There are still splinters in my hands from the last time I was left to pick up the pieces

You come to kiss me on the forehead

As if you weren’t the one who shattered me

And I relinquish myself to you, again

I am bloodied and scarred

You smile and tell me I’m beautiful

With ease I’ve fallen once more




being in l*ve is a strange thing. the soft whisper of their name in your subconscious when going about your day, the gnawing sensation in your chest when you’re away from them, being enveloped in all these strong feelings… almost maddening

He calls me the tempestuous temptress

I set his skin on fire with a single touch

And can crush his spirit with a few words

Incite his virility then I bring him back to reality with my vitriol

How foolish is he to refuse to let me go?

Maybe not so foolish after all since he does the same to me.

I’m terrified at how you’ve made me love you

It’s as if you spun straw into gold

With the way you make me feel when you look at me

The way you trace your fingers around the nape of my neck

How you make me forget

I forget it all.

“You’re never too much or too little for me” is what you said

And it plays continuously as I ponder the veracity of your words

I’m terrified at how you’ve made me need you

My twin flame, my “forever and a day”.

i) Many think I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but in fact it was a silver knife. I’ve fought all my life. Fought to love, and to be loved. I’ve been called “iron hearted”, or something to that effect – however is not iron, but in fact scar tissue from where I’ve had to cut into myself and confront demons, to try to regain control of my life.

ii) I once had an irrational fear of mirrors, that one day my reflection would doing something different – now I avoid mirrors for fear of seeing an empty face staring back at me. The eyes are the windows to the soul and there might not be anything there.

When you’re so heartbroken that you’ve lost the will to write. And that person/situation just wrung out whatever creative juice you had left in you. When you were able to spin gold with your words, but now nothing forms in your mind but cobwebs. Your cathartic experience now held as a prisoner of war.