Listening to the rain and Stevie Nicks is stirring up my heart tonight. Thinking about writing a song and recording it. We shall see.
“When they came,
the mountains shuddered.
The rivers emptied themselves
Undressed until they were
naked and still.
A hole covered in moss. I visit you there, from time to time to time to ti-. I’m sorry. I’ve lost my little sliver of the future again. Read More
on the handles of daggers
that rest in our dying chests.
Let’s not sugarcoat
the obvious — we did this
to each other, you and I.
you look at me and see the cities you tried to burn down; Read More
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.
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.