Strange Bodies

Vying for the attention
Of strangers who don’t know
Her broken past.

A refreshed donning of self
With no memory or story
Complicating context.

The conquest is simple
Redefine, reshape, reify
All that was, has been lost.

Transparent images
Float above the settling dust
But time, darling

It will push you
And pull you
In the throes of a
Stranger attention

Reality is strange
But stranger still
Is accepting and
Opening for those
Who are here.

Extravagant lightness
In presenting her image
Beautiful self-portraits
Of self-importance

Strangers can’t know
The surface of your screen
Scrolling through images
Makes no mystique.

She is vying for attention
From strangers who don’t know
Her broken past has not left;
It is etched in her skin,
collecting like dust
Under her growing fingernails
Behind every whim
Deep set in her eyes, and her blood
Stained lips. Skin never
reveals the Truth in
Our bones. Still, standing,
Holding together
A salvaged past with broken images
Recreated for strangers to keep.

Everybody Has Darkness, Everybody Is Bright

This is a little different than what I typically post. Here is a response to something I saw on facebook that resonated with me. The comments section maintains a commentary which is similar to my old way of thinking in my own damaged (and damaging) past. No matter how much we have been hurt, there comes a time when we know something else is the answer. When what we have always done doesn’t work anymore, we have to do something different.


Yes, every body is a little damaged. The world breaks everyone. Here’s what I have learned, through both experience and a lot of therapy. You may choose to take on the weight of someone else’s difficult past, but it is not required. It will eat you alive. See, the thing about coping, is that many of us have gotten so good at denial, that while we are able to acknowledge certain injustices, we are not always equipped to process them, nor are we ready. That must all be done on our own terms. To be in a relationship with someone fighting demons, often allows us to ignore our own. This, my fellow humans, is a recipe for disaster. This is where toxicity seeps out of every small wound we have ever had. This is codependency. This is not healthy for either party involved.
You cannot take away someone else’s pain. At best, you may be able to get them to recognize it so that they may tend to it themselves. We are all silent warriors in our own battles. Nobody can win them but us alone.
It is our duty, when we see or know someone struggling, to merely offer peaceful support. Some of my personal favorites are: handwritten notes, coffee dates (in which battles may or may not be discussed, it is up to them), home cooked meals, and chocolate.
Light attracts light. Do not fall into someone else’s darkness. Bring them closer to your light. The only way I know how to do this is to concentrate on your own light, and let them find their way to it.
I will end with this quote, one of my many mantras, “I will take care of me for you, you take care of you for me.” This is what I find to be the secret of all healthy relationships. Attachment is not love. ✌️


My heart is made of fire
Pushing flames to the tips of my fingers and the edge of my lips.

Reminding you of all the times we
Had nothing left to burn.

I keep time in my back pocket
Reminding me to never look back
Pushing me always in forward circles.

My body holds all the power
I will ever need.
The magic is in the way
You move with me.

Hold my fiery fingertips
Lick the flames from my lips.
Cradle my charred heart

Memories fall like cinders
Waiting to catch again.
The burning keeps me alive.

A flamethrower’s lungs
Breathing harder and hotter
As you move with me.


I must kill my muse.
It will not be easy.
She doesn’t deserve to die.
She doesn’t deserve to live.

We were cut from the same scrap of craft store fabric. Left in a heap on the floor. Marked down. We were never meant to be accents.

I must kill my muse because she has grown too big. She bites back. No longer carefully crafted words from a lifetime of misunderstanding.

My muse is a horror
And she can no longer live.
I have tried to write her wrongs.
And I only wrong my rights.

The muse must die. So that I can live.
To be absolved she must dissolve.
I will pour the gasoline of my words over her body.
And light the fire in my heart.
I will spit the hell song that she has sung to me.
And she will
Die before I do.