Mitchell's Mustard Blog

May 13, 2017

Bruised

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:14 pm

He had come home from school with another bruise, another one to add to the collection. This young boy full of charisma, charm, and joy when encased by the families four walls ached physically and mentally without a peep. His mother could hear him quietly weep in the morning whilst getting ready for school, which in turn made her cry for answers, but he was proud and strong and a shrug of the shoulders was the answer to all. He often came home with rips in his clothing, when doing his washing she would find blood stains on his sleeves, his explanation was yet another nosebleed. She watched her young boy battle in silence, the more pressure she applied for answers the more he closed up and became aloof around her. She had spoken to the school on numerous occasions but they explained that without her son coming forward they couldn’t pursue. A promise to keep an eye out for him was lost in communication because he had come home again with a cut on his head, an accident he had explained. His eyes told another story, a silent uncomfortable story. Over the last year his character had changed, her brave little boy seemed to fear the outside, and worst of all, fear the inside. His brave little smile had left, his charisma had been removed, joy was a thing of the past. She confided in friends and family, ‘troubled teens’ they’d say to put her mind at rest. But she could see the screams behind his eyes, the damage to his body, the way he flinched at movement.

  She had heard him weep again in the morning so she confronted him, no prisoners, she wanted answers. Where had her charming and enthusiastic boy gone? What was happening?

  As she broke down, so did he. He was curled in the corner lost and fearful, she had scared him. She knew she needed to apologise . . .   

   . . . But it was too late, that day he had taken his own life. She wished someone had listened, wished she had worked harder to get to the truth, wished her little baby boy had opened up. But, all the wishes in the world had expired. Stood by his graveside she cried for today, cried for tomorrow, and feared whatever followed.

July 30, 2015

The Gentleman Section – Words

Filed under: The Gentleman Section — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 11:10 am

Words. Words are just fucking words that fill the silence unless it’s complemented with actions. Hand in hand like that of your childhood sweetheart, from the early age you need to understand that words can make you, and break you. Your words don’t always work out. People in your life rely on the actions that fulfil that verbal contract. That word, promise, it’s old and overused by too many. Washed, worn, and reused until it’s tainted and tatty. Don’t promise something unless you are committed to fulfilling it.
Be a man of your word, a man of honor and trust. Don’t use your words to get you out of a tight spot, use your words so that you never know where the tight spot may be. When you tell people what you think they want to hear, the only person you’re kidding in the room is yourself. To sell yourself out like that, no one will trust you if you can’t trust yourself to say what you think. As I said, words are just the façade. You have to be able to back it up, live it, believe in it.
Telling the truth may hurt, cause issues, but in the long run after the burn has subsided respect will always shine through. In no way am I saying you should just tell everyone one around you your opinion, that’s a whole different bag of ‘Fuck yous’. People don’t need to be told they’re fat, ugly, or boring . . don’t be rude! When it comes to having your opinion in a discussion that involves you, hold your own, but don’t be disrespectful. We all have different beliefs, visions, and feelings. A gentleman can always agree to disagree and move on.
Don’t raise your voice with stern words, stay calm or you’ll say something you’ll later regret. We’re all guilty of raising our voice when we’re passionate about something, but save it for the good passion, the ones that are followed by a high five or your very own victory dance . . . don’t deny it, we’ve all got one.
Words are just fucking words, or they could be something that people will rely on. It’s your choice.

December 12, 2013

Mirage

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:55 pm

It may have been your father who stole the stars for your eyes but it was me that caused you to lose them, the diamond sparkles sunken and lost for now. I’ve become a master illusionist by accident, hiding the good to cause panic and turmoil without reason. The gentle breeze becomes the blizzard, swirling out of control, disobedient emotions crash and burn surroundings to set for a new dawn. Concrete insoles in a vast desert, eyes on the prize in the horizon that could merely be a mirage. Heavy feet mirroring my heart, with each new step the sand of my past swallows up my footprints. No turning back for I would truly get lost. Like an old tape deck, no chance to rewind. My hands are the only shade for my eyes, to remove the sun’s glare and maybe hide the truth. The ache of realisation, to know that things aren’t what they seem, the plan unravelling into nothing right before your eyes. They say ‘its not about the problem, it’s how you deal with it that counts’. To experience, touch, and hold such beauty will make you chase, but a mirage is still a mirage. So breathe, rest those weary bones, but be prepared as we have some walking to do.

Blog at WordPress.com.