The Truth of the Truth

You say I didn’t love you,

but here is the truth of the truth,

that you don’t want to hear,

I loved you too much, too much to bear.

I would have loved you,

until one lie became many,

until I lost every penny,

betting on the games you played,

until everything I grew, decayed,

until I could be swayed, away,

from the life I laid,

until no one else remained around,

as I followed you to the ground,

until I ran out of time,

to have a child of mine,

until my kindness, turned to weakness,

and meekness,

until I gave in, to let you win,

against my own common sense,

and I bent, and I bent,

until I broke my skin from within.

Until I had nothing left,

but my love for you,

and the destruction of my life,

offered up as proof.

Your happiness relied,

on giving up mine.

I have nothing left to give,

So, please just let me live,

Just let me live.

2022 NaPoWriMo – Day 21 (Recall)

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is: Write a poem in which you first recall someone you used to know closely but are no longer in touch with, then a job you used to have but no longer do, and then a piece of art that you saw once and that has stuck with you over time. Finally, close the poem with an unanswerable question.

I remember giving you my hand,

as we looked out at the large expanse of land.

Everything seemed possible then,

but what seemed like a start, was actually an end.

You were pulling strings I didn’t see,

using my own heart against me.

My world got so small, and you controlled it all.


for the part of me, that couldn’t give up being happy,

and with this little left,

I can’t wait to see: What is next?

How We Become

We, battered, molested and assaulted,

abused and silenced.

We, with the secrets we keep,

passed down to our daughters as whispered warnings.

We, with our apologies we make in so many ways,

we create a new language.

We, with our bleeding bodies, aching cheeks, and sacrilegious skin,

forced into glass castles,

with fairytales,

short ceilings,

and narrow halls.

We, with our inconvenient emotions and loud voices,

told to abandon the angry, crazy woman,

Oh, but the beautiful boldness of her honesty.

Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, we become.

There is a fierceness in the way we transform the abuse,

as background noise to our lives.

The nature of being women.

We, the unshakeable trees bearing witness to generations of women who power through to find happiness in all the grossness and unjustness.

We, the daises growing in the cracks of sidewalks.

We, the waterfalls pouring our hearts out in all we do.

We, the rumbling on the rocks, with our weary shoulders and bulging bellies, always marching forward in the hopes one day we will understand our power in the way men already do.

The very things that make us look weak, are evidence of our strength.

As much as we are beaten, we rise up with life. We grow it, we become it.

Take up your power. You are Earth itself.

You see, there is a day we will take these wrongs, and birth something beautiful.