Breaking the Legacy of Silence # 32 Happy Birthday Noah | Kim D. Bailey | Five 2 One Magazine 

“My oldest child, Zach, had also been born as a girl to me. We named her Amanda Margaret Renee Lee. When “Mandi” was 10 she told me she was gay. I was okay, a little shaken up but really okay. Ten years later she told me she was going to start the process to transgender, female to male, and came to me first because, “I know you will be the most understanding and I need your support when I tell everyone else.” ‘

Kim D Bailey celebrates her son’s 21st today on #BTLOS

http://five2onemagazine.com/breaking-the-legacy-of-silence-32-happy-birthday-noah/

Breaking the Legacy of Silence #31 | Outside Looking In | Kim D. Bailey

“Many who read my posts or have known me for some considerable time, or have made an effort to know me regardless of how far back our relationship goes, know that I moved back to the Chattanooga area in December 2012 after having been away for about thirty-one years.”

This week Kim D Bailey on #BTLOS looks from the outside, and reflects on going “home” again.
http://five2onemagazine.com/breaking-the-legacy-of-silence-31-outside-looking-in-kim-d-bailey/

Poetry by Kim D. Bailey | Forgetting

This poem was written in late 2015 after a difficult year spent with my ex, his family, death, and losses of many kinds.

Today, I grieve a marriage ended that started to unravel about the time the subject of this poem was making history. If I’m honest, it started before then. The events which unfolded during my late father-in-law’s illness and subsequent death only reinforced the truth behind the lie.

I read it last night at an open mic night and felt compelled to share it with all of you today. 
Thanks to Kelly Fitzharris Coody for publishing this poem in Sick Lit Magazine in 2016.

Forgetting

 

The maze of hallways all seem

the same, nurses stations with sad

still faces and bent backs,

watching the clock until a light blinks

until another patient wanders past

the invisible fence of the floor.

 

My father-in-law does not remember

me, a stranger he met when his mind

was already broken,

Sometimes he smiles when I enter

his room, more often he cries

for his momma.

 

My back bends with the nurse’s

we hold him up to dress or bathe

while he spits curses and yells

then he jokes with the cute blonde

I am weary

I want to go home.

 

We had one good day

he told me his same old stories

we sang, The Old Rugged Cross,

I’ll cherish, burdens I lay down

the smile on his face

the light in his eyes.

 

The last week he was in his room

a house much too large for two

my husband and his mother, his brothers

none knew what to do, grief

was a squatter, invisible I wrung my

hands, I felt so helpless.

 

After we said goodbye to him

the light was gone from us,

wicked wounding words, stricken by fear

faithless, broken we had become

our legacy, lingering loss of trust

a last word for a last word.

 

My husband’s eyes and hands

dimpled smile so like his father’s,

watching him sometimes frightens me.

Will he forget who I am?

Will we be strangers one day,

or were we all along?

 

Kim D. Bailey (Deal)

December 6, 2015

For: Bob and Gene, the two real deals. I wish you hadn’t left us. We needed you so.

Breaking the Legacy of Silence #28: I Won’t Back Down: My Top 10 List of Things I’d Rather Do Than See Donald Trump Take the Office of POTUS | Kim D. Bailey – FIVE:2:ONE

“I’ve been thinking of how to broach this subject—since it’s all any of us are talking about—and I have come up with what I consider the most articulate way for me to describe my disgust and disdain for the inauguration and the next four years of hell for this country.”

Kim D Bailey talks of the things she’d rather be doing than watching our fearless leader in this weeks #breakingthelegacy. Give it a read and share it ya’ll.

.http://five2onemagazine.com/breaking-the-legacy-of-silence-28-i-wont-back-down-my-top-10-list-of-things-id-rather-do-than-see-donald-trump-take-the-office-of-potus-kim-d-bailey/

Write Despite, by Chuck Wendig, Terrible Minds

As such, it feels both necessary and also unmercifully glib to offer up writerly resolutions in any form. I want to say, WRITE YOUR REBELLION, and that’s not a bad idea, to put to paper all your fears and your ideas — give voice to your own idea of resistance. I want to say, BURN IT ALL DOWN TO MAKE GREAT ART — some snarl-mouthed snaggle-toothed middle-finger assertion to leap into the mouth of the monster and cut its throat from the inside with a sword made from your own wordsmithy. I want you to be bad-ass. I want to be bad-ass, too. I don’t want resolutions. I want revolutions. I want fire and steel and anger, I want politics and rage and poison, I want Hunter S. Thompson and Spider Jerusalem and Nine Inch Nails. I want brimstone and batshit. I want heartsblood spattered on the walls that dries in the form of your stories.
At the same time, that’s not going to be all of us.
I don’t even know that it’s me. I don’t know how brave I am or how good I am. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know who I’m going to be as a writer by the end of this year, or next, or in five years. I don’t know who you are or who you will become, either.
What I know is this:
We’re writers, and writers write.
And so, this year’s authorial resolution is far humbler, far smaller —
Write, despite.
What I mean is, no matter what happens, keep writing. No matter how exciting or terrifying the news becomes, write anyway. Force the time. Look away. Focus up. Eyes on your paper. Demand of yourself the creation of stories. Carve out the mental and emotional territory, and the temporal and physical landscape, in order to keep doing what you’re doing. In times like this, the distractions are endless. It’s easy to stop. It’s all too simple to feel overwhelmed by what’s going on and to stare at the Eye of Mordor as it fixes its gaze upon you. And yet, no matter what, you gotta do the thing. You gotta tell the stories. You gotta write it all down.
Write Despite, Chuck Wendig, Terrible Minds

