Nothing Poetic (#emptychair edit)

•July 30, 2015 • 2 Comments

I was raped when I was 8
Grabbed, threatened, and invaded
So many times
When I should have been safe
There is nothing poetic here
They always call us crazy
They always deny and say we lie
I was called a “stupid victim”
By a “smart” Buddhist thinker
He called my memories, “illusions”
And the flashbacks, “only thoughts”
Symptoms he assigned, “my fault”
Nothing new, this sanity assault
I know he’d be more comfortable
If I locked it in my body vault
But I will not!
My brutal honesty does not mean
That a victim lives inside of me
I simply tell the awful truth
Of what he did, of the abuse
Of how I was once victimized
And he did!  And I was a child!
And now I fight, and I am loud
And I heal, and it is all real
And I say proudly, THIS IS ME
I’ll sit in that #emptychair quite openly
Because brutes and blind society
Will not scare or silence me
Ever again


8 year old me
Photograph: 8 year old me


•July 29, 2015 • Leave a Comment

A mosquito stuck in candle wax
Floating only when the fire resumes
It was not suicide, but point of fact
False hope in flames and in perfume



Painting: Mosquito in Red by Octavia Milner


•July 19, 2015 • 2 Comments

My practice must prepare for chaos
My silence stopped for decibel
My stillness must make way for shaking
My focus freed for breaking rules

My measure must allow for madness
My calm must be combustible
My balance broken some for outbursts
My comfort quelled for living full


Margo selski rabbit holePainting: Down the Rabbit Hole by Margo Selski

Winding Down

•July 16, 2015 • Leave a Comment

The rise and fall of summer cicadas
A sound wave cycling through our neighborhood
It circles ’round my house and back again
A lifesong winding down for us and them



Photo, and clock, created by Leslie Pearson

That Morning

•July 15, 2015 • 5 Comments

That morning
The mockingbird
Flew down our chimney
We stood still
Hushed and waiting
No sound
But the rustling of flustered wings
And my child muffling a scream
No movement
But the swirling of six month old soot
From her feathers like tiny contrails
In the morning light
She landed on the sill of our closed window
And stilled
Like us
Her body wound tight and vibrating
Staccato twitching, watching
Us, the window, us, the window
And then
She began rubbing her tiny skull
With a fluid motion across the thick glass
Back and forth
Back and forth
Back and forth
Accompanied by a soft clicking
Each time she changed direction
Her beak quietly tapping
A Morse Code
An S.O.S to save her soul
And so you did
Slowly you made your way to her side
She trusted you, she stayed
I swear I saw your reflection in her ebony eye
And inched
There was a pause, a moment
Of our collective breath being held
She looked around with a tilted head
As if confused by her own stillness
She took it all in
And then she leapt
That morning
Felt like



F@ck Meme

•July 11, 2015 • 2 Comments

Sorry for my f@cking selfies
All I want to do is trash them
It’s just
I liked me for a moment
But don’t you worry now because
I am uncomfortable again



Mondays Suck

•July 6, 2015 • 4 Comments

Some Mondays I just lose perspective,
My “Positive Patty” not at all effective.
Days like this simply suck,
I can’t pretty them up,
My “things work out” button fucking defective!

So I sit, and I write, nothing works,
Only serving to make matters worse.
Those tools simply recap,
A day quite gone to crap,

No clever quip to fillout this damn verse!




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