You can’t just keep going, thinking you’ll eventually be okay. You have to let yourself heal. You have to; or all those times you picked yourself up from the floor will be for nothing. 

Wanting something I do not ask for, and it is the expectation that ruins me. 

We want, we want, we want.

But what do we give?

We want unconditional love, yet we have all these conditions that must be met before fully giving all our love. What hypocrites we have all become. 

She breathes fire like dragons and wields her power from the essence of Lilith and Circe. 

Her heart is soft yet covered in scars by the undeserving she’s loved. 

Her mind is a weapon too often taken for granted. 

She is a wild soul; full of grace and beauty in a little black dress.  

She has no fear of lions, she is the savage wolf with sight like the ever watchful raven. 

And when she sets her eyes on what she wants she doesn’t know how to quit, even if the world abandons her. 

She can touch sunshine and carries the darkest side of hell on the blade of her sword. 

She is clumsy and careless, honest to a fault and her laughter will leave its mark like she’s branded her name on your chest. 

She is me, and I will never forget who I am, ever again. 

Your words are covered in my blood and will haunt me until I’m dead

A million thoughts buzzing, 

like a bee hive.

Some dripping delicious honey

Some carrying poison on a sting

They all hum with beating wings

And make promises of a dance

My five eyes cannot see

Hush little bee, be quiet for me.

You keep talking as if anyone might be listening. 

You keep writing as if anyone might read you.

No one hears

No one reads

You speak ancient words 

You write for the dead

All those thoughts spinning behind your eyes have nowhere safe to fall

I showed you where you can find me, but you got lost and refuse to ask for directions. 

You think you have me all figured out. But you don’t. I am selective in what I share. But go on thinking you ever thought you knew me. 

You can only know someone by the way their actions stir your soul; the way they move. Words only have so much power. Did you kiss her tears as she felt your truth pool in the corners of her eyes? Did you feel her warmth, her hunger or love as she hugged you and held on? Or did you let her go, did you cower too soon to even try? 

You don’t know me. You never even tried to know me at all.

I was never yours 

You were never mine 

Still my heart is full of this terrible sadness 

Because you never really tried

Habits

Those old habits 

aren’t necessary anymore 

They don’t work, 

they lead you nowhere and hold you back.

The thing about letting go, is

a chance for new beginnings 

and maybe that makes room for something better.

Let those old ways go 

reach out with both hands

It’s never too late,

to live your life while you’re still breathing 

‘You’re not going to tell me what to do.’

It’s a motto, 

an anthem, 

a generational theme, 

a mantra, 

an ode, 

an adage, 

a melody, 

a ballad, 

a poesy, 

a limerick 

and a ruse

and it is 

bereft of any flaws, and fastened by logic.

Letting you become a memory,

is the only space I have left to offer in my heart.

Fuck trying to walk on eggshells

I like the way they crunch anyway.

So…

I’m gonna stomp on them like a toddler and throw a temper tantrum.

Because the hypocrisy is more than I can bare.

The Hunter’s alabaster moon 

hung in a cerulean velvet sky.

Trails from the hunters bow

caught in the corner of her eyes

from comets long ago.

She is such magic to behold.

Buttons

Buttons

You can push

You can loosen

You can flip

You can turn on

You can clasp

You can switch 

You can dial

You can clamp

You can fasten

You can grasp

You can buckle

You can embrace

You can clip

You can connect

You can clinch

You can hold

You can press

You can pin

You can squeeze 

You can attach 

You can screw

You can twist

You can turn

All of these as options and still you choose to push the ones that push me away.

My voice still cracks 

when I say your name.

My tears, they fall 

violently in the rain.

I’m learning to let go

of all this pain.

I give and I give and I give
until I bleed out. 

He loved to help me 
make bed angels. 
He spreads my wings, 
and teaches me how to fly.

Sex and the sizzling bacon 

A tap dancing dog

An ocean of fluffy kittens 

And a spilled vizzy 

People ignore you’re alive then get upset when you disappear.

