There is love

There are forms of love we haven’t quite talked about
There are forms of love we haven’t quite noticed
The next time you think that this world lacks love
I hope that i can remember it
There is love from parents
Who wait for their child to come home
There is love in their excitement to see you after work
There is love between two friends despite the misunderstanding
There is love between siblings shown by silent embraces, stories and secrets shared to one another
There is love in simple ways of being with other people
The next time you think that this world lacks love
I hope i can remember it
There is love that you continue to express no matter how elusive the reward you hoped for
There is love ready to accept your past mistakes
There is love in determination to protect oneself from pain, even if you get called cruel, apathetic and adamant
There is love that will never fade even if it ended long ago
There is love that is faithful even to ghosts
But this is my wish for you
The next time you think that this world lacks love
I hope you can find a love ready to risk getting hurt and inflict pain just to stay with you
Love is a decision, that always ask for a sacrifice, and if the world rejects the value of love due to not having enough of it
Then decide for yourself,
I will choose to love despite it all


Beautiful piece written by Linda




index.jpgIf drops of rain could be counted

Words would elucidate heartbeats

Thoughts as well may be puzzled

At the feeling of something nothing

That seems wanting

However, one thing’s certainly in-explainable: love


You can’t make clear the stalking, silent-talk-walk accompanies,

The callings, messages, cordial and nasty talks, memories shared,

Bearable and unbearable grief,

The smiles worn in thoughts of her even at her absence

The placating smiles she lavishes when at wrong,

The sensations of seventh heaven in the aura of her

The orgasms of explosive echoes that fondles that idyllic ambience

When emotions find thoughts and thoughts find words,

Still inexpressible


The moon will beyond doubt unearth and chronicle love tales

Of beauty duly and fully felt,

Eloquent only in heart of hearts


Even these words can’t discern how special you are

If it tries, it won’t tell it all.




Image may contain: one or more people


I was just seven:
How can I erase history
when it is written on my fore fathers fore-head?
How can you lift up thy burden
when it is budded in my heart?

I rest my case
Baba God I rest my case,
until I am done will I avenge and crave for more attention of decayed carcasses of my people.
They buried my hope in the midst of all sights
They all stood against me
and I died….
brutally beaten and burnt.

How can they erase me in their memory?
when they were blindfolded by their sins
deafened by the silent voices coming out of their skin;
they were dumb,
they crippled handed me over to the clothing of revival.
They are human
They are selfish
They are callous
They are evil
they were paralyzed,
they were paralyzed….
And if I make heaven
Or hell
And if drought beckons their land
And if blood continues bleeding blood
And if my Ha! Yeh! Ah! Yeh! Ah! Yeh! Mogbe! Ejoo! Ah! Yeh!
seizes the peaceful atmosphere housing their homes.
They have forgotten
life is so good
but, love is so rude.
They have forgotten
life is a jail
and ghost are guardian host of cemetery.

They have forgotten
why the floor is slippery
They have forgotten,
He who avoids…..
the definition of depth fears death.
They have forgotten…..
Baba I was little,
They have forgotten,
I was conceived…
They have forgotten,
When cold and heat beats me up,
They have forgotten,
They have forgotten I was just seven…….

Mused…2016 ©
“For the seven year old kid”
“He who forgets death neither knocks for wrath or regret”.


vlcsnap-2016-10-30-22h16m09s329.pngThe most anticipated inspirational and maleficent poetry by McNaevets will soon be surfaced… “Life is worth living only if you can spell it well” is a Poem meant to remind those who are tired and fed up of life’s situation and are faced with disdain to reproduce their thoughts, empty the tank and make it blank…

Some of the lines found in the poem meant for your soothing is to be officially published here…


“… suicide is like an addiction, once attempted may be hard to be perverted

and like cocaine it will feel good to go again and be demented.

but no matter how badly it seems to hurt,

whether silence cuts so deep and it hurts

whether people mock you a looser or a fool

record all the insults in your hearts of heart

and then use the pain to earn gain that defines your living.

it is not the end of life, just an exodus of numbers

so aspire to something higher and pull yourself out of the mire

you can do it if you try, don’t buy the “you can’t” lie

It’s time to stretch yourself and move and think outside the box.

