My hands are cold, and my skin is old. A lifeless blue, and sore to touch. I cry, soft, in a private space, plush with reds and ribbon and lace; A sanctuary for me, and a faceless freedom. I lay my heart in the bowl, and watch the blood bleed and coat the engraved words: … More Gift
Labels. I hate them. With a burning intensity I hate them. Why do we feel it necessary to label everything? Everyone? I don’t care if you have a degree or you were in a relationship with someone that hurt you so now you are an expert…. you can not smear the words ‘narcissist’ and the … More Oh My.. *Gasp* .. a Narcissist…
You thought you would break me, amend me, and be needed by me. You thought I would beg. Mumble up offerings of adoration with shaking hands. I thought I would die, on your floor. I could not breathe in anymore. I thought you would show mercy, or some semblance of kindness. Or at least remorse. … More You Thought…
Paint me a picture of my blistering shame. What colours would you choose to show the pain? Would your hand be steady and heavy and meticulously planned, or would you just tip and pour and not even use your hands? Paint me a picture of the torture in anguish I feel. What colours would you … More What Colour?
Tie me to a post, and set me on fire. I am worn with being told I find it easy to walk away from people, places and things. I am heart sore that you know me so little to think that I do any leaving behind with flippant ease. It is not about you, as … More Self Preservation
She sat on the edge of the sofa, her fingertips nervous, conscious of the frayed seams, worn upholstery and dulled paisley print. The ceiling fan squealed as it spun, and the humidity in the room was oppressive. Her blouse clung to her with sweat, and she could feel a bead of sweat run from her … More Waiting. Short Story Pt 1.
I find it hard to write, when that is all I want to do. There is a riot of words going on in my skull, which now feels trapped and confined and plagued by the inability to articulate how I am feeling. I feel as though my spine may snap at the neck, with the … More 12 Hours
I was not made for war Or shown how to keep count. Those skills came, with the change of each season. The absence of reason. Tearing out the hearts of the pale skinned innocents, like a blood sport, redefined by those who had defeated me before. Those who still have the blood of my fleshy … More I got soul but I’m not a soldier…
I have always been deeply moved by this video. I connect with the pain in the movement, and the words in the song.. so thought I would share.
Much to the dismay of many that know me (and have to be seen in public with me) I HATE shoes. I don’t wear them unless I have to. And I mean.. when I HAVE to. I would rather sprint while cussing my heart out across hot parking lots in the bleating sunshine than just … More Epic Fails. Remain Calm
writing as a way of life
My ramblings poems and musings enjoy or not no pressure
The varied thoughts of a millennial modern linguist.
Talking about real things
Poetry and Poems
All that is me!
CRIME WRITER
Fabulously Refined/Wildy Inappropriate
I Kill My Own Spiders
character limited descriptions kind of give me anxiety
A few new poems every week. Haikus on Sundays.
Mocking Bird Down 