Beauty. a short poem by: Dominique 

Beauty: A short poem

By: Dominique Barrentine 

4:09 Tuesday, June 14th 2016, California 

Beauty


Beauty 

Oh Beauty 

How you haunt me

Everywhere I go

My beauty, you follow me

Are you a blessing 

Or really a curse

My body a vessel

Temporary shell on earth 

One day will I escape

No more empty stares

Cat calls will be silenced

We never asked for that

How come you cry out

It’s not me that you see

But my body, my beauty

It’s not real

It’s not me

I am more than my body.

-Dominique 

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Moving Day Washington to California: Boo and Charlie Cats

 

“Is it time to go yet?” The cats said to their people in unison; they were done with this whole moving thing already. 

“First you pack up all the stuff and clean the whole place, you let all these strangers in and now this?!” They complained looking around the room that has been designated the ‘Cat Room’ for moving day. This area has everything they need but when will it be time to be let out already? 

  

Sir Charles, the male of the pair, sulks into the closet for some privacy. He throws himself down with a plop and begins to tear out the fur on his hind quarters. There is a hotspot on his hips where as a younger barn cat he got into a tussle with a raccoon and ended up with two broken legs. Somewhat crippled he tries to compensate or hide his pain from the others. 

  
Princess Boo Kitty is the most well adjusted. As a ragdoll Siamese cat she tends to have a more relaxed attitude in general. I wouldn’t say she is particularly thrilled but she hasn’t lost any sleep over the matter. Her eyes blink slowly and calmly as she lays out on the ground before her humans. 
“You better not forget us!” The cat says rolling onto her back like a kitten. 

Then every time I leave the room they get into position. Charles in the corner of the closet were he can get some secure shut eye and Boo in her crate. 

  
“I’m ready when you are.” She says each time you open the door. 

  
So far so good. Soon we will be on to other things guys. Just wait until you see the new house. 

-Dominique Barrentine 

My book first book: Today, Tomorrow, and Yesterday (a memoir)

Today, tomorrow, and yesterday is the title of my new book. It is a memoir that I have been working on for the past ten years. Just last week I decided to finish it an now I have finished the first draft of my very first book! I’m so very excited!!!

 

This book, like I said has been ten years in the making. Part I starts off with chronological journal from the time I was fifteen until current day. Added in are some poetry and plenty of drama but everything is true life events as accurately portrayed as possible.
 
The second part is reflections, memories mostly. This book covers a range in subjects mostly revolving around sexual abuse. 
  

My BOOK! I wrote a book I can’t hardly believe it. 
Finally the third part in my book is the conclusion. It is a story of #redemption and #salvation. My coming of age tale brought to you now. .. 
 

It is a decent length too. The next stage is the editing, test readers, publishing and marketing to get started. I may decide to self publish but I’m so new to this we shall see. God knows the plan! Wish me luck as a new author! 
-Dominique Barrentine

Dream

 

Warning! My dreams contain mature content. Some people may find my dreams to be disturbing. Please do not continue reading if you are under age, easily offended, or do not want to read serious content.


I climb into the rafters hoping to escape the danger below. Pulling myself up and into the small space I pray that I was quiet enough not to attract too much attention. Many times before I have been here in this same spot, crouched in fear, trying to disappear. My hands tremble as I step away from the edge.

‘Am I safe now?’ I ask myself silently on the inside so as not to give away my hiding place. Knowing I couldn’t possibly have escaped that easily I began devising several back up plans.

“Come out! Come out! Wherever you are!” I heard a voice chanting. “You can run but you can’t hide little girl…” I recognized it.

That was her voice, the voice of the woman. I can tell it without even seeing the witch’s face. She is hunting me.

“You thought you could get away from me did you?” She called into the dark building assuming that I can hear her. My knees knocked together as my whole body trembled in fear. I held my breath in anticipation.
‘Please God!’ I prayed silently, ‘Don’t let her eat me.’

She had a thing for vore…for those of you who might have never heard of it, vorarephillia is a sexual perversion in which you become sexual aroused, find gratification, or pleasure from cannibalism. The most common type is “soft vore” which is the fantasy of swallowing someone whole with no bloodshed. Canth was into what would be considered hard vore/vampirism.

Often they would all joke about being vampires. They would play their little table top role playing games and pretend. Large gatherings of people would come over, or meet at the park, to play live action together. Online they would write fantasy stories. They always joked about being a cult. Behind closed doors…in the basements and dungeons…it is not a game.

In my dream I decide to run. I’m on the third story of my grandparents’ house in Seward Park. I look out across Lake Washington and suddenly realize I’m dreaming. So then I decide to fly instead.

I launch myself off the roof just as she is clutching for the purple velvet of my skits but I escape, just barely.

“Get back here you little bitch!” She screamed in a shrieking tone.

