I have within me
a thousand year's worth of want —
and an empty bed

To be seen —
not as an object of desire,  
but as another human being.

To be seen—
for what she is made of,
for what strengths she carries within
and
not for what she covers her body with.

To be admired
not for her beautiful body
but for the beauty within.

Her voice to be heard
and not her screams.

To have dignity —
in life and in death.

To have self-respect.


Is it too much to ask for?

the monarch butterflies
above the sand dunes.

orange and black wings fluttering,
enjoy eternal maps, (no glove compartment)

the smell of ocean salt
in the morning air.

they lift higher and higher
the journey begins
as it has for thousands of years

(the artist's brush)

one morning they fly

a journey of thousands of miles.
the moment that begins and never ends,

sand and sea and serendipity.

I wish to retreat,
perhaps to a cabin in the woods,
or, like Iris Murdoch’s hero,
to settle near the sea…

It has been so long
since I have felt true solitude.
I long for that silence
that only it can bring
to sit in stillness
and listen to my own thoughts,
to cook only for myself
and savor each single bite,
untouched by the street’s noise
that might disturb
my quiet comfort.

It began in silence,
The kind that bruises,
The kind that teaches you
How pain can wear a smile.

It wasn't pretty like the movies
It was ugly
Like what they did to me
A cruelty
I would never place
On anyone's skin.

Bt even broken
I gather myself
Rising from what tried to end me
Proofing that pain
Cannot silence light
Still burning in me.

Somewhere far away, deep in the forest,
animals dwell
some hide from predators,
yet more dangerous still
is the rifle of a hungry hunter.

He returns home with prey,
switches his plasma TV
to the Discovery Channel,
slices the animal’s flesh
to feed himself.

He sets the table,
eats,
and at last,
with half-closed, weary eyes,
lights a cigarette
the final act,
before locking the door
and collapsing into sleep.