I wish you knew me,

in my braless, hairy-legged body,

bursting, laughing, like a banshee,

in the streets, playing roller hockey,

knotted hair, face bare,

wearing hanging hand-me-downs and the sun on my shoulders,

before being molded, scolded and unfolded,

to be loved by anyone else.

Before I felt,

not good enough.

Tell me, would you still want this girl?

Would she still deserve the world?

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.


I’ve seen humans climb mountains higher than they can breathe,

I’ve seen flowers grow in the cracks of deadened leaves,

I’ve seen seas with strength hidden underneath,

and I think, maybe, just maybe that can be you and me.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


You can tell me a thousand times,
that everything will be alright,
but that doesn’t make it true,
especially coming from you.

There is nowhere left to hide,
when I’ve used up all my lies,
there’s nothing left of me inside.

I don’t want to die,
I just don’t want this life,
I’ve tried to hint, that I’m not in this,
but what difference does it make,
when everyone feels the same?

But what happens to me,
when I’m emptied?

It’s been too long,
it’s been too few,
I can’t seem to get through,
especially to you.

I’m raising my white flag,
I’ve had enough of that,
Enemies now seem,
like friends to me,
hoping for peace,
I’m suffering.

I’m being tossed in the sea,
endlessly, trying to breathe.
Give me a break,
before you take and you take,

Stuck in these walls,
they know it all,
and I’m leaving it here.

When you excavate,
this lonely place,
all you’ll find, is my pain.

NaPoWriMo Day 10: Junk Drawer Song

I have Band-Aids to heal wounds from knives,
and should have thought twices,

I have alcohol wipes, to reduce the risk,
that anything sticks.

I have gauze, to wrap a wound,
of any cause, to include
burns, and bees, and
the clumsiness of me.

I have cold compresses, for hot messes,
or heating pads, for muscles mad.

I have pills to hold the hurt,
or curse words to let it burst,

But I have nothing,
to heal,
the painful parts,
of my heart.

Earthly Poem

Still working on this poem, but posting anyway!

This earth
your blood,
to give rise,
to new life.

For years
your tears,
to bring waves,
of change.

Your hands,
on this land,
deserving most,
the promise owed.

Your skin,
in the dust,
coating the very structures,
built to keep you contained.

But the steady heartbeat,
of your feet,
are battle cries,
that the Earth,
who has mothered your dead,
recognizes and liberalizes.