If Only I Could Spotless Mind Myself

but lobotomizing myself with my own chopsticks isn’t a sure thing.
Because fumbling through my purse for something else my
fingers stumble upon the stone I meant to give to him
that first night. (a belated birthday gift now a few months old).
A piece of northern lights trapped in a half moon shape
that I would have wrapped a birch blessed silver line around.
Funny how a small stone can throw the rest of my day out of balance.
Fuck work, the sun, the moon, the trees, the people, and myself right now.
Tomorrow I’ll seek penance and bury this stone under a willow with a note
to the universe stating to please stop sending me disappearing starmen, take my heart if you want it and feed the scraps that are left to the hungry fae, I haven’t learned how to time travel yet, and I’ll be joining the moon soon.


fuck poetry sometimes

What if I didn’t want this?
the pens, the notebooks, the scars
on my arms, the holes in my heart.
I would rather have had you in
my life than to have learned how to put
words in viciously pretty ways to
Maybe I wanted the 3.5 kids, the white picket fence,
and the soccer mom van (not really, but somehow that
still has to be better than me wanting to
die about a thousand times in my life and then penning poetry
while rivers run down my face).
Because, Dad, maybe if you would have held me ( as a girl)
I wouldn’t have let a man hold me (as a woman) after he had
hit me.
Maybe I wouldn’t have pushed away those that loved me, or wouldn’t have
loved those that I knew couldn’t love me.
Maybe I would have known how to fix myself first before
trying to fix everyone else.
Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to be fixed.
But I am broken, and no amount of
poetry can ever say how it really feels
to not ever feel like I will be enough
for anyone in my life ever and
not even for myself.
But I pretended for a long time,
and I even thought I forgot-
a new last name when I was 10 helped me forget sometimes
but sometimes it made it worse.
Why did you agree to that?
Wasn’t I still your little girl that
you loved?
I assumed no.
I assumed I wasn’t worthy of love, devotion, or appreciation.
But I know now that you were just lost-
always chasing the dragon-
to death.
And all I have are thirty three year old memories of a girl with
her dad listening to the radio driving down the road with the wind
whipping through our long hair.
And maybe I should just try to hold on to that and forget everything else,
and poetry isn’t romantic if every night I have to remind myself
why I’m still holding on to life.

( I guess father’s day coming up kind of triggered me, and writing is a type of therapy for me to deal with deep-seated abandonment issues…sometimes one has to vent…)

A Girl From the Fields and Pines

I used to pretend that I was not from the crawdad holes, the dandelions, and the
wheelbarrows of horse manure.
How hard I tried to hide the smell of clover, willow wreaths, and baby robin
feathers outside of my heart.
I packed these things in a metal lunchbox along with the stick forts, the chiggers, and grass stained knees
and buried it beneath a baby pine.
But buried things don’t stay buried forever.
Laughing at the lightning in the concrete jungle gave me away, and the way
that I could tell that a sunny summer day was about to throw a tantrum,
and the always saving earthworms from the sidewalks.
And one day I opened that rusty old box,
and I found my heart also inside stitched up with cicada shells and baby rabbit fur. (a girl will always try to revive the dead baby rabbits that the cats killed)

Fuck everything…

I don’t feel anything at all anymore…just a warm blanket of numbness… I just want to lay down in the forest, mouth sealed shut after eating some fun fungi, and stare at the fucking trees while listening to the forest frogs and the crickets orchestra all day every day. I don’t even know what I fucking am anymore…Maybe people can only deal with a certain amount of emotional trauma, and then they are just done…they walk around with a huge fucking hole where there soul once was. I should have been done aeons ago. Maybe I’m actually brain damaged now… too many unresolved issues from forever ago ( blah blah blah), always pretending I was okay, but I was actually losing it all the time, but I could hide my arms really well under sleeves…blah blah blah…and then the other traumas, and the ptsd…my brain has probably short circuited, and I don’t even want to play with the other cyborgs anymore…I’m like the rusty tin man standing in a lost and forgotten forest frozen in a terrible time loop missing a heart while being choked out by poison ivy….

How I Became Water in the Forest One Night

The shadow people are taking away the stars
with nets in the sky,
wounding it with dark holes
and the scarred sky is crying.

These sky children trapped
in the cave they are dropped into,
broken and disillusioned,
forgetting their light.

They dwell there in the dark corners
and rocks, becoming. (becoming shadow people)
Forgetting their softness, becoming hard
and full of dark holes and cracks.

They also stole the moon and
placed her in that cave with
the lost children.
She found them and fed them dust and songs.

She reflected their missing light,
and showed them their strength.
They didn’t have to be shadows anymore.
If they didn’t want to be.

Become water to escape, the moon said.
Here on this earth as water
you can fill everything with love
and you cannot be caught with a net.


We were like a mirror within a mirror
reflecting infinity into each other’s souls.
You felt like a home to me built of oceans
of star weeds and moon dust and the debris
of thousands of years of longing and alienation
finally stranded on the shores together.

But now I’m stranded there alone like a siren
calling out silently because I don’t want
anyone else to hear my songs, and so I collect
the sea trash at night and check the moon
puddles for your face, and I wait for you
while I whittle my bones into a shape that can hold you.

Metamorphosis of a Wizard Alien

I am an alien in this time line
on this earth in this human skin.
What is a human anymore?
I don’t even have to put my phone on silent.
Nobody is calling.
But I’m not calling anyone anymore either.
Disconnected from this time, this space, and this people.
Nothing is sacred anymore, and everything is fodder
for a few moments of instant gratification.
I’m not touching anything that feels like
skin of a person again.
I am not wizard alien enough yet to just go through skin
after skin and feel like a whole person.
Who gave me this heart that I don’t fucking need anymore?
It is scar tissue now, and barely beating a normal human drum.
But I don’t care anymore.
So take my heart as a sacrifice (scarred ball of knots that it is)
since I’m a person born at the wrong time in the wrong place
loving the wrong people
let me become a wizard alien who has no fucking heart,
and then maybe I can pretend to drive this body shell
with some kind of happiness and mingle with the other
body shells
so that I can sleep at 3 am and not cry myself
awake every day having to drink vodka with the
ghosts who are getting drunk off my tears.

The Straw Man Diaries Part I

The moon lied to you
the crow said
He’s shallow, look at how easily he floats.

We fished him, crow and I, from the creek
out back.

No he’s not
I said
he’s just full of holes.
He wasn’t always this way.
Watch how I can stuff him
full again.

I took golden straw, dandelion heads,
and bits of my tears
and packed this deep into his
heart hole.

I stuck him under the willow tree
for three moons
so the creatures and fae could bless
him and eat the rotten parts off.

The Path to E minor for an emPath

Put me in the rocks
I will build me a home.
Rocks as a child.
Rocks as a woman.
Hide my face.
Hide my soul.
All those buckets of soul
sludge that
the others dump onto me
I throw into the shale and lime
stones mixed with my blood and threads of soul
and tell the creek to wash
it all away from me
before I am not me anymore….

Dodging the Land Mines

I’ve burned sigils into the astral planes
with my obsidian heart
hoping to find that other flame
that dances with mine.