Program Success October 2009 | Page 15

PROGRAM SUCCESS – OCTOBER 2009 PAGE 15

“ DAMAGED GOODS ” - A Self-fulfilled Prophecy

She ’ s tired . She ’ s weary . Her spirit has bean stripped and beaten to the depths of her core . The bruises that were inflicted , not only bruised the flesh of her back , but the hope of anything good as well .

Even though she escaped from the hell in which consumed her , she is still mentally enslaved in her past , trying desperately to free herself completely . She has one foot out of the door , but desires to escape and emerge as a whole person .

Confidence and self-esteen are deeply rooted from early childhood . Unfortunetely , many parents and children fall victim to the ugly realities of child abuse . Damage Good , a book of memoirs and poetry , explores this reality .

From childhood abuse , promiscurity , and self-hate the author recover from these damages . While looking back at life ’ s tramas , she blossoms into a loving and confident Christian woman , finding closure and peace .

Tyra Denine was born in Sandusky , Ohio . She moved to Decatur , Illinois at agesix . She joined the United States Navy in 1987 andserved over ten years . She currently resides in the Atlanta area with her two sons , Dante and Darius . “ Damaged Goods ” is her first published book .

Tyra Denine tyradenine @ doubledapbooks . com www . doubledapbooks . com

Tyra Denine Double Dap Books Jacksonville , Florida October 2009

Excerpts From Chapter Five

Just Call Me Cinderella

I had grown accustomed to coming home and being welcomed with “ Get in here and wash them dishes !” or “ I need you to walk to Kroger and get some milk and bread , so don ’ t get too comfortable .” I usually came home from school , a game , or work with tons of homework or aching feet from standing at the counter all evening at McDonald ' s asking , “ May I take your order ?” Away from the house , I could escape from reality . I could pretend that I was loved and that I was the apple of my mother ’ s eye ...

Our house became the official drop-off station for every relative who birthed a child . Diapers needed to be changed , noses had to be wiped , and crying babies longed to be rocked to sleep . And after all that , the dishes still hadn ’ t washed themselves ...

After everyone had picked up their kids ( or they were staying the night ), and most everyone else had gone to bed , I would be awake , standing in the midst of a disaster . Massive near-empty pots of collard greens , brown beans , black eyed peas , beef and potatoes , chicken n ’ dumplings , or some other soulful dish my mother had concocted , sat waiting to be emptied and cleaned . Cockroaches scattered about the floor and countertops , eager to become their usual nuisance ...

I finished scrubbing the pots and pans , washing the dishes , wiping down the countertops and table , and sweeping and mopping the kitchen floor . I was exhausted and thinking of finally going to sleep . But I remember that I had unfinished homework due the next day and still needed to find some school clothes to wear and iron them . I closed my eyes for a

moment and allowed my thoughts to take over . Dreaming of a quiet place , I lost myself , once again , in my fantasies …

I ’ m sick of life ’ s deceptions . I ’ m fed up with despair . Why should I have to fabricate a life that isn ’ t there ? Is destitute my destiny ? Is wealth just not my fate ? Is pleasure a prospect for me , or my life meant to hate ? With poetry ’ s security , my fortune I will make . I well intend to gratify myself , make no mistake It may not buy me happiness . It may just purchase hate . It will however , pay the rent on my millionaire estate !