“Never!” I yell as I try to glide to a tree, or a roof. I needed something to land on every few feet because instead of flying confidently like a bird I glided like a squirrel or the small marsupial sugar glider that stretched out its flappy arms and launched itself from tree to tree. “Flying” was only the technical term. In my dream it always feels like falling. When I run I can’t really run and when I fly I only sort of fly.

I noticed a small girl clinging in a tree so I aimed for her and landed with a crash only a few feet below her. She was about four or five, with long dark blonde hair and brown eyes just like me. Apparently she had climbed up here on her on. Perhaps, like me, she was hiding from someone.

“Psst.” I whispered trying not to scare her. “Little girl… Can I help you?”

“Yes but I can’t get down,” she said nervously eyeing down the fifty foot trunk of the ancient cedar tree. “Even if I could she would find me. I can’t go down,” she started crying, “and I can’t go home.” She stared off into the distance silent tears falling like raindrops.

But it wasn’t raining now. The sky was grey as usual but as the two of us sat in that tree we were unusually dry and warm.

“It’s ok.” I tried to reassure her. “What’s your name? Wait let me guess…Kiki!”

“How did you know?” She asked in her soft girlish tone still looking down at the distant ground as if somehow by keeping her eyes on it she was guaranteeing her safety.

“I am you.” I responded. “This is only a dream. Are you ok now?” I climbed up to the branch next to her and sat down.

“Let’s blink somewhere.” She said softly closing her eyes. I did the same and seconds later when I opened them we were at an old playground on the beach.

“Ha!” I laughed, pulling off my shoes. “Now that’s better!”

Digging our toes into the sand we both giggled and sighed with relief when we collapsed on the beach. Suddenly a sun break in the North West clouds and gold flecks lit up our brown eyes and our hair.

“You are so beautiful.” I told the child version on me. “Kiki, I love you! Don’t every go away ok?”

“This is where I live now.” She replied with a smile. “Now I’m inside of you until the day you die when we will be reestablished in Heaven. For now I belong in your heart, in your mind, and in your dreams. Come visit me here. When you are afraid call out to me or come sit and play!”

She jumped up and hopped onto a swing. Slowly at first her pumping legs lifted her only slightly. Gradually she rose higher and higher in the swing. Her hair splayed out in gold behind her, a smile spread across her face.

‘Thank you child me,’ I thought and climbed into the seat next to her.

“Thank you for saving me Kiki!” I said sailing like a bird on a wing in that swing. Climbing higher and higher I touched.

“No Dominique, Thank YOU for saving us!” She responded and then I awoke.

-Dominique Barrentine 

Called to write

            I have been writing a book. I decided a long time ago it was something I just had to do. I want to have no fear in writing. I’ll write from the heart about things I know are true. I’ll write about my experiences and I’ll pass it all on to the next generation. This is exhilarating! 

      I’m enjoying writing now more than I ever have before. I feel a sense of freedom whenever I let my thoughts out. By writing I feel as if it’s almost like I’m draining an old wound, and letting the infection out. The words are like puss seeping from the wound. As it leaves the body it cleanses it of impurity and heals me. 

        I am called to write and tell my story. I must eventually tell it from beginning to end. I must lay bare the details however ugly and painful they may be. I have heard the voice of God encouraging me. I feel peace as I continue on my personal journey.

      Some people say I shouldn’t write, others say I need to write. While I find it interesting what people have to say. At this time I have no choice. I have been called to write. 

      So I must write and tell my story for all to hear. I will write in great detail as much as possible. I will try not to be too scattered or random. I must remember all of this will be heavily edited before ever becoming a book anyway.  

      If it was up to me I would use real names. I would expose people who are doing dark things in sneaky corners. But I’m sure that’s not allowed. They know who they are anyway and who am I to judge them or hold anything against anyone? I don’t. I am not the judge. God is. 

      They will all get their judgement when the day of judgment has arrived. 

