There is this guy that I used to know. He can sometimes still get away with leading me into a room, firm hand on the small of my back. I don’t know, maybe there is a particular spot there that will always be his domain. It’s a solid, familiar touch – one that used to give me comfort. Enough that I can momentarily forget the pain that came later. I can’t stop him and part of me doesn’t want to.

But he is only this guy that I used to know, most of the time.

He forgets himself on occasion and will look at me – the deep, piercing gaze of a man who knows secrets you would rather he didn’t. And then he will try to speak that secret language, the one that would propel me into a room before his hand had a chance to rest in its place.

The one that died when he walked away.

In those moments, without fail or hesitation, I turn swiftly and grab that hand away.

Say, “You’re not allowed to talk that way anymore. That language is dead and you do it a dishonor to speak it now, with another woman’s kiss on your lips.” Years later, this dance still turns.

I wonder if it ever entered your mind later, when you would grab my hand at a party to lead me away from him, that someday you’d share this space in my mind.

Touch, but don’t look.

I can tell you honestly it never occurred to me. Until right now. When my hands instinctively clamped around the words you’re just not allowed to say to me anymore, with another woman’s kiss on your lips.
I go too far and I know it. You can’t stop me and part of you doesn’t want to.



I’m too busy living
to notice the things
that I am lacking
most of the time.

But some moments come and
strike you where you stand,
so strongly and swiftly that
the truth can’t be ignored.

I have an intimate relationship
with the strength inside me,
because there is no one else
to burden it with right now.

I’m supposed to be strong.
I’m supposed to tell you
it doesn’t matter and
that I don’t care.

But it matters.
I care.

I don’t need you to
fix it for me, I know
what needs doing.

I’m just too busy living
to fix the things I’m lacking
for this moment in time.
I have never felt so unsupported in all my life. This is lonely as hell.


The Things We Learn About Life After Being Really, Really Bad At It

Originally posted on Thought Catalog:


Over the last twenty-three years life has spoken to me. It has spoken to me through heartache, through hardship, through joy and celebration. Life has taken me by the shoulders, it has shaken me, and it has bellowed into my bones. It has said:

Understand that you will hurt people. You will hurt, and you will be hurt. However, you will also love, and you will be loved in the most magnificent ways. To live life is to understand that together these extremes thrive within you — your heart is both a blessing and a blade. To put your soul into the hands of someone who could wound it or heal it is quite possibly the most courageously beautiful risk you take. It is like looking someone right in the eye and saying “You may hurt me, but you may also love me, and I am willing to take that…

View original 394 more words


Just One

It’s so easy
to be jealous.

To stand here
assuming that
you don’t know
what it is you have.
Angry that it seems
so easy for you.

But I know you.
I’ve been there.
I know the truth,
that’s it’s not as
easy as it looks.

That doesn’t mean
that I don’t envy you
for how simple you
make it seem.

I would give anything to
have one of your worst days.

Just one.
The next few days are going to be absolutely horrible and I am mired in quite the defeatist mode at the moment. Definitely a cornered wild animal at the moment. Dare you to come near me. Sigh.


Alice in Heels

I won’t even discourage you
from trying to turn me into
the little girl I was on the
day that you met me.

Because believe me, dear,
I’m not her anymore and
the more you try to make
me small to make yourself
feel taller the easier it is
for me to trip you up.

Being the biggest and the best
is better than anything else
until I slip through the cracks,
and by the time you wonder
where I’ve gone I will be well
on my way to the next tea party.



I set myself apart
a long time ago.
A defense mechanism
to operate in this world.

I carry a universe
out in front of me.
Holding it gingerly,
alternatively populating
and decimating it
as I see fit.

It is as much a weapon
as it is anything else.
People are wary of it
because who would
do such a careless
thing and what else
might she be capable of?

If I sit cocooned and
protected in the center
of this universe then
that means you exist
in a bubble hanging
precariously off the
edge of it because
no one here is sure
whether or not you
should be allowed in.

I carry this universe
apart from myself
for protection from
people just like you.
It is vast and
it holds every secret
I have ever kept,
every mistake
I have ever made,
every moment I wish
I could have or take back.

I set myself apart.
So long ago I don’t
even remember what
it is like to live in the
world that you inhabit.

Maybe I’m a coward.


Our Place Apart (At Last)

I make beautiful things out of mortifying moments. I use pain like planks of wood to build a home to keep them in. Thanks to those who have tread these halls over the years, every tender touch is suspect and I’m left wondering whether I’ll ever get that stain out of the carpet.

I dreamt of the sitting room last night.

Maybe you’d like to hear that I’ve sat here many a night, cradling a cup of coffee, just waiting for you to return. Hoping you will tell me a story while I look on, sad fiery eyes blazing. But the truth is – on the night you walked away I stood vigil here, waiting until every last ember of that fire had gone out. I turned on my heel, slammed the sitting room door, locked it and set the key deep in my pocket, with all the other secrets I’ve been keeping so long. I haven’t so much as passed this hall since then.

But last night, its thick wooden doors were damping a warm glow from deep inside. Suddenly, I was seized with an irresistible urge to open the room up again. But when I reached for the door, the world turned red as my body recoiled, and I was thrown back by the force of the door exploding and the inferno pouring out.

Nothing was recognizable. In fact, nothing could be seen beyond every inch of this room engulfed in flames reminiscent of the blaze in my mind. I laughed, frantically, at the mirror before me. Resigning myself to the knowledge that really, there is no other way this story could have ended.

There is only one explanation for how this could have happened. You must have snuck in when I wasn’t looking. Naively hoping to bring the light to this place, as you have always done. You can’t help but trip over your good intentions and set this room alight.

I don’t think I could have ever really used this room again, anyway. The rest of the house is deep in a remodel, and these walls would have always been the next to go. Maybe you did me a favor. There’s no one else I’d rather board this door up with than you.
I could feel myself going there as I fell asleep last night. And I didn’t want to. And now I know why.