I have attempted

to starve out the demons

but they simply succeeded

in starving me

I have seen my bones

not from X-rays

through my own skin

I have viewed each rib

I have felt the hallow space

where love used to go

and it has pounded

like a drum inside

I have listened

as the lion roar of self disgust

wooed the whimper of hunger

and won

I have heard the warnings

the foolishness of this

and finally instinct took over

I am not still so thin

I have done all these things

yet before you convinced me

I had never

seen my own beauty before

there are bones in my body aching to be broken
and my idle hands are looking for a playground 
but i am too far gone to handcuff my hands 
and save me from myself

if i pick off enough layers of skin
i might shed my sadness 
and finally be able to walk among the marigolds in full bloom
without feeling like a stranger to the sun

and it would be absolutely lovely
to wash the moon’s blood off my hands

most days feel like the bruises on my thighs
but sometimes sundays are just a paper cut
instead of a scrape 
they say that is getting better
but what if i am just falling from lower heights

if i close my ears
and quiet my heart
i can see others looking for light

i am glad i am not the only one with moths inside my head

I once had a girl in my class who stole things. She was a dirty faced, tangled hair, unkept little waif. She stole stuff, mostly little stuff; trinkets, pencils, erasers, even half eaten candy. I couldn't get her to stop. Even when I gave her these things she would still steal. I was told that children of neglect will often steal as a means of self-comfort.

I have realized in myself this same pattern. If I feel neglected or unloved, I steal. Not things, but intangibles, I steal affection, I steal time, words, praise and personalities. I need to stop, because stealing reduces my soul.

I need to find better ways, authentic ways that

heal and nurture. I need to remember I am never alone, and never unloved.

"I know people who can fly, just their bodies, nothing else. Levitation. I have invented a device that can send any message instantly to any dimension or part of the universe. I am fully aware during all my dreams at night and they last for what feels like months. Even years sometimes."

Not everyone gets a happy ending

Sometimes there is no alright

Justice is all but an illusion

So that you can sleep at night

Continue living your daydream

Safely locked in your shell

Ignoring all of the horrors

Because there is no one left to tell

it can't really be described

floral embroidery on the collar

metallic straps and a shimmering strip down the middle

white and pale green stripes with tiny flowers scattered and stitched

it fits like a dream and flows like the wind

I just need somewhere to wear it

My stomach churned as I looked down. Blurs of vehicles speeding by. Rushing to get to where they're going, having no care and paying no attention to what's happening above them. I look over to the thirteen year old girl peering down, fear and determination consuming her face. She breathed unevenly as she began to climb the fence that separated the bridge and the road below. The fence starts shaking and rattling, just like my insides are doing now. I begin to climb as well, trying to double her speed and catch up with her. What will I do if I get to her?

She reaches the top but doesn't go any further. She just stands there, just above the fence, looking out at what I'm not sure. I reach the point she's at and stop too. I look over at her face but she's looking away, the setting sun catching on her tears, making them glisten like stars.

"Hey," I say, trying to think of something, anything, to get her to talk to me. She let's out a shaky, pain induced laugh.

"Hey?" She looks over to me but doesn't meet my gaze, instead her eyes flitter down to the road.

"Can you tell me why you're up here?" I ask, but knowing right after I said it that I shouldn't have.

"I mean-" I let out a frustrated sigh and move my hand to my head, making me loose balance slightly and falter, causing me to flail and try to catch my balance. My heart just about leaped out of my ribcage and almost splattered into one of the cars. She laughed at this. "You're not use to this are you?" She asked, seeming to loose some of the depression that blanketed her eyes. "No, not at all. Wait, are you?" She smiled a tired smile, something I'd never seen on someone her age before. "I've been up here seventeen times. Every time getting closer and closer but never able to make the jump." She said matter-oh-factly. I couldn't hide the surprise on my face. "What's made you want to come up here all those times?" She sighed and stared aggressively below.

"Why do you want to know? Why do you even care?"

"Because you deserve someone to listen to you."

She seemed to be fighting whether to believe me or not.

Finally she sighed in defeat. "Alright, even though we don't know each other like at all," she seemed to try to concentrate on doing something mentally. As if trying to put up a wall so what she says doesn't affect her. I didn't have the heart to tell her that doesn't work.

