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.


I fell,

like a rogue wave crashing

towards the shore into the

deepest chasm of your arms.


like a breath after drowning,

You pull me past skin and


to realms only God and I could


We waged war behind the veil

against human-like demons

with hallowed hungry eyes

and whispered suggestions.

“cast her out”

He screams, but my stone broke

heart is too slick to grasp,

covered in aura-moss,

abandoned to long in the damp-

dark forest of my redwood



Still, I tear at my chest, bloody

fingertips move there way down

my valleys to wet soil and I find

my body halfway in the ground


is it halfway out?

Photo credit: Brook Shaden

Stardust Fingertips

A poem that I started working on awhile ago. Now finished.

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The skin in my teeth

Emptiness echos in my hollow chest
cracking my brittle bones.
Panic digs in like roots causing lumps in my throat,
I crave what I will never get back,
the parts of me that died the day you said

“I love her”

My insecurities gasp for a deciduous substance,
a decaying love that was once timeless.
I inhale this fleeting illusion fed by doubt
and hide in between the smoke of a midnight cigarette
and words that fill the blank pages of my journal.

I wait to exhale.


I wrote this awhile back. Needs work.

By Blood

Our souls are entangled forever,

by blood,
by skin,
by scars,
by whispers,
by secrets,
by pain,
by tears
by promises,

by love. . .

His lips, stained with my essence.

He trickles into my bones,

filling my chest so full

that there is no space

between skin and meet.

Memories like,

bullet holes with no exit wounds

Explode out of my eyes in silence.

Don’t forget me please.

Remember why we love.

My heartbeat beat beat beat

sits heavy in my throat.

The darkness would rather I

swallow razorblades,

I continue to hold my wounds

together with the thread of hope and time.

I refuse to let rot set in.

Let the silence speak

We are all fractured creatures,

Tragedy does that to you.

The best part about being in pieces is that

You get to put yourself back together however

You want too.

I’m scared to rebuild the wrong way.

Still, the pain radiates within me,

The silence guides my thoughts,

causing me to question my sanity.

The only kindness you ever showed me,

was your death.