May 18th: Write a piece with the first word of each stanza beginning with a letter of the alphabet. 26 Lines. Absorbed. Filled. Soaked in the smell of my morning coffee. Body aching from the night shared with the awkward and equally charismatic gentleman who made his way over to me only to deliberately fumble. … More May 18th Poetry Challenge: Bite Me.
Do not be so quick to envy my sharp tongue and my fearless hands. Destroying the smile of another with intent, is my own crippling band; that chokes me. Bruises me. Not because of guilt, and not because of shame. But because it leaves me bitter and abandoned in the hollows of my veins. Destruction … More Envy Not
When I was a young girl, I would wish I could be invisible, to the eyes that looked for me in the dark of night. My bed was not my imaginary princess castle; It was the birth place for evil. A grown man’s twisted mind, my small body he did find. I was four. He … More Child’s Voice
“All of the truly important battles are waged within the self. ” ― Sheldon B. Kopp, If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him: The Pilgrimage Of Psychotherapy Patients I have been blessed with a wild mind. A brittle constitution, and an appetite for truth. Impatience is my virtue, and possibly the only … More By Virtue
My door is closed in the dark, and if you don’t make it back by the time the night meets the ground, I will not let you in. My curtains will be drawn, and so will your time have come to it’s end. I reminded you of the curfew, and I told you; the cold … More Unwelcome
One of my three brothers knows I love poetry – and because we had been struggling to communicate with out fighting – write this for me. I still cry every time I read it. It demonstrates his effort to talk to me in a language he believes I understand, and it was his way of … More Sibling Bonds
It is more convoluted, than just a throbbing demand for blood. It is more labyrinthine than simply knowing that I will stand, bloody faced and victorious, heart pounding against my rib cage. A reminder that the trophy blood that drips from my hands, is not mine. It belongs to one of the demons that has … More Chasing Demons
If I leant back in this hard wooden chair, and willingly placed my wrists on the arms, and let you cable tie my hands to it’s frame; would you? Would you follow through? Would you help me forget? Would you whisper your apologies in between each blow, each cut, each laceration of my skin? Or … More Would You?
There are seconds, sometimes long hours, where my head feels heavy. Heavy with a weighted accumulation of thoughts. Some unimportant, and some important enough to be worth avoiding. But to turn my back on one, means to stare at another, and the pressure is not unlike that of a boiling kettle. Steam burns brand those … More I’m Fine.