in bed with myself

you open your

eyes and

Vulnerability lies beside

you, under silk


stares into your soul with

wolf eyes and lips dripping

Gold and takes your

trembling Body, pries it

open but does not

feast, instead

leaves you

stripped of all your

protections, exposed,

ready for the

taking, and

whispers softly to


selfish heroism

I walk in to an empty house –
the first time in a long time that the space around me promises its vacancy.
This is hard to grasp hold of as lately any company feels empty.

I do the things I know to do but do them meaninglessly.
I scrub my body clean,
let the hot water sink in,
slip it into cleaner clothing.

Checkmarks on a checklist but nothing more than this.

And then it is time to dry my hair.
So I sit cross-legged in front of this pain inducing mirror –
the first time in a long time that I sit face to face with my own reflection.

This is when I feel it.

I feel the ache in my bones,
the stabbing in my chest,
the soreness of muscles that are tired from lifting the world onto them.

So I look into the eyes that stare back at me –
the pain in them much too hard to realize.
I look at her and whisper,

“You are strong.
You are beautiful.

Look at the things you’ve created,
the people you’ve loved,
the things you’ve done.

You are determined, a fighter –
growing beyond even the things you know of. 

You are magnificent

And I swore that in that moment she lifted her chin higher,
and thanked me.

the sunshine cleaning

I call you beautiful and welcome you home.

Before you come, I climb up on all the tables to reach the windows and let the light in. I walk the five miles to my favourite flower shop to buy the lavender and the snapdragons. I hang the art I started making the day I stopped crying. I fix the cushions. I make the bed for you.

But there is pain here. There is damage underneath the bedsheets. Holes behind the artwork. I buy new flowers every morning because they all die daily.

And I keep stumbling upon messes I forgot to clean up.

the harm & the bleeding

internal bleeding. they don’t call it that but it is. once a month but not really. pours down and reminds of the damage. red that’s not from your deepest wounds but might as well be. the pain from both is excruciating.

the city streets are pretty but that’s all lately. getting tired of a place where you aren’t beside me. tired of everything. knowing I’ve hurt you but only wanting your arms. hold me closer while I bleed. I promise I can love you better than I have been.