One Day. One Story.

A Lifetime of Healing.


A story among many.

Darkness, anger, and survival,

memories bleed through,

flickering from one memory to the next

turning the mundane,

every day into a nightmare.

I am ripped from the present

to the past of

anguish and despair

secrets that are

buried within,

the muffled cries

forcing the silence.

I am quiet no more.

I will no longer keep this secret.

I will no longer be trapped in

yesterday’s nightmare.

drawing of the author, female with a hoodie with writing 'not all wounds are visible'
Still Life: A Moment  & Poem of Memories
Memories Are Funny Things Memories are funny things. Our memories are incredibly inaccurate. Or so we are told. Our brains will keep things from us. Moments were too horrific to remember in memory's easy retrieval section. And though we can't access those memories,...
Compromising Myself for Love?
Compromising Myself? Am I compromising myself for love? I don’t know. I want to think that I am not, but when one needs to do something (fill in the blank on that something) for the person they love, that is compromise. But doing certain things doesn’t necessarily...
Proof? You Ask For Proof?
Proof is Here What is your proof of abuse? I was asked that question over and over again by the adults in my life as I tried so desperately to get help. Over and over again, it was the same thing. Any evidence of the abuse from my father was long gone (I had showered...
Unburdening Myself with Truth
Honesty Equals Getting Help No one, including me, can help unless I am honest about what I need help with. Honesty equals getting the help that so many of us, myself included, need so desperately. That honesty? It isn’t only about being outside with those outside...
Compromising Myself for Love?

Compromising Myself for Love?

Compromise happens all the time. There are compromises that you don’t have to think about and ones that take a bit more time to ponder. And then, you have to factor in the reason for the compromise. So that is an essential piece of compromise too.

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Proof? You Ask For Proof?

Proof? You Ask For Proof?

I have no proof, no evidence. Of course, I don’t because no one listened. And now that evidence is gone. Or is it? I realize how much evidence I have within me and how I react and interact with the world. This poem is about contending with all the evidence I carry with me.

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Daily Superheroism
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