The Key

I heard your key press into the lock. It seemed a lifetime as the metal scaled and scraped the walls of the labyrinth for the end. A twist in the right direction and the cold clunk of the bolt as it breathed its release. Chills creep up my skin as you maneuver and manipulate our rugged old handle; too kinked from the cold this time of year. Chills. Wind sweeps in through the break of two worlds. My stare seems to lift you as my eyes drift from your soles to your soul. You smell the stiffness in the air and run to hold me. Do not leave, your body aches as it squeezes mine. Do not run away. But I stare at the key, stuck, but still swinging on the open door.


But who would believe it?

Am I awake?

Are my eyes open? 

Where am I? It’s so dark my eyes cannot find prisms for feedback.

What is…


A palm is placed over my mouth.

I jerk my head side to side in a motion to release. And I can’t find my hands in time.
“What is – – ”

I moan between a tense jaw and buckled teeth.
Wow. I start to gain senses.
The weight of his body pins me back and his eagerness pushes into me deeper.
I can’t tell if I’m enjoying it because I think I just woke up. How did we get here and why is everything so loud? I can hear sparks from space and suddenly a slaughtering scream from the crease of light between my hell and high school.

Follow the light.

He pulls me up, spins me on my feet and shoves my panties in my pocket. I hear the words “birth control” and I nod my head in sleepy assurance. He picks up my chin and as we near the slight light his silhouette becomes a friendly face.
“But how–?” I start to ask and he answers by opening the portal. I try to adjust my pupils calmly as I am suddenly stage fright to a party. I spin to my right and face a firearm. Am I dreaming? I rub my eyes and look up to catch your seaglass stare of disbelief. Your friend should have ended me, for what came next was the hardest scar to heal.
Your bestfriends lead me out of the room, one by forced love, one by firearm–
And you,
my boyfriend,
hold me accountable.

Women race me to the restroom to clean me up. I’m bruised, broken, chin deep in tears and fluids
And I’m empty. 
For the rest of my life I will have words tattooed on the roof of my mouth that have deserved to ring your ears and shatter your seagreen eyes.
But who would believe it?

Missing Man

There is a peace missing. A peace you filled many lifetimes ago and cannot be reached without knowing where you are. When I think of you, I am reminded of the nights we laughed in the bed of my dad’s truck; picked stars to call ours and screamed back at lightning in the rain. We would giggle about poetry we wrote in notes and picture frames we once made. I remember the first time we had our first time. The blanket wrapped barely around our hips. A motion so slow, yet so quick. 

And I remember the first time you had a hit. Blunt to your lips, red eyes and long rips.Too many pills came next. A needle and that blue shit. White powder lines, who’s next? You got in the game real quick. Thought I was stubborn and your friends needed you more. They called me cunt, slut, and whore. You were wrapped up in the game that played you harder than them all. The best way to explain is that we still cannot find your soul. You’re out hustling the streets without a way to retreat. Those withdraws have a way of working the weakest into the wall. A build-up, a quick draw, a small hit, a large fall. 

My stomach stretches stress the size of a cigarette burn. The hole you left when you never returned. I know the world can be harsh! I too cannot face people most days! But I’d never hurt them without the knowledge of my stay. I’ve hurt them enough with knowledge of my ways. So if you can hear this, know I search for you in the parking lots, parks, and gas stations of our town. Any spare change or a blanket given is on your behalf. I have dreams of finding you and being the heroine of my past. I also have dreams you’ll leave for the heroin – surely your last. 


I place the seashell up against my ear to hear your voice again each night. It is only filled with the good words I remember. It tells me what I want to hear: Magic.

I look in the mirror and repeat my values so that I may forgive myself. Even my words quiver, “Why aren’t you happy with your choices! This is what you believe!” She says, you are the strongest of them all. Sorcery.

I whisper to the wind in hopes that you will hear my cry, but only the wolves cry with me. Tears join the river. The river meets the ocean you touch, and for a moment you remember me in colors.

I remember our fairytale, but the story I have created is missing you. I am strong, I am intuitive, and I am imaginative, but nothing compares to my magic when I am with you. True Love’s kiss.

What is pain

What is pain?

Does it sprout from the earth?

Can I pick it and carry it in bundles, place it in a glass

Does it make you laugh?

What is pain?

Does it whisper through the phone ‘I love you’

From a thousand miles away?

Has pain held your hand?

Has it wrapped you in a towel after a shower?

What is pain?

Is it the letter in the mail or the bills scattered on the floor

Could you fit it in a plastic bag and leave it by the door? 

What is pain?

Is pain the pit of your stomach or the middle of your heart?

If you had to guess what pain would be

Where would you start?