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Archives for domestic violence

i choose truthful moments
or partial truth
or no truth at all
for the sake of kindness
or self-preservation
i choose my truth
from a basket of tangled memories
and a wicked, cold reality
that i can not outrun

midnight

it is spring
there are flowers everywhere.
joyous
stretching
kissing the light
shocking colors that only god can make
i memorize them, for darker days.
wild
as they are.
at dusk
they fold inward.
sleeping until dawn.
my soul opens into the night
it is peaceful
the air is thicker,
closer to my skin somehow
coyotes running free
singing to one another
and to me

water and food for the soul

When I am no longer being nurtured,
by my environment
it falls upon me to nurture myself.
or die
how that is accomplished,
or even begun, is a mystery
that creates a terror in my heart.
not again.

the cold winter sun

The cold winter sun shares her harsh light begrudgingly.
hiding,
then fairly screaming at me from between the trees
as she dances lower and lower on the horizon.
I increase my pace,
struggling to stay warm.
A patch of lavender comes into view
curious
i move closer
I am overpowered,
the scent is visceral
I must stop
The bright new flowers
have rushed to open after the recent [...]

secrets

hiding
like a secret,
behind the floppy green leaves,
this tiny pocket of flowers
brought a sweet smile to my heart today
i had forgotten
perhaps
that secrets should be joyous
there was a time when my life held many secrets.
sorrows i could not contain
searching wildly for courage
to scream
and run
and run
and never stop
until the world was safe again
it took not courage,
but only
the tiniest [...]

the smell of water

there is no sidewalk, so i walk in the street.
the hills are steep for my old knees
but my legs are strong now
i love that i can smell the water
and almost taste the green of the cool space
near the top of the longest hill.
there are always birds here
and small critters i can hear, but not see
the [...]

old

becoming older is simple
it sneaks up on you,
until it doesn’t
realizing my limitations,
aching for bones that don’t ache,
watching bruises bloom from simple bumps,
such an adventure
happily, i can still walk.
if i could not,
i would have missed this beauty
she will also grow old,
crumple in on herself
and lose her amazing petals,
which feel wooden to my careful touch
it is my [...]

before and after

some moments create deep fissures
in the skin of our souls,
as though splintering the heart,
penetrating even our deepest being.

dying on the vine

growing older changes me
i feel watered down
less self-reliant
colorless

old news

but time moves always forward
old, and bent, and troubled
with bullets and bombs
and terror
and it breaks what it can not bend