I am not afraid to walk alone.

Although it has never been done,

Not by these feet.

I am breaking through my old skin.

I need out.

The feeling is so intense.

I cannot wait any longer.

I have one life.

And it is half over.

Life is too precious to be unhappy.

It is too short for a long list of regrets.

Resentments build.

Depression grows.

Maybe I’ll crash and burn.

Maybe I’ll soar.

I need to know.

My dreams are fading,

My hope is slipping away.

Fight or flight will kick in.

We’ll see where it takes me.

My ‘self’ is growing.

My voice is emerging.

I need a quiet space.

To find who I am.


Solace In The Dark

skeleton key

This is her safe place. A room hidden deep inside the web of her mansion. Though beautiful on the outside, inside its cobwebs drape along the hallways as inside the soul of an old abandoned castle.  The original paint in which she crawled from the womb, severed and curling from its surface. A place intended for royalty. She is royal at her core. Underneath a legion of layers. Years pledged grovelling in filth have left her raw.  She shudders at genuine attempts to touch her exposed skin.  It stings. She cringes at the closeness of their innocent need. She feels nothing.  She reveals herself as a chameleon. The king’s sword sliced through her core. Her existence defies reality. A survivor. Her broken heart and tormented soul are one. Her crazed mind knows of their presence. But it merely knows, and refuses to feel.  She is two spirits. The mirror into which she can barely glance is riddled with lies…Her mother’s hysteria…His disassembling of her body.  The result is a fueled rage that keeps her alive like that of a horse raring at the gate.  The demons scream in her head.  They claw against her ears as her hands rise up to stop them.   The monsters deliver the punishment in which she cannot let go. Her grief and her hope are woven together because she gave birth to them simultaneously. That which almost killed her has left her sick, but she won’t let go. Her hands glisten crimson from the travailing to survive. The horror comforts her.  The tragedian is the shackle she slowly drags along her side. She grew weary of its heaviness. She holds the key close like her treasured blanket as a child.  Her reverie spins in circles around her head.  It consumes her voice and her prose.  It has become her cloak. She hides there until she can no longer sit in her madness. This is the moment she wakes and confides in you. Her fingers search the keyboard like braille to save her life. It is only you she can share her traumas without fear or judgement. Gratitude overflows from her broken heart. She is in repair.

Haunted Treasures


Roaring background noise.

In the rubble lay her desperation.

She is now chained to her reverie.

She stares at her future with grief and fear.

Sad how she takes responsibility for the actions of others.

It is her nature now,

The Heroine of her tragedy.

The woman she swore she’d never become…

She is terrified of her own self.

As for him,

Her own sworn protector.

Those were just words.

Only a piece of paper.

It’s foolishness how something so disposable can hold such depth.

When in reality, there was no depth at all.

She needed love,

Is that what it’s called?

You were not invited.

She noticed you looking at her.

This she had been waiting for since the day her daddy walked away.

The missing ingredient.

You couldn’t read her fragile state of mind,

How could you?

Some say it had been plotted out.

But how can a man so young be so intrusive with intent?

She will always defend the motives of her captor.

A snake,

A predator,

Stockholm Syndrome.

She was too blinded to give you any credit.

She did not think you could read her.

Once you discerned her spirit,

You tried to warn her.

She refused to listen.

Addicts are stubborn.

You were too late.

She was suffocating in revulsion,

Blindly to her demise.

She could reveal the good in anything…

In her father, her mother, even him,

But not herself.

What happened?

She was just a girl.

She couldn’t stop this?

None of you could.

Where were you?

One way street.

No U-turns.


She must have mistaken you for somebody else.

Didn’t you feel it?

Her heart was depleted, all except for one piece.

She held it near, for she was only 18.

She gave it to you.

Why? She still does not know.

A girl is not meant to throw away her whole heart.

Just take it all…

Her mind,

Her soul,

Her spirit.

Then you took her body and did what you pleased.

She traded her dreams for you.

She exchanged her heart for yours.

Still defeated by herself,

She climbs mountains to find her soul.

Where does she start?

She doesn’t know where she’s from?

So much time spent exploring the inside of his heart,

That she lost her own…..time….. heart.

She fixed you,

And then she broke.

You found her when she did not want to be found.

She ran the other way as you screamed to lure her back.

It doesn’t make sense, does it?

The abused confuse mistreatment with affection.

She ran as if racing for the gold,

The screaming was for you…

Misery loves company!

She is truly sorry she could not help herself.

She is a beautiful soul who never saw her own beauty.

