It whispers the ugliest words, echoes of those who hurt the tenderness in us.
When the Photons Call
The photons call out in desperation, for the body to pay attention.
Running my fingers over the scars, I close my eyes.
Nighttime Haunts the Muscles
Don’t store the detritus in your body. It will mire down your feet.
Where Is Nowhere?
Where is nowhere? On the edge of sanity, where all the color and magic resides?
We Are Your Revelation
Sexual abuse, trauma;Leaves physical scarsToo deep to ever leave.They etch into the skinA constant reminderOf being a victim. Torn tendons in groins.Cracked backs,Hips askew and brainsWracked from pain,From the blows you threw,Sadistic things who,Found their way to earth,Soon returning to the dirtWhere they belong,Fodder for worms,Leaving behind aftermathThat the apatheticWant to forget. We will never … Continue reading We Are Your Revelation
I am a poetess a prowess, a lioness ripping through emotions a shark in an ocean of sadness and incapable expression. I am your words, unspoken and unheard, representative of pain revealing what you restrain, heart broken and torn, cries of the unborn. I am a servant echoes of the quiet haunt moving ghosts in … Continue reading I Am
Skeletons remain in the spaces beneath the pain. My brain becomes a seismograph of moving timelines and opportunities to rewind. I enter the dark caverns armed. This is no place for charm or niceties. This is a war to be fought by a single army. I am one with what was formed. I go quiet … Continue reading Skeletons Remain
The Birth of Death
In battle, small platoons take hold positions. Their leaders converse and strategize. It is neither a battle they plan to fight nor a war they wish to start. It will be a complete conquering, and this must be a smooth sweep. Such things are not decided upon quickly. Every angle is inspected thoroughly and repeatedly. … Continue reading The Birth of Death
The Woven Sea
The rain is folding in waves against the windows. I close my eyes into moments of lull. In the intricate weaving of life, a flow emerges. Remain steady. Stand ready. I am swaying on cusps, seeing into futures, and I delight at the hope before me. This choice I have been given, to live a … Continue reading The Woven Sea
A Different Kind Of Damaged
I can only sit and observe, The winding streets of your hurt.
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