"Well, my biological father is a completely asshole for starters. He raped my mom when she was sixteen, I was two at the time. He had sex with her when she was fourteen and her parents made them keep me. He told her she would never be good enough and that she should lie down and take it like the bitch she was. I remember hearing it all a couple years later, all of it just getting worse. When I was five I heard her begging him to stop through the thin apartment walls. Pleading that he wouldn't do this anymore, for my sake. He said he didn't care about me or about her, and that we were lucky to have him. I remember knocking on their bedroom door one night. I heard him curse and try to get out of bed. Mom crying, saying no and that she could handle it, but he reached the door anyway, glared down at me and slapped me across the face. A stinging sensation that felt like needles pinning into my cheek. He told me I was a worthless little cunt just like my mother. He grabbed me by the arm and shoved me into the bathroom down the hall. He turned the water in the tub on with the hot full blast. He started stripping me of my clothes, beating me whenever I told him to stop. My mother came in, red rimmed eyes and bruises all over her body. Some a purplish color others fading into a nasty yellow. When she begged him to leave me alone he punched her in the face. I remember that awful sound, like cement cracking. He turned back to me and put his fingers inside me. It hurt so bad. I cried out for mama, now looking back I wish I hadn't. Me doing so just gave her more guilt. He rubbed his other hand along my body while he went deeper inside. Once he stopped he picked me up and flung me into the boiling water. It seared me instantly. When I tried to get out he'd hold me underwater, dousing my whole body, covering every inch of me in scolding pain. Blood started to mix in with the water. I was so frightened, not to mention being is incredible, flesh peeling pain. He pulled me out, causing me to fall and hit my head on the floor. Everything burned and felt numbed. My skin turning red. He cursed again then left. Mother couldn't take me to the hospital without telling them what happened and she couldn't do that so she tended to me. I'm not sure how she did it.

"He'd come back every other night, drunk and pathetic. About three years after the tub incident things got really bad. He beat mama so bad one time. She told me to go to my room but he told me to stay. At the time I was more afraid of him than what was happening. He told me to watch daddy as he put mama in her place. He looked at her with the most mechanical, sinister grin. He punched her in the stomach and slapped her in the face. He grabbed her by her hair and thrusted her face into his crotch. He told her to undo his pants, and she did. With shaky hands she unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down. He pulled her by her hair again and shoved her back at him. He was looking at me the whole time, telling me to watch carefully and that I was next. When mom apparently wasn't pleasing him anymore he throw her aside and came at me. He pushed me up against the wall and started pulling my jeans down. When I tried to speak he forcefully pressed his hand over my mouth and started tearing my panties off. He put his knee in between my legs to spread them open, harder than I thought possible. When he inserted himself inside me it felt like a butter knife going through my hand. Pressing harder and harder until you could hear me scream through his hand. I felt blood trail down my bare legs. He didn't seem to care. He removed his hand from my mouth and took my cheeks between his fingers to open my mouth, then forced me to suck. It was vile and I felt like throwing up but I knew that would only add to his aggression, so I did what I was supposed to like a good little girl.

"I remember coming home from school one day when I was eleven and seeing blood smeared across the wall. A knife laying lifeless on the floor, blade lined in red. I dropped my backpack and ran to find mother. The blood trail went into their bedroom, which was cracked open slightly. I was shaking all over and had a terrible feeling. Worse than all the years of torture and abuse combined. I peered in and about collapsed in agony. Mother was lying there, beaten and bloody faced, strewn across the bed like some rag doll. She was naked and bruises seemed to cover her whole body. Arms, legs, neck, stomach, wrist, face...

"I went to her and held her, covering myself in her blood and covering her in my tears. She never deserved it, you know? But that bastard took her from me anyway. She took her own life because he put her through so much pain and all I can think about is being back with her."

I sat in silence as I tried to let it all set in. So much trauma at such a young age which has led her to this point. To be standing right here, about to make a life ending decision.

"Can you do me a favor?" I ask.

"Yeah, and what's that?"

"Don't do it."

"Why do you care?"

"Because you have so much to offer this world. You aren't worthless."

"Yeah and what do you know?"

"I know that if I had done what you're about to do I never would have met you."

"What's so great about meeting me?"

"Come down from here and I'll tell you."

She seemed to contemplate this. She looked back down at the road, then back up at me.

"Deal," she said. She went to move down but her foot missed and slipped. She leaned forward to catch her balance but she leaned over too far. She toppled over top of the fence. Her hands caught on the barbed wire, trying to hold on. She screamed out in pain as the spikes went into her palms, blood spilling down to her elbows. I lunged to grab her arms but she slipped through. She fell to the ground, cars ramming on breaks but not being fast enough. Her body landed with a jaw clenching thud. Blood splattering everywhere, on the street, on the cars. You could smell the sickening smell of blood and flesh. The rest came in a blur. Sirens and screams. Me, climbing lifelessly down from that fence, vomit rising without effort.

All I saw before me was red and I'm afraid that's all I'll ever see.

step 1: pour yourself a cup of love and savor every sip. the warmth, the intimacy, the tenderness. every last bit.

step 2: respect nature and all of the plants and wildlife that reside within it.

step 3: do not hold your tongue. voice your opinions, share your thoughts with everyone. understand one another, instead of furthering conflicts.

step 4: do not fear rejection, change, and challenges. they are merely stepping stones as you follow your path.

step 5: remember that you are a gift to everyone that you've graced your presence with.

step 6: be yourself. if you are not true to your heart, how can you possibly fill yourself with compassion, sympathy, and empathy for the lives of others?

I am a detective. The kind that solves mysteries. And right now, I have a doozy of a case. There was a shooting. The kind where some body ends up dead. Splattered on pavement shoved from a third story window after being stabbed. Was it the wife? Probably. It was always the wife. I should just go ahead and arrest her. But wait. She is also dead. So it must be the mistress. A revenge killing. Case closed. Now on to the next. And I bet it will be just as difficult to solve as this one.