My own vintage trade

                                                     My own Vintage Trade
                                                                   By;
                                                       Jessica  Singleton


This feels like the end of a long trip and I could not be more tired.  Not only my mind but my bones and my spirit.  It has taken more out of me then my age would allow.  I do not want to look back because I cannot deal with it.  Closure is not something that I will find in a thrift shop any time soon.  They are fresh out of time and they are fresh out of what it would take.
So right now, I just get to stand around and wait.

That sounds like a headache.  But the fear of the unknown is worse.  I do not have a speech made.  There is no point.  I am not the one that would have to talk.  My feelings are strangers at pretty wooden doors.  I don't have any intention of selling vacuums this year.  So now I get to be the star in a silent film that no one will watch.


When I was a little girl I watched my mother work through just about anything. She was not a happy woman.  I understand why?  I watched a lot of strong women when I was growing up.  Then when I was a woman I found myself in the same situations that life gives out like second hand clothes.  They never are your size but heaven knows it is all you have to wear. No one gives a damn about you when you are not on their pay roll.
Only I knew by then what not to do after watching first hand what cause and effect do in life.  I played by the rules and I did not put myself in bad situations.  Then like clockwork, I was thrown down on the cold floor and I got the shit kicked out of me.  The police did not care.  The hospital did not care.  Everyone had their hands dirty.   Everyone wanted a second chance. No one wanted anyone to know  what they did.  Why would they?  Not only would it put them away. It would tare up their life.  The whole world would look down on them.
They did not care how they had to cover it up.  They did not care if I paid on some level for what they did.  All they cared about, was that it did not effect their life.

Well, you are not a woman until you've been raped by the hands of society .  

The worst part about being raped, is what it does to your soul.  It is  like someone takes something out of you.  You never get it back.  I do not know why?  You cannot shake it..  And even years after it is over.  At least the physical part of actually going through the rape itself....   It feels like someone is standing right beside you.  Like they are getting to close.  You cannot move away.  You cannot shake their gaze.  It is a violation unlike any other.  It is unfair.