The stairway to heaven rests – covered in age old blood and anger and lies and distrust – must have been hard on you to keep the lies hidden for so many centuries – play the angel when you are the devil’s soul – smile and laugh as you sing barefoot in the church choir – no one notices that the wood beneath your feet burns and chars – tell the world your lies till they accept it for truth – corrupt in the name of religion – those who see different become heretics sacrificed to your unforgiving rage.


In the beauty of the night’s light it fell – broke on the soft earth below – faded into dust – no tears could bring it back but I couldn’t cry any so it wouldn’t have mattered if tears could resurrect it from the bone dry dust – the winds blew scattering dust like smoke until the eye couldn’t find the particles anymore – in the night I opened my eyes and the darkness was gone replaced by everything – eyes closed again because darkness was safer than everything – breath faded like the shattered shards of it then faded into the dust and blew away into smoke – and I was gone forever.


Under the influence of a Yellow Tail and Shock Top induced freedom I talked of dreams – how Ireland calls not as my homeland or my heritage – but as my escape from the place that kills my soul piece by piece day by day – she said I’ll come see you there and well get trashed on a Sunday night in an Irish pub on Guinness or the like – we’ll do a damn fine job because I can drink and so can you – I talked of the fact that my curse is wanting nothing less than everything and she said when you get everything you feel everything and the curse doesn’t go away it just changes a little – before ten arrived we left for our beds and Merlot sitting on the head boards where we left them four hours before.


Tomorrow I will be me again – but I have no idea who that is anymore – maybe I have never known – the only place I have an idea is under the wide-open skies or on parchment in ink.

Tomorrow I will leave here – to where is still a question mark engraved permanently on my brain matter which quit receiving blood and oxygen months ago.

Tomorrow I want to stand in the rain – let it wet my cheeks paste clothing to body and wash away the world – simply stand and soak up the sky that falls from above – watch lightning split the air into fragments of rage – smile at how small I am.

Tomorrow I will let myself feel.

Briefly It Enters, & Briefly It Speaks ~ Jane Kenyon

Thanks Rebecca K.

Crying in the night – afraid of what I want to be because it is told to me that that is bad – against the doctrines I am supposed to follow – the day came that I threw up my hands tore my hair shouted to the sky -resolved never to take another step backward- I felt the wings on my back quiver with the hope that they would finally be unbound – released to fly – others spoke the same rhetoric of examples – women who have failed how it is our place to watch the men succeed to clean the house bear the children.

I Have Been Her

I tore my hands from the clawing embrace and promised myself I would never become the possession of another – promised I would not let myself be confined to small spaces – that I would let the mists of my mind soar on dove’s wings through the rain falling over the big empty of the world – promised I would shed my tears unashamedly so that I would make room for my laughter – swore I would learn to climb so I could fly from the tallest peak.

I Have Been Her

I have flown and I have fallen – I have laughed and I have cried – to stay free I remember that I -lose the soulskin by becoming too involved with ego, by being to exacting perfectionistic or unnecessarily martyred, or driven by a blind ambition or by being dissatisfied about self family community culture world and not saying or doing anything about it or by pretending [ I am] an unending source for others or by not doing all [I] can to help [myself]- sometimes I realize that I have clipped my own wings by doing one of the very things I have warned myself to guard against.

I Have Been Her

Sometimes I realize that people aren’t who I thought they were and that I should have trusted my initial reaction that I dismissed as being a bitch – and that had I listened to that initial reaction I wouldn’t be in a place where people around me hang dark clouds over their heads and try to drag me under the current of their own flood.

I Have Been Her

Sometimes I realize that I am -Hambre del Alma, the starving soul- to feed the starvation I write – I pour out my woes and the ink sometimes feel like blood in my hands and when I am done I am emptied of the poisons I willingly consumed.

I Have Been Her

Sometimes it would be better to weep in front of the world so that they could see something was wrong – maybe if others had seen me cry they would realize the pain I bear – that everyone bears inside but are told to bury because it isn’t polite to freak out in public – and I try to cry so that I have room to laugh but I rarely spill those tears anywhere other than the page and the night – the two times that that has occurred have both been because of men and I detest the typicality of that.

I Have Been Her

The first I was thirteen and full of fire and for the first time I felt that fire snuffed out by the only man who could have done so – my father whose words are sharper than his knives and faster than his bullets and I survived but the scar tissue still pulls from time to time.

I Have Been Her

The second time I was 21 and full of hope with no idea how to use it or act on it and then I did and the hope was gone – in some ways that one hurt more than the first because I did it to myself – and I suppose that is why all the books and histories say -the regal woman the one who rules who looks on who stands alone- because in refusing to sacrifice yourself – refusing to follow the rules and be normal – you must be willing to stand alone – but you must also be willing to recognize those who stand with you – others who fight the definitions placed on them – who follow their dreams – who pick you up dry your tears and tell you to buck up and live on – and I am fortunate to have those people because not everyone does – and they cannot save you but they can make you save yourself.
I Have Been Her