Tag Archives: poem

We all get touched here

I remember when

A day long ago, yet not so far

I looked at her and said “what’s the big deal, what’s she crying about”

Because we all get touched

Why does she get to cry

And get your pity and empathy

When I said it, no one believed me

Or maybe they just didn’t care

So of course I didn’t support her

I mocked her

“Get over it” I thought

We all get touched here

Unwilling and unwanting

They get what they want

So stop crying

“It’s not a big deal”

Because if you hurt, I might need to hurt too

If you cry, I might need to cry too

See, it’s not that I didn’t believe you

Or that I thought you shouldn’t hurt

It’s that it hurts to bad to recognize what happens

To recognize how it feels

It’s easier to be cold

And numb

And “get over it”

Although we never will





I glance at the bathroom. The door is wide open. I can hear the water running in the shower. The sheet has fallen to the floor and I lay on the bare bed. It’s stained and worn. I see something that looks like blood and wonder who else has laid on this bare bed with the sheet fallen to the floor. It smells musty. A bit old, maybe almost rotten, yet somehow I like the smell. It smells familiar and comfortable, yet I’ve never been here. I look back into the bathroom. The mirror is foggy from the steam and drips onto the counter. There’s a glass jar. I notice a toothbrush. It’s frailed with green grips, but there’s another. This one seems fresh. The grips are pink. Pink. Would he have a second toothbrush for himself that is pink? Or have I done it again? Laid and somehow betrayed. I shuttered at the thought. It feels like just yesterday I faced a girl with a broken heart. Who wanted to blame me, to hate me, and maybe she did, but more she hated herself for loving him. I can’t do this again. I can’t face this other toothbrush. I grab my clothes. I rush out unexplained.

Exactly Who I Want Be

I laugh with tears in my eyes.

It is what I have realized, never what I expected.

I can be exactly who I want to be.

And how is this something I could not see?

It is you with me, and doing what I need, to be exactly who I want to be.

Confounded by the limitations and the can nots and must nots, I failed to see.

I can be exactly who I want to be.


This is my world
Colored with rainbows and sunshine
Colored with shadows and rain
This world is mine
Thriving with innovation
Thriving with deprivation
This world – internalized
Dying with old age and excitements
Dying with abuse and pollutants

The nightmare series #1

The room is filled with darkness and I can feel nothing accept the aching in my chest. It restricts each breath with anxiety creeping through my veins. Then there is light and I see someone; a man. We’re in a wood house. Wind sweeps through the cracks of the wood with a whisper. I hear a baby crying. The man,  I know him. I trust him. He does not speak a word, but tells me to follow him. The light shifts and we are elsewhere. The baby crying is louder now. I try to ask where the baby is, but no words form. A girl twirls, her hair flying around. Her giggles echo with the sounds of the crying baby.  I almost smile at her joy, but she stops. She looks at me, or faces towards me. Her face does not exist. It’s a blur of non existence, yet I know she is laughing and crying. Facing her pain with hysteria. My stomach cringes and the man grabs my wrist. We go up a wooden ladder. I hear the screams of the baby.  Once we are in the room, like a loft, the man dissappears. There is something on the floor, screaming. I tremble. I fear what has happened to the baby.  As i step forward to glance at the baby, the man reappears. He thrusts me forward.im standing over the baby. But it doesn’t look like a baby. It has some light brown fur. It’s body looks mangled and twisted. But it has the face of a baby. A scrambled and frightening face, but the face of a baby nonetheless. I attempt to scream, but all goes silent. All goes dark. I open my eyes.

I am part of one the one percent of the general population that has chronic nightmares, multiple nightmares every night. When ever I have the time,  I will be blogging any nightmares I remember. Join me for the terror.