Sunday, December 29, 2013


The forest is thick beyond the cliff that I look down 
My hands are free 
I am a powerful warrior woman
I stand with scraped forearms and knees 
A little scared 
A little bruised 
Clutching my machete 
I look down at my bruised thigh that peeks from the hole in my ripped jeans
The voices in my head are often evil 
They are transplants from the mouths of heartless mortals
I can feel it when my heart beats in a time like this
I have survived the battles 
I have arrived at this peaceful vision of foliage 
There is nothing but freedom and love down there 
With me I carry all this pain
These bloody marks look deadly 
But it is beauty
It is life 
My hands are free
And they might always be this empty
Yet there are many stories of past defeats and victories 
There are lessons and wisdom that are priceless
Had these hands not have been free 
I may not have had this extraordinary journey 
Freedom comes with a price but gives many rewards
My hands are empty my love
I am not a perfect woman
I know too much to be
Anything but free

Saturday, December 28, 2013

Grown Women's Cries

You took my all

You drank it down
like liquid bliss,
puckered your lips,
and were quickly thirsty for more

You found her
and her
and her
and her
and her

And sucked all their hearts dry
You make my phone glow and ring
It's possessed
I hear all the grown women’s cries
beneath the ring tone

The voice mail picks up
That woman no longer lives
She rests
Heart broken