Nutshell <3

We chase misprinted lies

We face the path of time
And yet I fight
And yet I fight
This battle all alone
No one to cry to
No place to call homeOooh…Oooh…

My gift of self is raped
My privacy is raked
And yet I find
And yet I find
Repeating in my head
If I can’t be my own
I’d feel better dead


Alice In Chains

I needed this

“Sometimes people think they know you. They know a few facts about you, and they piece you together in a way that makes sense to them. And if you don’t know yourself very well, you might even believe that they are right. But the truth is, that isn’t you. That isn’t you at all.”
Leila Sales

They ate me

His love was ambient,
warm holy water.

A baptism that cleansed me of my shame, my Daddy’s starless hands, my Mommas undoing.

There was Him and then there was god.

You see,

I was conceived out of wedlock, unwanted until my momma stumbled into an abortion clinic “a child” and walked out “a woman”.

I got my first bloody lip at age
five, from the steel backhand
of my father.

“Little whore, just like your mother”

I was to young to understand exactly what he meant at the time but his midnight hungry fingers taught me well.

My stepmother would have sex
with him while I was in the room sometimes.

The worst part of it was how the springs sounded like screaming.

Stuffed animals became my asylum; fluffy kitty’s, hippo’s and teddy bears, as many as I could find to hide under.

I remember white teeth watching
me from the shadows cast on ceiling corners in my room.

They never spoke to me,
just smiled like they knew
something that I didn’t.

I wondered when they would come down from the ceiling and eat me like the time a boy tried to eat me while playing hide and seek with my sisters.

He forced his way into the bedroom closet and pulled at me like I was wrapping paper. He ripped my skin but I couldn’t scream. His claws covered half of my face.

My momma had a habit of crashing into herself like chimes every time the wind blew, and I’ve been choking on all that music ever since.

Her first husband stabbed a women twenty-seven times after sexually assaulting her. The mask he hid his other face with was made from a pair of my eight month old baby pants. He was still a better father to me then my own.

I watched her get beat while holding my baby sister in her arms by the next man who said he loved her. He left and we moved in whatever direction the wind felt like taking us.

At seventeen I knew more sorrow then any casket could ever carry,
numbness rippled inside of me
like rings moving outward on stone soaked water until he found me.

He was a reckless boy with a mouth full of the sweetest honey and eyes so blue you’d swear he had oceans inside of him.

He told me that my soul felt like standing in the middle of a still forest and when he laid his head on my chest he knew that he was home.

I was finally home.


Sat in the urgent care for a good four hours waiting to be seen today. Had to get a shot of high potent antibiotics in my ass and now I feel like vomiting. It’s just not my day.

On a happier note, grandma and Papa will be here in just a few days.

I’m off to codeine induced dreams.

Good night my lovelies xo