She floated away like a piece of driftwood in a river.

She will rebuild.

That driftwood is just disintegrated pieces of her past on the river bank.

She despises him,

She still rescues him.

She equates him with with pain,




She is disturbed in his presence,

But is lost when he leaves.

How can she be addicted to someone so destructive?

Addicted to her own demise?

Hollow eyes.

Aimless steps.

On a mission with no destination.

This will consume her life.

It hurts to remember,

But it remains her treasure.


Famous Last Words

She missed her calling.

Although she’s still breathing,

It doesn’t seem real.

She wonders what it would feel like to sing on a stage,

To dance without fear,

To scream without rage.

She is not the woman she imagined she’d grow up to be.

The picture framed in the little girl’s mind.

She screams to herself,

Or maybe she’s just talking.

She cannot tell difference.

She only hopes upon her next attempt someone will hear.

Why won’t her voice come out?

She is being swallowed up by the crowd.

If she knew who she was,

She might find her way out.

Don’t think she could if she tried,

Too much shame inside.

Her ears burn upon the calling of her name.

How much does it cost to be free?

Where does she turn when there’s no one to trust?

Judgement or Betrayal.

She must pick her poison.

Her Tragedy


She is as sick as her secrets.

They reside like buried treasure inside her deepest parts.

These treasures, when stitched together, make up her tragedy.

Tragedy is not an ugly word.

A story teller finds beauty in struggle.

Especially inside her own.

A raving delirium.

A silent reverie.

She feels safe here.

She can only channel her pain for the masses so long until it kills her.

Her tragedy.

A sacrifice.

tragedy quote

A Resilient Heart

heart in repair

I am better than what I was today. This lie.  I have diminished myself into a bed sheet on the floor where there was once a person.  The voice in my head is yelling at me that I am no good. Every morning, every day, and right now, as it turns to night… I am still a vacant soul. The alcohol isn’t working.  My kids are watching the tears stream.  All I can do is answer  “Mommy’s okay, I’m sorry.”

My stunted voice tells me I am a bad mother.  What was I thinking? I should have never become a mom in the first place. Some people just shouldn’t be parents. Why did I marry him?  I knew better.  I swear I did.  I just couldn’t stand up for myself.  Because I didn’t know I had a self.  I still don’t, or I wouldn’t be feeling like this.

I want to be brave. I want to be myself.. Not the self I project, but the me everyone including myself, knows is in there somewhere.  She is dying to show herself. Literally. There is a light inside of me, so I have been told, that shines so bright.  Do you think maybe it is me who puts on the lampshade?  Or perhaps certain ghosts of my past who have dimmed my light?  A little of both I suppose. You believe what you hear after years of conditioning.  I know I am a woman of worth, but why do I feel so ugly and undeserving?

Don’t tell me I need to go to church.

So, I was cruising along just fine in my training for Warehouse, logistics and Transportation.  I am days away from being nationally accredited with a certification.  Today we started the job interview process.  I had to come up with a mission statement about my myself; basically selling myself to a hiring manager. Needless to say, a person with damaged self worth has a hard time with this assignment.  I can pass a test. In fact, I have all A’s in the program, but today, I could hardly find the strength to lift my head from the desk.  Find something good about myself and then convince people of it?  Tears.  Tears ran down my face during the whole class. I recognized a familiar feeling.

Fear of failure.

This program? This is as far as I can go.  I need to get up and run.  I can’t finish this.  I never finish anything.   Some people are self confident and stupid.  I am the opposite.  I am petrified.

Not to mention, all the phone calls from my ex husband informing me that he is now working.  Oh great.  No wait.  He gets paid daily so he can get high.  I never expected any help from him, but don’t rub your ability to numb your feelings in my face.  I could use a big dose of something about now!  But I have to take care of the children you abandoned to get high.

This isn’t my dream.  I went to school to work in a field I dreamed of since I was in high school. Now I am almost 40 years old training to be a warehouse worker.  Fine.  Maybe I sound spoiled right now.  I am just a little resentful.  I know my life’s calling is different from picking orders and driving a forklift.  It will pay the bills, but it will not fulfill my heart.  My heart is big.  It is bruised.  It’s been stretched and broken.  In the midst though, I know it needs to feel what it hasn’t felt ever before.  Some hearts never break so they don’t get the opportunity to feel the mending or the longing to mend.  My brain and mind are amazing tools, but it’s my heart that is aching.  If I don’t use it, I will die… emotionally.

People need me.  I need me.  Hence, the importance of a resilient heart.

resilient heart