1999

I was 27, and we partied. Not “just like it was 1999”, it really was 1999. We were on the precipice of something epic, and the world was only just beginning to spin out of control. All of us, trainwrecks and grateful for the lack of photographic evidence of a misspent youth. The memories faded and are lost to time, but when nostalgia knocks, it feels like perhaps it was all just a dream within a dream. I’d love to stumble across a picture or two of me engaging in behavior that led me to believe I would live forever or die in that moment. I was fucking fearless, I was brilliant, beautiful and wild. I wanted to do everything that sounded like a good time, and most often was a bad idea. I wasn’t well behaved, I didn’t know then that they’d all become stories so surreal that they would rival fiction. 
I was a Mom of two perfect healthy kids, a wife, a homeowner, a badass and a boss. A normal every day woman balancing quite the charmed little life. I kickboxed, swam, ran and rode my bike everywhere. I drove a 67 mustang and climbed in through the windows, when the doors would stick. My grandparents were alive and my heart still had a racing pulse. 
On the weekends we got a sitter or a grandparent to watch the kids and then dropped acid or rolled on MDMA. We sank or swim for $5 and partied in clubs where men and women danced in cages and watched drag shows in back rooms. We fucked furiously in bathrooms and did lines off bathroom sinks. We dripped sweat dancing all night and raged in mosh pits as our favorite metal bands wailed at concerts the next night. Singing karaoke, playing darts, hustling pool halls and working import beer stands at the bucs football games raising money or doing car washes so our kids could go to international tournaments for tae kwon do. Converting our garage into a virtual club, where the gamers played Mortal Kombat, NHL, NFL 2, and Legend of Zelda, we had black lights, couches, big stereos and all kinds of parties for football, hockey and every holiday we could celebrate. We never stood still. If we weren’t taking our kids to Old Towne or the beach or amusement parks and to the pool, we had friends over and family, while we cooked and grilled tons of food and all the kids played in the street that we blocked off so they could ride their bikes everywhere. We jumped on our trampoline and got fucked up in our jacuzzi and sunbathed naked in the backyard. We knew how to have fun and when we didn’t party we hit up game rooms, raced go karts and hit the batting cages. It was endless fun and the world was about to end. We didn’t care. We weren’t tied down to cell phones or computers, we actually lived. We were reckless but without addiction and without paralyzing anxiety. We faced every fear we had and stared it down until it crumbled beneath us. The world wasn’t our oyster it was our buffet and we knew it was the last breath of innocence before everything changed. We didn’t care who you were fucking or the color of your skin, everything was offensive but no one was offended, we only cared if you were an asshole or brought drama. We weren’t reserved, we weren’t our parents - we were going to fuck shit up with a whole other attitude. 
We rode in the back of pickup trucks and hung out of sun roofs, we drove our cars on the beach and skinny dipped at night. We pulled the emergency brake while hauling ass in the rain, just to spin out. It was abandon, we didn’t hurt anyone, in fact we cared about each other. We supported each other at softball games, baseball and basketball games or anything that required our presence. We dressed up to go out and had themed parties. We made going into 2000 more than Beautiful. We were unstoppable until we weren’t. We flirted with danger and rode jet skis like we were Lara Croft. We collected comics and read endlessly under the stars. We stole beer kegs and dined and dashed at 4am. 

We were shameless and yet we still had humility and manners. We were paradoxically everything that we aren’t allowed to be now. 

We were wild and it was the time of our lives. 

In the spirit of history

Lawlessness 

in 

the

Wild West

And it might be time to think about why.

Still she does not become enraged when you step on her ideas and enthusiasm – she understands that not everyone can share her enthusiasm for life.

In the spirit of history.

There were times in my life when I just couldn’t take anymore and wanted to give up. I wanted to end it all. I wanted to run away. I wanted to disappear. But then I would see my kids and I could hear them call me, “Mom” and goddamnit they were everything. 

My kids will never know just how many times they have saved me. A love like that is the greatest joy, and that love helped see me through the darkest hours. 

I dare not let them know, though, that would be too great a burden to carry. Damnit their laughter and smiles and the way they care for each other is everything to me.

I have too many delusions. I am naive. I take people at their word, because I am honest. So I beg of you. Please don’t tell me to trust you and then say something and not mean it. 

I want to feel your kiss as it sears your name on my skin, and tremble in agony as you nibble your way up my thighs biting at my tender porcelain flesh. 

The night shapeshifts into shadows and I could not get comfortable in my own skin.

Breathe. Disappear. Feel it, figure it out and handle it. We take the beatdowns and we take the laughs. Sometimes we come back swinging and sometimes we try again tomorrow.

Shhhh

My mind is racing with too many thoughts and images to focus on any one thing. Despite the volley back and forth between a hundred or more thoughts that I cannot keep at bay, I begin to read - and just as I finally silence the noise and immerse myself in the story unfolding on the pages, my mom texts me. She is lonelier and needier than usual, but I am ill-equipped to navigate through her emotional warfare and I’ve yet to shake this migraine. I don’t feel like chatting with her, or anyone else for that matter. I’m lost in the dark passageways of my mind and it feels safer there; lonelier, but safe. Every so often I feel strong enough to take a peek at my little world, but I can’t focus enough to truly see anything, even if I notice everything. My eyes shift and the world leans in; I don’t want to be distracted by social media, yet somehow can’t look away. Nothing makes sense as I thumb through the feed. It’s not that everything sucks, it’s just that my brain is having conversations without me. It feels futile to sit in silence, when it’s only ever noisy, so I turn on John Wick 2 and I mute it while I spin some Billie Holiday; just wishing I could fall away into the pages of my book. I can’t, so instead I come here and let catharsis unravel. It stills things for a moment and the peace tastes sweet. It’s only temporary, as my son leaves his cave and whines on the phone with friends about having to go back to school tomorrow while grabbing another slice of pizza. I start to wonder if I were invisible, would it all still be so noisy or would I be able to let go of the weight baring down sending me yet again in a spiral. It doesn’t matter I suppose. I just want my migraine to go away so the fog will lift a little. I take my migraine meds and conclude that maybe I can sleep it off. Sweet beautiful deep slumber may be the only cure. Shhhh.

