My wall of steal standing tall against all men
Protecting me to ensure they will not get in

Past the wall of steal is a jungle of thorns
A meadow of bees
And a sea of sharks

My body stands tall enclosed in a glass box
These layers stand tall by years  of misuse

Five year old me getting choked by the boy
Nine year old me standing naked in-front of a male teen
Prior to being drenched by his own ***


Fifteen year old me sitting in a circle 
Preparing for a game of truth or dare
I am told to kiss the boy across from me
I can not do that
I have never been kissed and that is sacred to me
It's no big deal one little peck on the lips
I lean over and close my eyes for I cant seem like a wuss
His tongue touches my lip and forces it way in
My mouth feeling invaded by the unwanted guest

Sixteen  year old me making a new friend
Excited I was for friend were sparse for me
Our adventure  began exploring the woods
But soon my lucky ran out and he wasn't satisfied enough
Week after week he would convince me
Make out with me it will be as great as your favorite candy

Months go by when I realize my worth
His toxic being was eradicated away from me
This however was not enough

Naive I remained as he returned back to me
Laying in my bed cuddling watching a movie
He turns my head and begins kissing me
Dragging his hand down to my sacred places
My voice becomes paralyzed
Enabling me from telling him no
I use my  force to push his hand away
Yet without the verbal no he will not take my answer

Stuck in the circle week after week
Loosing myself from my own betrayal of my body
No courage inside me to scream the word inside me

Broken down I feel
Why didn't I protect me
The voice inside finally speaks rationality
Contact deleted
I don't need that toxicity

Eighteen years old me off on my own
Remains closed off from  all male species
A glimmer of hope shines through

I introduce myself to a man who seems awfully nice
Let's go back to your room and watch a movie
Sounds like a wonderfully idea we can lay down an cuddle
We cuddle up under the covers thirty seconds into the move
The iPad falls to the floor and his mouth is all over me
No question of weather I wanted it
Until his ***** was out and rubbing against me
I felt like a coward I couldn't say no now
I said I guess as I was flipped on my back

Panic takes over
A ****** I yell
I had hoped that would deter him
He told me that was cute
Not long he was done and leaving my room
I felt ashamed for months why did I let him do that to me

One simple word yet I never dare say it
Why not give my body the respect I fully deserve
Because that five year old me feared boys around me
Nine year old me felt like a ***** used napkin
From there it all declined
And that leaves me here

A young woman lost of all respect
Fearing men around me
Desperately waiting for the man that will surprise me

H-O-M-E-----Home....

Home is where my soul is free. The place that my maybe's are enough.
It is the only place that I feel safe, it is the refuge from the truth.
After all of these years my bones are finally free of all of the chains that bound me.
I'm finally able to leave my doors unlocked and not be fearful. I can let my guard down.

Then the day came.

Home tells me that she doesn't love me anymore.
Home tells me that life with me is a roller coaster that she doesn't want to be on.
The home which was my safety, in now sheltering another.
Now, I can't breathe in my home and it feels like my lungs are full of smoke.
As I watch my home burning, I want to burn with it.
I don't want to run. Just let me stay.
But, the truth is that I can never go back home.

“only” the lonely know (my special sign)

{=}

an incurable silence

the meaningless, wasted touch of a hand,
attached, directed by them from them
to them
a failed reassurance

a classroom, a stadium, cornfield or grove,
so many nutted fallen solitaries fallen to rot
midst a globe of trillions never noticed,
never missed

the silly conceptual that the lonely,
special unique, blessed with a curse,
a specialist status, “only” they afflicted;
with a ken that isolates and yet feels elevated -
oh! I am special

show me one, just one, human who doesn’t truly believe,
they are the onliest loneliest and you will vision
each and every
lonely person who
secret sighs and whose first thoughts are only:

god spare me one more day of being,
fearful of achieving
my very own knowing,
in the invisible place,
the incurable silence award,
reward of another purple heart,
“only” the lonely service ribbon,
my Cain marker

~my special sign~

surrender and defeat,
my fated causality,
by mine own hand done in,
'twas the death I ordained,
when to the addiction of ego,
I did, did I,
concede and become another casualty
by mine own mind

objects in the distance may be closer than they appear  

how many thousands of times
these words mirrored blankly upon my eyes

only today did I-read them accurate

from the nowhere    from a great void
someone stepped and lifted me from a
rubbled prone
where there were no options
asking for nothing
over and over I beseeching

now I see
in the mirror
those words

I see only them
in the heart human
the object so close
it writ upon my face
proudly

Why they call me the fearful poet! (The Razor Thin Difference)

”but who am I to complain
the  razor thin difference tween
blessings and curses so thin,
sometimes are they not, the same thing”
Aug. 2018

~~~

this familiar line, well traversed, lives on the maps
sketched indented on your palms and brow,
at the edges of the crow’s nests, the eye’s keyboard witnesses,
recording every stroke

we tap in seeings, forming letters,
letters into lines, lines into verse,
as we alliterate, we walk unawares,
of the razor thin difference tween blessings and curse,
indiscernible until concluded, perhaps, not even then,
the stanza’s probable outcome,
always unsure, unknowing destiny’s decision

so we walk, tread, plumb, shoutout
“vive la difference,”
hoping the blessing messengers hear us first,
consummating our pleas on their favorable sight & side,
ever fearful, we do not shout loud enough,
do the blind hear,
need me, possess my sacrificial offerings,
my trepidations, burnt on the Temple’s altar

who will breathe their smoke and understand
their fearful origins?

so we-write, cajole that our every moment’s fear,
find the difference, that we don’t bleed from life’s razoring,
the thinner thinnest
needle threaded,

and fear is the threat,
and fear is the thread,
that holds me together

until the unraveling
requires me to write again,
the fearful poet