A new world awaits you… so turn off depression’s TV

and boost your life CV”



Check out his Facebook Profile for more info





Lindsay’s Story


photo Lindsay's' Story
I became a suicide survivor on July 27, 2011, when my Dad, Tom, decided to end his life. He rode his bike down the block to a park and shot himself. It still feels weird saying that out loud, let alone reading my words back that I just typed out on this computer screen.
My husband and I were returning from dinner when I received a call from my younger brother. I remember him asking me if my husband was in the car, and after I said “yes”, he replied with “Dad’s dead”—it was so matter of a fact. I don’t think my brother was crying either, I think we were both too shocked. At this point the only information I was given was that the police found my Dad at the park on his bike. Logically, I assumed he had a heart attack. Why would I think anything differently?

I don’t think I cried at first, I think I was to panic-stricken, like someone just took a sledgehammer to my stomach. Luckily my husband and I were 30 seconds from our condo, because I am pretty sure we wouldn’t have been able to drive in Chicago traffic with knowing my Dad just died. After a major freak-out in the elevator up to our condo, I got bits and pieces of information from my brother who mentioned something about a “note” and how he couldn’t go into the house because the police had to check things out. At this point I started to get the idea that a suicide might be possible due to the “note” my brother had mentioned, but it still didn’t even seem like that could be a possibility.

To say my Dad was outgoing, loud, friendly, and loving was an understatement. He made friends with everyone; he had something in common with everyone. He loved Jimmy Buffett, The White Sox, being around friends and family, riding his bike, talking about his college days and rugby at WIU, my brother, my husband and I. He was the most generous person I have ever met. He was in sales so he obviously wasn’t shy and had many connections from his years of work. His line was “I got a guy!” (seriously for anything. My first 2 jobs out of college he actually knew people that worked there, and our fields of business were pretty far apart).

Somehow my husband and I were able to pack some belongings, drive 45 minutes outside of Chicago to my parent’s home that I grew up in. I remember pulling up into the driveway and seeing TONS of neighbors waiting for us to arrive. I get out of the car and hug my brother, talk with our Pastor and then to talked in private to the police officers who confirmed my Dad shot himself. The rest of that night and the weekend was a blur: people stopping by the house, trying to piece together what the hell just happened. Not only was I trying to piece together why my Dad took his life, but everyone else who knew and loved him were looking to me for answers…answers I did not, and still don’t have.

I was lucky enough to hear about Catholic Charities LOSS program (Loving Outreach to Survivors of Suicide) and started individual counseling the week after my Dad died. At that point if you would have told me that I’d be able to one day talk openly about what happened to my Dad, and that the panic and anxiety about what just happened to you and what your life is going to be like from now on would go away, I wouldn’t have believed you. Luckily though the help of LOSS, I was able to grieve my father’s death.

Unless you have lost someone to suicide, you have no idea what survivors are going through. The degree of hurt, abandonment, betrayal, and confusion we’re left with is indescribable. I found comfort in talking about my grief with members of LOSS; they knew EXACTLY what I was going through. We had similar thoughts, emotions, and stories. Becky, Jessica and I are living proof that you could survive losing someone you love to suicide. We want to share our stories in hopes we could resonate to others who might not have the services we had through LOSS. For us, talking about what we went through with other survivors was the key to dealing with our grief, understanding what happened to our loved ones, and figuring out how we move forward from such a horrible tragedy.

LOGIC… McNaevets

If you hear a gunshot please take cover

Because when we die our journey on earth is just over

So I don’t care if you are a witness to Jehovah, Islam or Juju

It’s just a matter of time

Because in life, there are times to be happy and times to be sober

And what makes you happy or sad is not exactly the problem you are facing

But your attitude and thinking with regard to the problem

So dump them. The blames please don’t cast lots,

Life is about LOGIC.



The crown of glory and desire of any man, is a woman who says the man is the real crown made of sterner stuff. The woman’s crown remains a sparkling attraction that every man would sign for. The man’s crown of awesome glory, makes it the ultimate duvet of the woman. Every man wants that great touch of woman’s glory. Every woman wants the cosiest wrap of man’s crown for life. Crowns are not picked on streets. Man and woman pound life’s lanes for worthy crowns for keeps. A crown’s hilt may light in glorious shines or exhibit splashes of coziness; every woman’s dream. A crown’s worth of glory or coziness, is straight line arrivals rated. Every woman is a crown. Every man is a crown. God’s hand is on every crown. Every shine smells. Every smell is a manure needed for crown growing. Crowns grow and grow. Crowns die and live. None is dead. All crowns live.