I’m not shiny, I’m not happy,

I am hurt and damaged

Most days I want to slice myself open,

Rip out my heart, tear apart my soul

And throw myself into a deep dark pond because

That would be easier than figuring this shit out

That would be simpler than asking myself

Where the fuck do I go from here ?

How the hell do I find happiness in this shithole called my life?

That’s most days.

Then there are some days where I remember,

I stand outside and stare at the night sky

I let the darkness surround me and gaze at stars

I tell myself that I am made of fucking stardust

And anything is possible

I tell myself that I am smaller than a grain of sand on a beach

I am atoms, and molecules and energy and life

And I can just be

I can just breathe

Because I am fucking stardust.


I wonder sometimes if I’m sick.  What it means that I have a bottle of whiskey underneath my bed.  What does it say that I only fall for people I know I can’t have?  I pour my heart and soul into relationships with men and women older than me, married, taken, mentor, boss.  I pour myself out then close myself off.

I hate that when I look at the night sky, I don’t know if I’m looking at a star or a satellite.

I’ve lost my father, my grandfather and my grandmother, fallen out of love, then in love and then out of love, all in the span of a year.

I’ve been gutted. Cleared out and all that’s left are tendrils, hanging, reaching toward each other, trying to connect, heal.  Trying to form a new heart, kidney, lungs.

The only time I can feel anything is with something in my hand.

I’m bleeding internally and it hurts like hell.  My insides are throbbing.   But I can’t feel them.  Sometimes it’s like I’m numb.  Feeling and not feeling.  Phantom heart, phantom lungs.

I remember what it is like to feel.  And I’m sure I’ll feel again.  I do it sometimes.  Spontaneously.  I’ll realize I’m laughing, or smiling without it being forced.  I’ll feel an urge to kiss a cheek or hold a hand.  Tears will spring to my eyes and blur my vision.  Rage will burn like coals in my belly and I’ll be heated.

I’m a poet without poems.  I’ve writers block and words come out hollow.  I turn phrases and they’re heartless, soulless.  Where is my passion?

Where is my soul?



There is a change in perception which comes as years drag on. I’ve seen twenty-five of these days and they’ve each held their own tone, flavor, scent.  In younger years the senses were clouded, hazy, blissful.  Sheltered in the lies told to children, lies about the world, about the holidays, family.

Teen years the haze got denser, sadder, angrier.  I knew I had been lied to, but I couldn’t tell you how or why. I still played along with the script of deceit laid out for me because I knew of no other alternative.

Twenties though, those are the fun years. Sight keener, haze dissipates, almost disappears until the truth can be seen.  I sit here on this day, Christmas day. Alone, without family and I see. I see the how and some of the why of years, months, days past and I understand.  The truth of it. 

The truth hurts though.  How can it not ? I see the things done to me as a child. I see how poorly they were handled. I see how easily I am cut and sliced from the pages of family history. Blood matters. Papers don’t.  They joked about shredding my adoption papers. Because it was funny. Because it didn’t hurt. Because that’s what they did.  They chose time and time and time again. And I was never the choice. I was always second.

So I sit here, alone, on this day and I see through the haze. I see the truth.


Pandora. Her box is vast and deep as it is wide.

Secrets and demons bubble inside, like hot, molten tar, sputtering and hissing.

Latching onto the sides and climbing, desperately seeking freedom.

Seeking release from their cage. Single goal, to seek, conquer and destroy all those waiting on the other side.

The lid remains shut. Sealed up tight, save for one crack.

One tiny little crack which buildup has worn down over the ages.

Disaster seeps out. Drop, by devastating drop.

Pandora’s box may not ever be opened, but her demons will find release.

Down in the trenches of the human psyche, there lay a pit.

Darkness and desire pool and rise, seeking to take over the chambers of the heart.

Seeking to pervert the sweetest and simplest of emotions, and twist them into something more.

Something complex, bitter.

An emotion which leaves a bad taste on the lips, causes one to smack their tongue upon the roof of the mouth, in a futile attempt to expel the bitterness; the sourness, the truth.

The truth that this is how it feels now. Gone are the sun-drenched emotions of yesterday.

The sweet sensations excited by a smile upon a face, or a gust of wind, blowing hair.

Simple is gone. Now these moments hold something else. Something deeper, darker.

Always when a layer is peeled back, another remains in it’s place.

Damn Pandora and her Box. I didn’t even notice.

Breezing past her, with her body shrouded in ebony silks and linens; eyes cloaked in mystery and knowing, she saw me.

My gaze caught hers for the briefest of moments and it was then, it must have been then, that the droplet fell upon my skin.

Demons seeped into my flesh and began their trek to my soul.

Taking over, driving out the lightness of my spirit and replacing it with their wretchedness.

They called it wisdom.

I should have known better. I felt it grow inside of me, but did not think to stop it.

Could not stop it, even if I had wanted to. I was too far gone.

Demons like the shadows. They took nicely to the caverns of my heart.

Though light had long-term residence there, the fact remains that with the brightness of the sun, inevitably come shadows.

Casting shapes upon walls, dancing and swirling; it was there that the demons began.

Finding refuge in the deep spaces, dark spaces, conspiring with the emotions which had already sought solace from the light.

These emotions had been frightened. Afraid for their survival as the light was determined to drive them from my body.

So they fled. They fled and hid until Pandora’s demons arrived, and they were elated.

After all, there is strength in numbers. Safety too.

With that revelation, all things sad, angry, hurt, woeful, wrathful, vengeful, and otherwise dark and twisted, began their work.

Chaos reigned and my spirit was doomed.

Heart overrun, it’s caverns swarmed by thousands of demons, spawned from the pool of molten tar which had formed within my soul.

Flying up the walls of my heart and perching themselves upon the veins – my heart was blackened.

To squeeze it, one could feel demons moving and squealing in agony as their wings were crushed, and bodies pressed to each others’ backs.

To release, one could hear the sighs of relief; see them stretch their wings, and settle back into formation.

Undaunted. Resolute once more in their total conquering of that which was formerly known as my self.