Breaking the Legacy of Silence #24 When Hope Must Be Your Armor | Kim D. Bailey | Five 2 One Magazine 

His inaction and unwillingness to make me a priority and to stand up for me when I was being attacked or hurt by those people drove a wedge between us.

Kim D. Bailey is back with #breakingthelegacyofsilence:

http://five2onemagazine.com/breaking-the-legacy-of-silence-24-when-hope-must-be-your-armor-kim-d-bailey/

Issue 8 – Firefly Magazine| Short story, An Evil Wind, by Kim D Bailey

Check out my latest publication. It’s a short story, sequel to the first short story I ever had published (also my Firefly in their 3rd Issue)! I loosely refer to this set of short stories as my “Indian girl series” as I’ve written more. I hope you enjoy it. If you haven’t read the first one, make sure to go to the Issue #3 tab on their site and check it out before you read this one, or check out the PDF here: Firefly Issue #3
http://fireflymagazine.weebly.com/issue-8.html

Sunday Songs: One Small Heart by Mary Chapin Carpenter

It’s that time, another Sunday Songs segment!

These days I’m taking a step at a time in certain matters of my life, while making huge leaps and bounds in my career as an author.

The journey is transformative, frightening, and necessary.

Here’s one of my favorite songs from Mary Chapin Carpenter’s Between Here And Gone album, released 2004 by Columbia Records.

One Small Heart Youtube

Lyrics: One Small Heart by Mary Chapin Carpenter

Call the folks, leave a note, lock the
Doors and windows
Pack the truck, here’s to luck
Here’s to how the wind blows

got the cash, got the gas,
Now lose the map and compass
Now read the signs obey the lines
Follow all your hunches
‘Cause now it’s just the open road
One small heart and a great big soul that’s driving

Radio singing low just like a true companion
L.A.’s lights wavy bright, they follow like a lantern
Then morning comes and desert sun
Rises like redemption
Another day to make your way from answer
Back to question
Out here on the open road
One small heart and a great big soul that’s driving

No set of directions, no shortcuts
Just some empty soda cans,
Some cigarette butts
The key to traveling light is to
Not need very much

Late tonight you’ll see the lights of a
Thousand stars above you
And at a roadside stop you’ll
Call to talk to a voice
Back home that swears they love you
But at the sound of the tone you’ll
Hang up the phone
And peel out of that joint
You might try again God knows when;
At least they got the point
They lost you to the open road, one small heart
And a great big soul
That’s driving, driving

Out here on the open road
One small heart and a great big soul that’s driving

Breaking the Legacy of Silence #21 A Revolution is Coming: Women (and Some Men) Are Mad as Hell! | Kim Bailey Deal | Five 2 One Magazine 

“As voting for Trump was this person’s right, albeit a terrible decision, it is mine to disconnect from someone who would dishonor me and the other women in their life by voting for Trump.” 

Kim Bailey Deal is back with #breakingthelegacyofsilence: 

http://five2onemagazine.com/breaking-legacy-silence-21-revolution-coming-women-men-mad-hell-kim-bailey-deal/

Short Story Excerpt by Kim Bailey Deal for #NationalAuthorsDay

For #NationalAuthorsDay

An excerpt of my short story, “Saving Junie,” published by The Magnitizdat Literary Fall 2016 Issue
….


Little does my brother know, in the short time since I left my fucked up life here, I’ve learned a few things. He looks at me expectantly and I smile, just before I flip him around and shove his arm behind his back. I land on his back while slamming all 200 pounds of him face-first on the floor.

“Dammit, Andi, let go of me!” His mouth is shoved halfway into the plush carpet of our mother’s million dollar beach home. He tries to turn over, so I apply more pressure. He screams.

Bending low, I whisper into his ear, “I’m going to let go. When I do, I’m getting Junie. She and I will be leaving, and you will not interfere. Do you understand?”

He spits curses and tries to buck me. I twist his arm and shove his fingers so high up his back he can almost touch the top of his head. His wails echo off the walls.

I let up on the pressure a little bit. “I didn’t hear your answer, Markus. Do you understand?”

Slowly he nods. Saliva oozes with a trickle of blood from his mouth to make a puddle beneath his cheek, staining the ivory carpet crimson.

Mom will love that.
….