Author Aija Monique Butler, was born in San Diego California, in 1979. She currently resides in the San Francisco Bay area where she is a student of Medicine pursing a graduate degree in Healthcare Management. She is an Advocate and Philanthropist for non-profit program development in the areas of Youth and Social Service Development. She is a grant writer and holds an extensive background in Psychology and has a host of medical certifications. Aija has a love for the arts and is a writer of poetry both fiction and non-fiction novels and memoirs.

Aija Butler is the Author of the Fiction Mystery Suspense Drama, My Nemesis a book series, Non-Fiction Memoirs, “Life Honestly After, The Undeniable Truth,” and “The Rebirth of My Soul,” an intimidate look at her walk with illness, sharing her journey through recovery and independence. She is also the Poet/Songstress of the Poetic Experience, My Butterfly Effect, and Non-Fiction Poetic Memoirs, In the Mourning.

Latest works involve freelance article writing,and an album of musical and poetic memoirs. Aija also looks to put together her first script and plans to release three new books in the year 2012. Look out for this creative genious she is taking on the world of creative arts by storm.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Breaking Point

I am close to the edge. My feet keep slipping off the curb. The pavement is wet. I can almost feel the concrete hitting my face before falling. The blow knocks me against a wall of glass. The glass doesnt break just yet, but its cracked. My hands are bloody. There are bits of glass burried into the palms of my hands. They resemble small diamond crystals glistening into the suns light.

Even though the space on the curb was large enough for me to walk freely, something was forcibly pushing me to the edge. I was so tired the tears welled in my eyes and my palms clinched into a tight fist. I was so angry I hadnt noticed the glass sinking further into my blood stream. The glass embedded into my palms was now a permanant part of my anatomy. I was nearing the end. The lights came on. I was fluttering around like a fish out of water. I awoke from a trance, I was on staged. I didnt know how I'd got there, but the lights were so bright, they blinded me. My audience stood, and with great joy from my performance they all stood and began to clap. My performance was grand. The roses fell at my feet. The ground was in plain view. Confused and disorientated I stepped towards the edge of the stage once more. I squinted and blinked hard twice the room spun in circles. I couldnt stand all the noise. I began to shake my head and rub my face.

The glass in my hands cut me open. I was surpised by the fresh taste of blood. I thought this was all an act. A part in a play. Instead perhaps I was the puppet. I was breaking now. My face became still and my painted lips began to stain with blood. My tears glowed in the dark, and my hands sparkled as i held them high towards the light.

The glass solidified in my face, and begun to crack. As the hardening took affect, I became startled, but before I could panic my heart and soul froze like stone. I was looked inside and I couldnt fight or scream for help. Seconds later after my mummbling screams turned to a faint whisper. A operatic scream filled the theater. The sound resounding vibrantly across the audience, and well onto the stage.

My glass frame began to shake. I began to sway to and fro, as the voice approached near. An angry face appeared into the light. Screaming, laughing, and pushing me with her voice. I fell to the ground. I shattered into pieces. My breaking point had come to a head. It had destroyed me, and all that i was worth.
She fell back laughing and gloating at her accomplishments. She was a miserable soul, and took great pride in the lives she stole and destroyed. My eye froze in one of the pieces of broken glass. She caught site of the glistening piece of my wounded frame, and held it close. It lay in the palm of her hands.

With every fiber of my being, broken soul, and mind. I muster up the last excreting passions of life and closed my eye. I would not her the satisfaction of looking into my tear felt eye. She was an abomination to my soul. I had reached my breaking point, because she so visiousiously pushed me over the edge.

If I had the chance again I woud fight. I would turn the tables, and expose her plans from the start. I wavered and I held on, but as she grew close to me, I froze. Instead of attempting for move out of her wraths direction, I stood and held my ground. I didn't coware away, but I didn't fight either.

What will you allow to be your breaking point? My worst enemy is me.

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