“By their fruits you shall recognize them” -Matthew 7:16
  
 
-Dominique Barrentine

Dream

Dream
Warning! My dreams contain mature content. Some people may find my dreams to be disturbing. Please do not continue reading if you are under age, easily offended, or do not want to read serious content. 
      Also just as a note; I have gotten some feedback on my blog. I enjoy hearing the mixed comments from everyone. Some people think I shouldn’t be posting such “dramatic” materials publicly. I want to explain why I am doing this as opposed to keeping them separated. Part of me wants save all of them for a time when I am ready to publish my book. I however decided against that because I know it is VERY IMPORTANT TO SHARE this with as many people as possible. 
      This entry is a perfect example of why it is so important to speak up. No one in my family knew my uncle was molesting me. I have stayed silent most of my life on this and many other serious situations. It has been ~10 years since he first laid hands on me. How much has happened in that time. If I had spoken up at the time…if I could have let go of the shame and fear when I was a young teenager… Well who knows. I just hope by sharing now I can inspire others to talk about these serious issues. 
      My uncle was in my dream last night. That’s not surprising as he is in my dreams frequently. Since he stated grooming me around puberty and then molesting me during visits with my grandparents I have had nightmares involving my uncle. 
          Last night in my dream I was in my grandparents house. I’ve had dreams exactly like this before so even though everything is a little different I knew where everything was. There is a secret room in the attic. There are secret tunnels and compartments only I know about. Their house is so complex, but I’ve dreamed this dream a thousand times. 
    I recognize my uncle. He looks so normal. He looks like he could be anyone. But I know the truth. He is as far from normal as they come. The poor broken man. 
     What made him this way? I could tell you what I think but in reality I really don’t know. Maybe some people are more predisposed to violence and abuse. Perhaps he was abused himself? I do have my theories. 
      He was always so nice to me. He was my favorite uncle. He always talked to me, told me I was “so mature.” He gave me things: cigarettes, alcohol, and drugs. More than anything my uncle lavished love and attention on me. 
        I was so desperate. I wanted love so badly. I was insecure and no matter what people would say I felt terrible about myself. I know I did bad things in school for the same reason. Maybe part of me really liked the negative attention I was getting because at least when I was in trouble my mother couldn’t ignore me. 
       My dreams of my uncle are always exactly the same. Terror and tears accompanied by shame and hiding. I tried to deny the truth. Then the truth hunts me down and shakes me. 
        What can I really do about it though? It’s over and I’m safe now. All I have to show for what happened to me is these nightly nightmares. What do the abusers have but a guilty conscience (if that!?) 
        So many abusers could do it again. The first chance they have to be close to another young woman. What will he do? Was it just me that was irresistible? Or is there something broken in the mind that needs fixing? And how would jail fix that? Certainly not. But perhaps my mind would be set at ease. 
      I did press charges and help put one man behind bars. I will write about it again sometime because that is a very important thing to share. But he was a stranger compared to my uncle. I loved my uncle. I trusted him. He was my favorite uncle.
     At least it’s all over and I am awake. As long as I am awake I am safe. It’s amazing I sleep at all. 

  
-Dominique Barrentine
     

Finding Jesus

Finding Jesus          I was not raised in a Christian household. In fact my family was about as far as you could get. My mother was an “earth based spiritualist” as she would say… witchcraft in reality. And my stepfather was atheist but really hated Christians. I had a lot of experience with spells and tarot cards, the black book and all sorts of a occult activities. 

        My biological mother was the main instigator in the alternative lifestyle that we were exposed to. She was very against church and Christians in general. She would always tell me stories about how judgmental and terrible Christians are.           

     As children we drank at home, smoke cigarettes and smoked marijuana all the time. We even had family poker nights. I started smoking age 9 and drinking around 12 years old. My mother smoked so together we would smoke like girlfriends in high school. My mother never encouraged me to do much and even allowed my boyfriend who was 10 years older than me to move into the house. I was 15 and he was 25. He was also in Nevada corrections but she didn’t care she bailed him out so he could come live with us. This is getting way off track, let me get back on point.

I was not raised in a religious household. I walked down a path in my youth that put me very close to the devil. When I was saved I was living in a home dedicated to devil worship. I did not see it that way at the time, because I was so naïve. I didn’t realize that people you love weren’t supposed to treat you as a slave and beat you while saying they love you. For those of you who might’ve guessed this was a BDSM alternative lifestyle household. I was supposed to be a slave in their house. My uncle had brought me there two days after my 18th birthday and left me. 

     I had to been there a little over year when the man who is now my husband met me by chance on a train. I generally wasn’t allowed to leave the state but I was working as a model and had a job in California. I needed to travel for work otherwise I never would’ve been on a train. Today I would probably be dead. 

But I met him. And he said “let’s go this way.” And I followed. And my life will never be the same.

This man is a Christian. He realized when we met the potential inside of me. He listened to me and cared for me. I could see this love in his eyes as I told him about my life. Remembering it I get emotional because no one, especially not a man, had ever shown me the concern on his face. I could tell that he really cared whether or not I lived or died or what I’ve been through. 

    He told me that day that I should write so that other young women wouldn’t feel so alone. Perhaps by writing, over time, I can help save other people. And isn’t that the true meaning of being a Christian? 

       Obviously there are a lot of other details that go into the telling of the story. When I tell my testimony I just want to say it’s never too late. Even if you think you are the darkest most evil person, Jesus can find a way. He already has. We are our own worst judges. When you feel hopeless, that is the devil trying to destroy you just remember… We win! Don’t allow him to tell you otherwise. He is a dirty liar. All of us have done bad things but to God no sin is unforgivable. 

So I would just want to end by saying I give my whole self to God knowing that he put me through the challenges I have been through so that I can give him the glory. He wants me to share the most humiliating parts of myself to glorify him. I will not be ashamed of the things in my past. I will be proud to be saved. I am proud! Thank you Jesus.

-Dominique Barrentine