Thinning fabric

We broke up the other day, I’m trying to pretend not to notice

Truth to tell we were never really together

I try to recall the times you’ve broken my heart

I’ve let them fade into the fabric of our story

Fabric worn thin by my worrying hands retracing patterns again and again

Trying to commit us to memory

I glance at your piece of our cloth, you’ve cut out bits of us, leaving patches in our truth

I wonder if you remember what it looked like before you erased us

Does your mind recall how beautiful we were?

Threads woven together bright and dark, hazy and shining

Like sun breaking through clouds after a raging storm

These days, you see only the storm, can only take in the chaos

Should your fingers try to retrace us, they’d find holes held together by trivial pieces of our memory

I still see us, breaking boldly through clouds

Weaving our story together with threads of tenderness, laughter and pain

How could you cut us apart?

I’ve kept my piece intact; fingers retrace our history at times lovingly, at times mournful

Feeling always where we’ve thinned out

Our fabric is worn, the time has come to put us away

Tracing patterns once more I fold us up and place us in my dresser, next to old faded sweatshirts of love gone by

What you choose to do with your fabric, I have no say

For my part, I’ll keep mine hidden and safe

Neatly folded and forgotten as we carry on the aimless game we play

We broke up the other day and today, the sun is hidden away

Skies are dark, dreary and grey, contented to stay that way

Skimming the surface


I feel seen by your eyes; this frightens me

A bead of sweat drips down your face. I stare, enthralled. I find myself contemplating its flavor.

Your mouth has got me shook. I cant. Stop. Staring.

I peek inside your mind and find it lined with shelves, littered with papers and books, some left open and forgotten. I imagine you skim through them from time to time. But only when necessary

I want to be there when you get out of the shower to smooth your skin with shea butter while your body is still steaming, and hot, and wet

Sometimes, I imagine you’re stretched out beside me. We lay on cool green grass below a tall sprawling tree, sheltered from the blazing sun

you know how when you’re reading and you realize your mind has wandered? Well, my mind wanders to you

I fantasize about loving you. For this, I blame you and I blame Audre. In no particular order.

If I’m right, you think of me slightly less than I think of you, this both draws me back and drives me forward

List for me the following:

your favorite book

your favorite poem

your favorite song

I want to search for you in their words

The next time we are alone, I will not tell you how I feel

I write around you, not about you. I tell myself skimming over you is easier than diving in.

Get off my back

I want to be drunk now

maybe then words would come

flow out of me like lava from a volcano

destroying everything in their path

if I get them on the page they’ll be safe

I wont feel the need for them to flow

from my mouth into your ears

that’s where they’ll do the most damage

if I put them down here

how will you know

they’re for you?

I sit here grounded, you – analyzed

me – sinking under the enormity of circumstance

I’m strong, I know this because I feel my legs work as

I strain against a crippling weight pressing down on my spine

Get Off. My Back.

I whisper these words like a prayer

beg them to lighten my load

I feel pieces shift, break & fall away

I exhale, slice open another dust covered box

cutting my hand on the box cutter

I dig in, my hand stains everything it touches

The Sea

Let me crawl inside of your head
Take a tour through your mind
Show me where your secrets hide
I want to wade through your confusion
Slip past your memories and
Dive into your sea of knowing
I imagine that if I close my eyes
Open my mouth to let it sit on my tongue
I can taste your truth
Feel it soak into my skin
I want to consume and be consumed
If I dive down deep enough
I am sure I will come upon caves
Caverns lined with the story of your being
I will run my hands along the stone
Read your soul with my fingers
Rough here, smooth there, lovely and complex
The rock glimmers, shines from the depths,
There is a light there
It shines so brightly, dancing and rippling
At once cutting, rising, floating
It is your deepest secret
Your most sacred truth
Hidden safely away,
Buried, taunting, in the boundless
Sea that is your mind

Eastern Promenade

I returned to the promenade today
Finding solace in the echo of your presence

Closing my eyes, I see you
Now, walking along the
Grass, rays of the setting
Sun cupping your face

Mirroring the precise gesture
My hand was itching to make
Knowing you has awoken
Something inside of me

A feeling at once
Sweet and raw, pure and
Radiant, lighting me up
Creating a glow unlike

Any other to dance
Upon my skin
It has me feeling new
It has me feeling happy

It has me feeling


There we sat
Upon my bed,
Hand clasped,
Legs entwined,

Heads bent forward
Enacting a ritual
Which could stand
The test of time

Gently, she stroked
The edges of my
Bandaged fingers,

Sympathetic disposition
Graced her form, as
I pouted out the tale
Of my injuries.