Promise

I was helpless, like a starry-eyed newborn birthed in blood, only my knuckles were still white and wrapped furiously around the rusty blade.

I had been sightly and grotesque begging for purity despite the visage of a monster I had created to survive. I didn’t want to feel that beast breathing on the back of my neck, not one second longer. 

I wanted fresh flowers blooming around my heart so that I could peer down at the world and remember more than the pungent smell of sulfur and ash. 

Give me back my wild eyes and untainted heart, and I will carve a beautiful life from the clouds, and let love pour once again into me, with soft and sweet musings of a simpler more magical me. I promise I will be kinder to my soul. I promise I will love me more this time. I promise. 

Apologies

The only apology I will ever accept, is the one I write to the girl I was before I met you. To the mom I was, to the sister I was, to the daughter I was, to the terrified woman I was trembling in fear before you, to the fighter I was that stood up to you - only to get knocked back down. 

I had to say sorry to my kids and the people I love more than anyone should ever have to. I felt the repercussions of loving you for decades, they still echo in me today. You almost succeeded in taking my life, more than once. I almost gave up, more than once. I almost didn’t make it back from hell. I have spent a lifetime apologizing to everyone for being the fool that believed you loved me, for believing you loved any of us. I no longer apologize for you, I stopped doing that, now I apologize to myself for not loving myself more. 

I am not sorry. I have finally forgiven myself for loving you and for not knowing I would need to protect myself from you. I have forgiven myself for allowing others to shame me for not having the strength to hear my own voice. I have forgiven myself for trusting you and trusting others that saw what you did and pretended not to see, to those that shamed me when I was finally strong enough to ask for help, and didn’t because they were too busy telling me I should have left long ago and lacked compassion. 

To the abuser - the narcissist, the man so insecure with himself that you had to push all of your responsibilities aside just so you could selfishly be high and drunk all the time. You only felt like a man or superior when you were using your fists and putting me down and tearing my life apart - your apology will never ever be enough, your sad pathetic meager empty words lack any depth or meaning and your intention will always be void of any real emotion. Your words will always be hollow and ugly, just like you. 

Write your own story, never let anyone else control your narrative. Write your fucking story.

I know what I bring to the table I built. I am the one that lovingly makes the food in the pots and pans I bought, I plate it lovingly on dishes I bought. 
And I’m at a point in my life where if anyone wants to eat at my table with me, they better bring some value to it like conversation and true companionship. 

I like me and I really am okay with eating alone. 

Torn pages from a book 

Old polaroids on the floor

Nina Simone spinning 

Alone with my thoughts 

Begging you to stay in the fight

One more time, selfishly for me 

What do you beg for when you think no one is listening, when you are alone with your thoughts, when no one can hear you but the moon and the stars?

Grow up

Real photography uses filters and all kinds of lenses. Filters are presets on all smartphones. And please don’t say we are not photographers, because we are - and filters and lenses are just another an extension of that creativity.

We photograph and film everything. We take pics of our families, our homes and decorations, our food, our friends, our pets, special events, and sometimes just because we are bored. And We ALL use angles and lighting because we ALL want to present well. 

Honestly I’m not sure why people care so much if someone posts a photo where it is obvious they have used a filter? Personally, sometimes I wanna see what I look like with green hair but I don’t want to dye my hair green because I don’t want to look like a troll. Or maybe I want to take a black n white noir photo with my dog.

I see a lot of shaming of filtered selfies or boasting about a pic with no filter. Who cares! You do what you want and they do what they want. You are surrounded by people in the real world, if it bothers you so much go interact with them instead of shaming people.

If someone wants to feel a little better about themselves in a pic with a filter, I say let them do what makes them happy. And. Since so many rely on getting a seratonin boost from social media, what difference does it make? Why do you have to compare yourself to someone else?

Please don’t try to act like you don’t want to look good in a photo. That you don’t brush your hair or wear makeup, or show off getting your nails done or that new hairdo or your new shoes or that you didn’t angle that photo that way on purpose. These are also extensions of our creativity.

I don’t understand why there’s so much hypocrisy. That shaming of others shit just tells me that you like to put others down to make yourself feel better. And that you spend a lot of time judging others for something that you either don’t realize you also do on some level or are just trying to take away from the attention someone else is getting because they look good in a filtered photo. 

Grow up! We are not in junior high anymore for fucks sake.

The weight of moments that make you feel like you’re sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool, trying to make out shapes blurred by the glassy surface of the water.