The night he shot himself in the head to manipulate me — for the last time — I knew this evening all too well. No, it wasn’t Deja Vu, it was something much more confounding. It was a nightmare I had lived and dreamt of too many times. I was about to spend an evening fighting and crying with my husband. I felt it coming. He had…

I don’t know if I’m wrong or right; I think I’m caught somewhere in between Not sure if my thoughts were born with others around or without a soul or without my soul — I’m beginning to wonder because my choices choose themselves these days, and where I draw my lines…

When I used to be small, I made myself paler and smaller until later, when I couldn’t recall why I was caged at all Now though, I don’t even remember what it is to not be free You think I’ll go back to that space? You’ve got to be fucking…

A Magical Realism Poem — She is kidnapped, but her mom does nothing. She punches, but both hands fly through her assailants’ faces. She kicks, and somehow contacts skin, but she kicks those shins so long her kicks mend them back to whole again. So despite her destruction, really she’s gained no ground. She’s petrified…

Trauma comes with Nursing — I was on ICU contract number seven, but this time at a reputable hospital system in a beautiful setting, with more resources than I was accustomed, to include a reserve of other travel nurses. On the eve of our start, boarded up in our hotels and our airbnbs, comfortable then…

I guess this pain is good, like bleeding is a sign of life, and I didn’t even think I could do that anymore but even when I sustained literal cuts from him, the way you didn’t call me after hurt deeper than his knife and isn't that a beautiful thing…

The second installment — Nothing has changed My mind still can’t accept that so many people, people just like me, people just like you, roam the same streets we do, on the same days we do, but without enough clothes and food and hugs and shoes Look across the cityscape; it’s a beautiful place…

I live in a canyon / the deepest canyon / came to wallow in pain / and I’ve dwelled here so long / neither floating nor drowning, just suspended / sedated / hyped up / then frozen / in this immobilizing chunk of what looked like amber / but preserved…

It’s cold, but it is that time of year, so I go with this increasingly viscous flow, I accept the cons of the case because they are seasonal, I’m told but winter preys on passive minds and banks on slowing pulses She seeks the thickest blood, for it is best…