Sunday, August 10, 2014

The Voice of The Rain

The Voice of the Rain

The voice of the rain tells me I cannot. Cannot be happy. Cannot do it. Cannot be…anything.
The voice of the rain tells me, you are not worthy.
The voice of the rain says, “God is laughing at you.”
The voice of the rain drowns out the hope of the sun.
No light shines in. There is only darkness.
The only sound is the voice of the rain.
And it tells me I can’t.
I believe the rain.
It is louder than the beat of my heart.
There is no escape from the rain.
The voice of the rain is a flood.
And I am drowned in it’s swirling waters
Saying “Cannot” “Won’t” “Nothing”
“Never, nothing, not a thing.”
I am the voice of the rain.
I am regret, disappointment, despair.
I am hopeless, faithless, beaten,
I am the voice of the dark.
I am defeated, tired, crushed.
The voice has won.

I am done.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Hold Hands

Mom holds my hand.
She brushes the knots
out of my hair.
She dresses me.
I am two.

Mom holds my hand.
She lays my clothes out
on the bed.
My hair is very short.
I am seven.

Mom is working.
She lays my clothes out.
She makes my lunch.
She makes my dinner.
I am ten.

Mom is working.
I lay out my clothes.
I make lunch.
I help with dinner.
I am a teen.

Mom is working.
I am in college.

Mom is working.
I am working.
Mom makes dinner.
We don't hold hands.
I am in my twenties.

Mom is retired.
Dad is sick.
Mom is working.
I am working.
We don't hold hands.
I am in my twenties.

Mom is sick.
Dad is sick.
I come home.
We do not hold hands.
We laugh and cry together.

Mom is alone.
Dad is gone.
We hold hands.
I am a mother.

Mom is alone.
I am sick.
Mom helps.
We don't hold hands.

Mom is alone.
I am better.
Mom is alone.
We hold hands.

Mom is alone.
Mom is confused.
Mom is....old.
We hold hands.
I am old.

Mom is a child.
Someone makes lunch.
Someone brushes the knots.
Someone dresses her.
They hold her hands.

I am away.
Mom is old.
I am old.
I want to hold her hands.

Monday, January 27, 2014

Poppin' Pills

Poppin' Pills they hit my teeth they don't hurt
Not anymore, half the bottle gone
I rest my heavy head for support
On my heavy hands. I have done
The easiest thing to keep from
Feeling your goodbye again
The unsaid words swarm
Like a storm and rain
In my overflowing heart
The flood of your unsaid
Words has ripped my calm apart
And I am drowning in a sea of dead.

Poppin' Pills how many was that?
What's it matter, don't wanna come back
To your world where I patiently sat
And waited for you to contact
Me. I knew I wasn't good, pretty, smart
Enough for you. I never was.
But you swore you loved me from the start,
Up until that day. Applause
For your performance for breaking walls
Set there to protect me from you.
And you broke them,  I fall
In love with you again, you do what you do.

So I'm Poppin' Pills. A few more left in the bottle.
I'm gonna throw it away and continue to swallow
The pain that I feel at the thought of your face
At the time spent together, how my heart raced.
When you kissed my lips for the very first time
When you held me and swore you wanted to be mine.
Lies and pretty words, wrapped in ribbons and lace.
I shouldn't have listened I should have watched your face.
Those eyes would have told me the truth I didn't want to believe
That you are a liar, a cheat, that you deceive
I don't know why, I don't know what you want
But I'm at the bottom of the bottle, I win you don't.


Red, red, the knife cuts deep
The slit flows blood red and
Drip, drip, drip your words keep
Flowing out of me onto the sand
Predators, you, your kind, prey
On the vulnerable, the weak
Sucking us dry, Wanted to say
I love you, Can't speak.

Poppin' Pills, how many was that
A river of red races down my
Leaden arm. It is big and fat
I trace it with my eye
To the lake on the table, floor
Up again. Poppin Pills don't feel
a thing. I wait, watch the door.
No one comes. You seal
My fate, just by coming back.
I am crazy, lost, manic desperate
And you make me feel everything I lack
From being perfect. I am desperate.

Poppin' Pills very tired now.
Is it the river of red
Or the numbing power
I lay down my head
In a puddle of blood
You made me you took me
This red, bloody flood
These pills that you see
That's you not me
I was fine you made me crazy.

