there was a void inside her,
a dark closet with a locked door
where she dare not ignite the filament,
for, when light spread its ominous tentacles, 
fearful tears came and eyes averted, 
while scratchy, well-used voices shouted at her from shadowed corners,
reminding her she shouldn't, 
didn't measure up,
doesn't deserve

'good girls don't, 
curvy girls can't,
what would others think?
you can't be worth the effort

but, with him,
there was no tick on the wall
in which to measure up

with him, not only should she,
but it was expected of her

with him, she could open the door,
demolish the closet,
make room for light and dark
and all the in-between, 
all the time

he made her feel worthy,
and forget about what anyone else thinks 

he made her feel beautiful,

with him,
she is shameless

-image via Pixabay

Rinse and Repeat

every day I paint it over,
calling red rover,
one stroke, death grip, 
then another

cover stick, first,
masquerading bags,
the jet lag,
life at light speed,
so many green flags 

then, lining the lids,
tallying bids,
gotta be strong for the kids,
keep up appearances in the social grids

now, take out the mascara,
lengthening lashes,
hiding the ashes,
gotta hold back tears,
don’t want to trash it

next, brushing blush on high-boned cheeks,  erasing weeks,
turning pain to rosy peaks

can’t forget the smokey shadow,
shrouding eyes,
masking lies,
for, behind lids,
the well runs dry

last, smearing color on lips,
dripping quips,
blood red smile oozing script

mask complete, a battle to beat,
costume in place, emotions to eat

rinse and repeat

-image via Pixabay

Dare to Dream

I dare close my eyes,
to be still and content,
despite the blackness,
threatening ascent,
almost instantaneously,
feeling rapid descent,
but it’s not black,
where was I sent?
it’s all so bold,
and lines are bent,
in technicolor,
with vivid accent,
non-linear and sharp,
the not-shapes torment,
rippling hues spinning,
a vortex of dissent,
hands and fingers paw at me,
a sea of malcontent,
a sensory kaleidoscope,
I’m overwhelmed, spent,
rapid breath in all blues,
but it’s stuck like cement,
I can’t feel my skin,
is this going to relent?
am I still sleeping?
where have I went?
if this is dreaming,
I don’t give my consent,
bring back the blackness,
this is not what I meant

-image via Pixabay


am I invisible?

I suppose asking

that question is like

pissing in the wind,

when the answer

is likely to be twisted,

pointed back in my direction,

the wall of defense too thick,

when I’m left feeling peripheral,

in focus only when my voice is loud,

the squeaky wheel getting the grease,

a game of manipulation,

one I’m no longer

willing to play,

when my thinking of you

and hoping you’ll do the same

becomes inconsequential,



ash, blowing in the wind

-image via Pixabay, shared in response to Imaginary Gardens with Real Toad’s prompt, invisible


skin of sand
blown about
reaching hand
full of doubt
thinking errant
stay with me
peeling, transparent
want to flee
need your arms
invisibility cloak
safe from harm
the mirrors and smoke
your voice, I crave
my metronome
your pulse my nave
my haven, my home


I’ve always had a thing for small spaces,
for hidden corners in coffee shops,
October breezes tucked beneath the
green cover of a willow tree,
for lone forest exploring,
and paddling with no destination in mind,
but staying close to the safety of the shore

for the longest time,
I had this feeling, this conviction,
that I’d been surrounded by earthen walls,
myopic vision only seeing that which was directly in front of me,
small-pictures with man-made frames,
seeing that which has meaning only to me

while feet away,
the autumn wind was blowing metamorphosis,
the tree tops slanted toward something unseeable,
swaying branches whispered existential,
and birds sang thanks to the sunrise
for things my soul longed to understand

mourning doves coo-cooed,
a murmuring of some essential secret
I did not yet know,
that I might never know,
because I didn’t know it was possible
to lift my head,
to venture outward and allow
my vision to broaden,
to peek out between the willow branches
and see beyond,
to venture far from the shore

oh, but if curiosity is allowed to
bubble freely to the surface,
and fear to diminish into the background,
if I dare to dive for treasure within,
I lift my head and apply it,
I see possibility,
I see meaning,
I feel the connectedness in all things,
find purpose in the spirited seeking
of truth

to seek truth is human –
humanness in a world
that discourages humanity
isn’t easy

but, I have a thing for being human

-shared as part of the Mindlovemisery Menagerie prompt, sunrise

She Can Imagine

She could still see him standing there in the doorway, paused. Struggling to keep quiet, the tears escaped, despite her best efforts to contain them. Biting her pillow, she muffled as much of the crying sound as possible. Oh god, more than anything she wanted him to turn around and come to her. To scoop her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. She wanted to feel safe. She wanted to hear it and believe it.

Yet, there was also this part of her that didn’t even want him to acknowledge she was crying. Who didn’t want his sympathy. Who didn’t need his help. That same part of her who wanted him, but might never be able to admit how much she needed him. To breathe.

Hunched over the pillow cradled in her arms, she sat with her legs crossed, her back against the headboard, watching him through blurry eyes. Needing him, but that other part of her willing him to walk away. To save himself the ache.

“You are my life. My love. Why won’t you let me in?,” he asked as he turned to face her.

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know there’s nothing there. It’s a swirling mess of darkness and ugly. It’s cold in there. No one who has ever seen any part of it has wanted to stay. No one.

“I’m trying,” she said, desperately hoping he’d believe her.

As he stood there looking at her, she saw the pain in his eyes. Those eyes that told her he’s all in. Hell, his behavior over the past decade had proven he’s the most trustworthy person she’s ever known. Which makes it all the more risky to really let him in. There’s more to lose.

And she can imagine losing it.

-photo found on Pinterest, source unknown