I’m for a LIFETIME

I’m not just any  woman
I am THE woman
I will support your dreams
not your destruction

you can’t buy me
you must earn me.
don’t forget me
just because you have me

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Filed under Art, bdsm, Communication, Culture, fire, Love, Poetry, relationship, Relationships, sex, Story

Skin Deep

Image credit: “safe” – © 2007 Paul Keller – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

We all start one way, shiny and new, with no bumps or bruises. Somewhere along the way it all begins with first bump, the first skinned knee or slight cut. At first it all seems so innocent and even unintentional. There is need to worry because we are taught that falling is part of the process of moving through life. We can’t move forward without the occasional scrape or nick.

What they don’t tell you is that eventually it all begins to fall together leaving you but a wisp of what you once were. Who you start out to be is not who you become. Where once you were shiny and new without a blemish the years and trials leave you battle weary and worn. Even when you can’t see it on the outside the scars are more than skin deep.

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May 26, 2015 · 6:57 pm

Days Like This

I’m like a ball of yarn that unravels itself, becomes tangled in its own mental mess, then sits quietly to untangle itself; and in the process finds small knots, snags and discolorations.

It’s all part of me and I’m good with it. But, I get lost in the discovery. I become fascinated with the ways I change from bit to bit. I smile at those bits which contain you. I see all the negative but try to see it as much as possible as good parts too. Because, it’s all me, even the frayed bits.

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-March 31, 2015

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