We’re all human. Oh, we all do our duty when there’s no cost to it. Honor comes easy then. Yet sooner or later in every man’s life there comes a day when it is not easy, a day when he must choose. — Master Aemon Targaryen
When I first read those words, three weeks had already passed since you placed them on your Facebook wall. I immediately called your cell; It was dead. I rang your burner; you didn’t pick up. I texted you; you didn’t respond.
How had so much time passed without me noticing a difference in the…
Trigger warning: violent content
If you looked down to assess your new patient and locked eyes with someone who had brutally attacked you just months prior, what would you do?
I’ve been wondering about that, day dreaming really, and I keep coming back to — save them, and with a smile.
Honestly, what could be more empowering than saving a life that once threatened yours? Perhaps you’re just affording the universe more time to level things out on a different day, in a different way…
I say this to clarify, for it seems you do not know who I…
Society’s structures do not shelter the homeless from the perpetual pain it provides as punishment for, wait, for what again?
My mind hates to accept they exist,
My brain knows but my heart resists
I want to believe this reality is a fallacy and while at times we make progress, society primarily focuses on more short-sighted projects
Do you know what bothers me the most?
It’s how we avoid them, and shun them, and shoo them away —
“Don’t touch! they may have the plague”
“Don’t look! they may catch your gaze”
I don’t always have money to give, but…
I love the liberation that comes with the exit of an abusive situation. It’s a silver lining of the pain I suppose. And I know, as do all you others who’ve experienced abuse in an intimate relationship, it’s terrifying, confusing, and abhorrent. But isn’t finding yourself again beautiful and brave? We should be proud. We need to remember we are not alone. No judgment ever, just find a safe place for your mind, your body, and your loved ones. If you fall back into the cycle, it’s understandable, but forgive yourself, and leave again. …
I read then I sift
through poetry collected,
curated, then burned
for using my words,
arousing without consent
the gutteral pain
from graves bolted down
by your hands but my purpose
full spaces from you
are still not enough
to house the compressed ashes
of contrived fires
so I dive darker
into my deep repertoire
of self-harm phrases
starting at your name
but ending in its absence
until I’ve gone numb
beyond your concern
and past where a mother should
continue to yearn
for a not-love type
of true love that wasn’t real
even in her dreams
where she heard…
I was not where I claimed to be?
Did you really just say that to me?
Am I where?
I am indeed wherever I am, so yes, I guess?
I’m not sure what you are asking me.
Please be more specific.
I’m all ears.
But you didn’t mean for a long response.
Most people can’t handle it anyway.
And “it” is me —You may freely walk away,
or at least that’s how you behave.
But if I’m so disposable,
why must that leash be kept so tight?
Is it that an unrestrained target would be too hard to tame?
I remember it so vividly, which is odd considering how little color I saw that day. It was a cumulative event, which is strange because it was unveiled so suddenly to me.
This day was like the trip you spent years dreaming, months planning, and weeks packing for. This day was like the clay you carefully kneaded, molded, and crafted into the perfect mirror image of your perfect, made-up life. But on this day you flung all of those suitcases open. And on this day, you shattered your clay as it came from the oven.
Though things had been going…
My tattoos don’t have ink, but they aid me more than you may think because I look at them and I remember that days may get dark, but we’ll never part, please forgive my doubt, my dear depression
Please tell me you’ll let us take walks down the block and do more than just talk to each other because sometimes I tire of what tends to transpire from our conversations
Your words touch my tongue, travel down, fill my lungs, convince me I’ll never get better, and you remind me I’m through if I try to survive without you but…
I’ve heard the argument that writing under a pseudonym makes an author’s work less valuable, less authentic, less vulnerable. While I personally have a differing opinion, I can understand the sentiment if it’s coming from someone who bares their soul to the world writing revealing essays, poems, and novels for all to read.
Whenever sensitive content is shared with the intention of helping others, I commend the effort, especially when the writer uses their real name. I can’t help but to give credit where credit is due. I admit It’s a brave thing to do.
Writing under your real name…