Bits of stories sprinkled
With memories were
Exchanged, open, fluid,

Searching, stuttering, stroking
Our way past strangers, into familiarity.

The Reality of the Situation



Epiphones are radical.  They are the culmination of a series of thoughts which you have undoubtedly had before, but occur in a moment when your mind is completely open to accepting those thoughts as truths, instead of dismissing them, or rationalizing them away as is generally the case.

I had an epiphone today.  It was a long time coming, and had tried desperately to rear it’s ugly head before, but I was in no mind to acknowledge, let alone deal with it.

A survivor of sexual abuse (particularly childhood sexual abuse) does not realize how utterly and completely sex rules their life. Today, I came to the realization that my sexual abuse has touched so many aspects of my daily existence. It has soured countless relationships/potential relationships with one thing, that I took as complete and total, unquestionable truth: when push came to shove, the only thing people wanted from me, was sex.

Now, I had examined myself, gone to therapy, medicated, talked, screamed, cried, and fancied myself mostly past the side effects of my abuse.  That is not to say that I did not realize that there were things here and there which would pop up, but I would deal with those issues as they arose and continue to move forward.

What I did not realize, was that my own perception of myself and of the world was skewed.  I was looking through a dirtied lense and taking all that I saw for truth.  Priding myself on my ability to read people, circumstances, and employ logic and reason to determine the reality of the situation.  I never considered that the eyes with which i was seeing, as well as the mind with which I was deducing, were lying to me, processing an incorrect picture.  When reason is based in falsehood, it is not reason at all.

I had a friend who set me on the path to realizing this truth.  Only six months after setting out on this path to discovery, have I finally reached the entry way.  I am finally seeing what I have known for so long, what my friend was desperately trying to tell me:  sexual abuse alters perception.  Sexual abuse poisons the mind.  Sexual abuse harms us in ways we can never fully imagine.

Only with deep reflection and extreme mindfulness are we able to uncover and amass the infected areas, and successfully root out the poison.

It is a revolutionary concept to me, that relationships can be entirely nonsexual.  The notion that two people can come together and share thoughts, hours, experiences and not want to sleep with eachother,  not have one person motivated by the primary goal of using the other for their own sexual gain, is utterly revolutionary.

How many relationships, friendships, might I still have, had I realized this one beautiful truth?  Countless.  Yet there is no point in looking back in regret, only in reflection to learn, accept, and move forward.

I think of this friend, and of the times that we had together and I think of how much time I wasted viewing our relationship through my dirtied lense. I think how skewed thinking and perception poisoned our relationship and ultimately brought it to an end:

Why is this person spending time with me? Talking to me?  Sharing with me?  Teaching me?  Taking time out of their personal schedule and life to be with me?  They must want something.  They must.

NO.  No, not everyone has some selfish, sexual desire urging them forward.  No, sometimes people just want to spend time with a like mind.  Sometimes people just want a friend to talk to, bounce ideas off of and to learn from.

Not everyone is going to hurt you.

That is a tough pill to swallow; that not everyone is going to completely destroy your soul.  There are bad people, yes.  But there are good people too.  Beautiful people.  Wonderful people. People who are here to teach you and to add richness and greatness to your life – and you to theirs.

Only with a true understanding of your self worth; an understanding that yes, there are sexual relationships.  Yes, you were exposed to that truth in a premature and viscious way, at a time when you were still learning the ways of life, and of the world.  But life is not always viscious.  People are not always selfish.  Relationships are not always sexual.

Trust is hard. Trust is a thing we hold tightly to our breast; I trusted those who betrayed it so devastatingly, when I was so young, so innocent. Trust is a thing which must be earned.  But I am more mindful now,  I am aware of my dirtied lenses and I am making an effort to clean them on a regular basis.

Perhaps with cleaner vision, and a clearer mind, we can learn to let people in.  We can learn how to see the reality of the situation.  Not everything is about sex.  Sometimes, it is just about love.