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Lundy 5d
Watch her as her eyes scan the horizon and her limbs begin to move.
As she masterfully turns a decade's worth of pain into empathy.
As she elegantly offers strength to each aching soul she meets.
She's changing lives, you've changed lives too; but she's nothing like you.
Watch her as her humility humbles you--

You, who told her she was weak,
You who so confidently refused to lay flowers at her tomb.
Watch her, as her chin begins to lift, her feet begin to move and she steadily struts past you.
Lundy 5d
Dirt shifts and earth moves.
It takes a team; shape shifting into something new.

  The sun's energy,
     The rain's hope,
        The rest in between, suggested each          
        night by the rising moon.

Seeds will tuck themselves away in their shell, seeking safety, until gently coaxed into the light by the loyal sun, they are cleansed by the loving rain, allowed to glow under the healing moon.
Lundy 5d
Invasive Ivy grew around the house we built.
Crept along confidently.
Watered by people who didn't love me.
Flashforward to 2018. Desperately tearing at Ivy.
Wondering if I imagined that baseline foundation beneath?
Was she still me?
Tearing, ripping, fighting
Until I can see the foundation beneath me.
Lundy 5d
And they will still be celebrated by the people around you as "good men" while your blood drips from their teeth.
Lundy Jul 2020
After a year I took you to the Eastern Sierras. Home.

Last time I was here these mountains seemed bigger, in pictures my face was thinner.

Walking in my granfathers footsepts I spoke of my family, I spoke of these canyons, you spoke of your dreams, and you spoke of us.

Black coffee in our matching cups. You make it strong; like me I said.

With the high sierra granite surrounding us we removed our bandaids and wondered where the scars went.


Everyone knows a broken heart is blind. At least that's what Jack thought me. After pondering it for quite sometime I think that I would like to give you mine. I think you see me.
Lundy Jul 2020
I remember our first conversation. We talked about mermaids.  You made a joke about sea foam, I was intrigued.

I remember you asking me out the first time. And I remember telling you I didn't think you were ready.
You lashed out. I was freaked out.

I remember you leaving without warning. You dropped out of all your classes and hit the road.  For 6 months you sent me pictures of campsites; of elk and bear you'd shared sunsets with. Pictures of you next to cliffs you'd scaled.  Via texts you recounted a story of how you'd climbed a mountain just to find reception to call your ex. I remember wondering why you would tell me that? I felt jealous. It turned me off. I remember you complaining to me that she was a "feminist" I said "Good for her." We both should have known then.

I remember sending you Gloria Steinem quotes with every campsite picture you offered. On your way back to California,  you asked to see me again.

I remember our first date, and how you asked if you could kiss me. I offered you my cheek, and later that night I couldn't stop thinking of your lips. You texted me that you wanted more. I remember touching myself as I fell asleep.

I remember you telling me you would die for me.  Laughing I told you, "That's so dramatic." You smiled confidently and told me you loved me. I said it back. We were watching 28 Days Later. I remember thinking we were so lucky.  

I remember building a bed out of blankets and pillows on our empty apartment floor. I remember countless trips to the hardware store, we were determined to build our own furniture.  I remember planting a garden, and proudly harvesting the garden. I remember frequent candle lit dinners. I remember your hands traveling up my skirt as I poured you more wine. I remember I wasn't wearing underwear. I remember us spilling the wine.

I remember telling you that you were my bestfriend. I remember pretending to be okay when you told me you already had a bestfriend and a soulmate  but that I could be your wife.

I remember the first time you hurt me. You regretted it immediately. Held my face in your hands I remember you kissed my cheek, again.  I still trusted you.

I remember the first time I hurt you. My off-white satin dress reflecting the moon. My animosity verbal daggers, I was so ****** I forgot to be ashamed. Sometimes I still forget.

I remember you telling me that I will never be your priority. I remember transferring money into your bank account. Weekly. I remember working 12 hours and coming home to give you head. I remember falling asleep on your chest as you massaged my neck. I remember thinking that was love.

I remember finding women's underwear in our laundry. An earring in our bedroom, and butterfly hair clips in your car. I remember not believing you when you told me they were your sisters. I remember letting it go.

I remember that time you threw me against the dresser. I remember you telling me it was my fault. I remember letting it go.

I remember with you I had found a sister and a mother. I remember realizing these women I loved were victims of abuse. Belittled and silenced. I remember realizing I was a  victim of abuse. Belittled and silenced. I remember being disgusted with myself. I still wanted you.

I remember you calling me abusive. And you were right, I had changed.  "A cornered dog may cower, or it may bite." Our therapist had said. Do you see any of that now? Do you see how bruised I was?


I remember almost getting murdered. And how much I struggled to feel alive after. I remember asking you for help. You told me it's not your responsibility.  

I remember the anguish.  I remember thinking about suicide. I remember telling you I didn't know how to survive. I remember you telling me I was weak. I remember behaving, feeling, like my mother.

I remember you hovering over me. Intimidating me. I remember telling you to step back. I stood on my tippy toes to look big too. And when you didn't back down, I chest bumped you. I remember you weren't sure if you should laugh or fight. I remember you telling me you didn't love me anymore and you hadn't for some time. The next morning I woke you up with my mouth on you.

I remember you leaving me. I stood in the doorway and promised myself I would not beg. I let you walk away. An hour later you returned, but not for me. It was never me. You took your gun and video games and again I stood at the door. This time I begged you to stay. I remember you walking away. I remember our dreams. I remember understanding that I was ******* done.

I remember packing under a THC haze. I remember leaving my lingerie for you to find in our closet.  In your closet. The black one with the garter belt on display. I remember Bodie having diarrhea on the carpet. I left it there. I also left you with enough money for two months rent. I remember you texting me telling me I owed you more.

I remember the day I ran out of clean underwear. I was late for work and so I wore your sisters, or were they your ******? They fit comfortably. I felt sick. I ***** called my neighbor when I got off work. I remember opening wine at 3am and doing everything to him that you used to ask me to do to you.

I remember you reaching out to me over some ******* excuse. I told you that you had already lost me but that wasn't yet true. I just had absolutely no faith left in you.

I remember that none of it was ever worth having you.
Lundy Jul 2020
N95
What she saw stole her innate calm.

She could see from across the room that he was in trouble. A kid, stumbling towards her. Desperate for her.

Eyes wild with fear and fatigue. 14, 15, maybe he's 16?

She knew from experience gained over a few months that he had an hour--maybe--before the weakness she saw stole his primordial drives.

A life is on the line

She wraps the plastic gown around her, she bends the metal of her timeworn mask against the bridge of her nose. She hides her hair in a net. She covers her feet with booties. All done with purpose. All done at full tilt.

His name is Paul. And he is scared.

She is by his side when his eyes roll back in his head. He's still breathing, still holding her hand but his eyes have gone white from the work of it all. His head swivels on its axis from north to south. "Please " is all he  can manage to exhale.  

"****" she thinks,  as his oxygen saturation registers at 20%.

A life is on the line.

10 days later. Countless like him have come and gone.

But, it's the exhausted exhale exchanged in
his final plea
that leaves her breathless now.

A life is on the line
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