Drip,drip, drip
Pop, pop, pop
Drip, drip
Pop, pop

Saturday, January 18, 2014


That is how I feel. It isn't what I wanted.
I wanted to be loved and touched
Softly with fingers that caressed my skin.
I wanted whispers of how much I was loved
How beautiful I was in his eyes.
I got fucked.

I wanted to be made love to.
Sweet gentle lips on my body.
Warm, strong hands to hold me.
His eyes to look into mine and shine.
To feel like I was the only thing that mattered.
I got fucked.

I wanted to be loved
He fucked me.

Now, I don't want him to touch me.
I don't want to be alone with him.
I don't want his hands or lips.
I don't believe his words.
I no longer trust him.
You fucked up so
Now, you're fucked, too.

Thursday, January 16, 2014



Man is she a bitch. Or maybe he is. My memories. Or my nightmares. This one, I keep thinking I've lassoed it, tied it up good and tight, in the corral, no in the barn locked up tight. And dammit if someone doesn't open that barn door. Usually me. But prompted by someone else. Someone like a therapist. Someone that knows what they are doing but unfortunately, can't get that nightmare back in the barn in those 15 minutes left of your session when you finally admitted what happened. 

"Oh but I've dealt with it. Forgiven and gone on. He's dead. I've moved on. I'm over it." Except I'm not. Or I would have told her about it the first time I saw her. I told myself I was just testing the waters to see if we were a fit. No need to drag all that out if we weren't going to mesh. Truth is, I wanted to hide it from her. I wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. I wanted to be "normal."

We talked about how often it happens. One in four. One, two, three, four. I can be volunteering at school and know that if there are five of us there, it's very likely that one other woman has had this happen to her. She has my nightmare or something similar. And once you say it happened to you...women come out of the woodwork admitting it happened to them. Or at least that has been my experience. Or they don't. But I know, I can tell by the way they drink too much, or keep their arms around themselves make themselves small or big, it happened to them too.

Memory. Yeah, it's a bitch. Let's not give it a gender. It sneaks up on you in the most inopportune moments. Makes you feel small, insignificant and helpless, all over again. You get stuck in that place of memory. And getting back out, it takes some strength. Some people stay locked in their nightmares, never escaping. But that isn't where I want to be. I did not survive my childhood to be paralyzed by it. So ugly dirty thoughts come to me again. The self loathing and despising my body comes again. But I will pass through on the other side. My nightmares will not hold me back. Time to open the barn door. Let them run at me. I have hands to hold to help me through their ugliness. 

And then I'll pick myself up. I'll start over. I wasn't beaten as a child. I certainly won't be beaten as an adult.
I just can't quite announce that label yet. Not yet. But one day, I will proudly wear that badge. Until then, I'll battle the nightmares 55 minutes at a time once every other week. And hope to keep the barn door closed til then.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Real life- in pieces

I missed you today. I read what you wrote and I wanted to talk to you and tell you how good it made me feel, but you weren't here. I know where you are and where you will always be. But for just a minute, I wanted to pretend you were here and wrap my arms around you. I wanted to smell your smell and bury my face in your neck. I wanted to feel your arms wrap around me, too. I wanted to feel you squeeze me tight against you. Feel you smell my hair, my skin. I wanted to pretend we were still. That nothing had ever happened to bring this sadness, this separation.

I wrap my own arms around myself and try to warm myself in the chilly air of the day. I try not to remember. I pretend. My life is one big theatrical production. Hiding, pretending, numbing the pain, pretending. It is a half life. And behind the scenes...that is where the real life happens, only in pieces. Maybe that is all I can stand to have- real life in pieces. I can't handle a whole real life. Or maybe I don't deserve one for pretending so long. Even now, I keep the secrets of one so others can keep their saint on his pedestal. I try to stay whole. But how many secrets do I have to keep before I crack into pieces. Will they be the pieces of a real life or the pretend life? I hardly know which is which anymore.

I turn inward. I am in here somewhere. My heart beats strong. I have born many things. In some small corner in this body I exist. There is a true me here. I am real. I may be small. Infinite. But I am not pretend. And I can grow from that small piece. I can fill this space, this body with real pieces that connect to make a whole me. I can have a real life. One away from here where I don't have to pretend. I can be new. Whole. Strong. Fearless. I can be Me. I only have to find that infinite piece. Til then, the play goes on....