Rusty Poem

It’s been a while since I wrote.
It’s been a while since I felt safe in this body,
and curled into my thoughts for a rest,
without learning each breath by rote.

It’s been a month since Hell grabbed me by the ankle.
I was laid out on a hospital table.
When the man asked me what happened I couldn’t recall,
but my body tells the tale when it’s able.

This body shows the story I wrote.
I did it to myself. I put the pen to skin and it broke;
The Hell, I wrote into my fable.


I drop them, breadcrumbs
as I trudge through the dark forest
Find me, Save me
Stolen away by mice
Trampled by leather boots
because my friends are looking at their phones

I throw them, handfuls
Save me, Help me
They fidget at the discomfort
of crumbs down their shirt, loosen the collars
What a nuisance

I am not hinting anymore
Breadcrumbs pour from my sleeves
Eyes dripping in pain
Everyone walking
looks away


cast out
like a litter of unwanted
kittens in cardboard
shivering, drenched

mewling from tiny
faces, pink noses scrunch
in effort at the clawing
fruitless on the walls

rain pounding their
delicate ears, they huddle
together as it
becomes dark, quaking
their mother

they claw through me
forcing me to my knees
drawing sobs from deep
in my chest
i miss
my mother

the Drinks

Some days I crave the burn
of alcohol- yes, straight rum
vodka or gin- pulls from a bottle tucked in
beside my dresser, the one my mother
my roommates don’t know is there —
my mother is not an alcoholic
just like my grandmother was not
just like I am not.

We’re all only humans who face
the death of our parents
and the destruction of all species
who walked the earth before us
and betrayal at the hands of those
who told us they loved us.

I’ll drink to that
and drink to pretending
I don’t wake up with this on my mind.

Day 3

My broken heart aches on for you.
I see your face in all I do.
As I walk I sing the song
“You are My Sunshine”. You hum along.

I know you’re gone and you’re not here.
But your voice still whispers in my ear.
Hazel eyes from beneath lush lashes
stay vivid though each day still passes.

The tears I cry do not do justice
to the soft heart-wrenching rushes
of remembering you’re really gone.
I wonder if I can move on.

How is loss ever healed?
How did you live with pain so real?
You made it 29 years, my love.
So brave; I did not express that enough.