A Pillar of Salt

Remember Me Kindly

in the face of God

he killed me

my voice


he laughed

in the face of God


my silence

a void

of laughter

once filled

with brightness


a voice

I once called

my own.



broken body


he sees

he creates


this disfigured


filled with anger



my father cries

to me

his hurt

at my terror-stricken



he just wanted a hug

to comfort

to protect



I became

an animal

striking out

with cold words

to any man

I saw

or heard.


Never mind if they

were kind



simply saw









he who beat me



he who choked me



he who shut me



he laughed

in the face of God


who proved to be



if God exists

I cried

I want no part in



If God exists

I admitted

I hate



If God

then I’d rather




I prayed

if you’re there

if you’re listening

Fuck you

I hate you



if I could

if you were real

I would like

to kill you


I cried

in the face of God




they won the day


he won

as he had killed


and thus




he laughed

in the face of God


he may have killed








I am not so easy

to erase


laughing still

in the face of God


he stands

a beautiful woman

next to him

holding a child


and I realize

how much

of a monster

I’ve become


so I start

to write it out


try to let go


and God


if you exist

if you’re real


Fuck you



don’t know


But one day

I’ll laugh


Come Home Again, One Day When I Am Gone

You don’t remember or pretend not to. I play along as I love you. But it hurts. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally.

Let me confess to you. Let me shout it down. Let the world know.

I am the scars of yours. I am the knife. I am the blood. The bleeding.

Sometimes I wonder if it will ever stop. Sometimes I realize it will not.

Must I go away? Far away? (Like the boy with the baseball cap left me. Like Lise & KK walked away.) Must I leave? I want to give you peace.

Peace you will probably never feel as long as I am here to prick at your subconscious memories that left or were blocked out long ago.

I need to remind myself to breathe. But then I look. Fall back down. Can I say RUN? No. It’s too late.

Little girl, I’ll keep running back to you. Attempting to. Smile. Broken. Let me hug you. Let me speak. Let me listen.

Don’t go. But no one ever listened.

The call. The flight. I open the door. Beige trench coat on (my soul). Silver chain on. Boy with the baseball cap. He’s there. RUN.

I open my mouth. No sound. MUTE. Broken body. I will forever wonder. RUN. SCREAM. But most of all. Don’t break.

I am not sure if I did.

one step

one step closer




seems still

so far


i walked

without you

i promised

i would

never learn

life without





i am





even if

not dreaming



it went on.


no matter

i thought

it should


fly away birdie

And maybe they

Those nightmares
Nightmare Men
Will they ever get their due?
And my little bird
My boy with the baseball cap
He must have loved you so so
He helped you

My cinder baby
You escaped
And I never knew you

Your name

Your eyes
They tore you away
But I still love you
I sometimes fear
Whenever I remember you
I will always run sobbing shrieking

Tear me apart
Take it

Tear it out
This heart
What use is it anyway?
No one ever stayed
You should be happy

You should smile
You probably already do
You don’t need me
I wish you did


What’s wrong?


my face




“suck it up”

“get over it”


but this wound

still has not healed


it’s bleeding



a gaping wound


my mind a hole

a void


am i just a hole?


i want to hide

my face



crawl back

into the pit

I fought

to escape


at least there

no one could see


my face

no one could see


the it




grandma was right

wasn’t she?

I taint everything

I touch


I love


mother was wrong.

I can’t be a hero.


hug me.


but don’t


it’s too late.

not cancer

not cancer

but still



frontal lobe


what does that even mean?

was it fair

when i had enough

more than enough

and all those others

they starved

they wanted

they needed

and now

this is my

my karma

my justice

to be faced with

not my greatest fear

no that already




no this might be just


a close one

but still second

the potential

to lose what i value most

my mind

my self

i guess in this

i must come to face

with my own narcissism

i never wanted

to believe

i was one such person

until this happened

no one ever

wants to admit

come face to face

with their dirt

their fears

their secrets

no one believes

until they have to

until the truth

comes and beats

them down

smacks them

in the face

like the cold hard slab

of concrete

that i luckily smashed into

so i could get the scan

that told me

i had you.


You are not family

“You have to earn that”

You are just blood

Do you even know what it means to be family?

Do you know what family is?

A light shining in a house

bright and warm

a fire in the hearth

where home is

where mother father sister brother is

where you are

where I am


hugs denied

hugs forced upon us to our joy

the anger and sadness too

that is family

running into the night

no shoes on

promising to not look back

of course you look back

and stop

you backtrack

tears in your eyes running crashing down your face


you are ashamed

you look around

you slump slouch

head down

you turn back

you return


it is what calls you home

mother father sister brother

gone away

but will come back

will be seen again

someday somehow

I try to write something substantial while I wait

I am not sure if I succeed.

I was Nightingale. I was Sin.

It was a story of people, gods and, maybe… even monsters. It was a poem meant to explain me away. It’s time to give up on this… these hands… these words. They were never the right ones and no one was ever there to listen. I never gave up on my dreams. I never had one. Not that anyone ever asked or has or will. And maybe it’s time I admit this to myself… I am the monster in the closet with the lights out screaming with its mouth closed and eyes open. You should have named me the same as my box my closet. I know I am nothing no one. It doesn’t hurt anymore maybe it never did. And monsters its like me we don’t go home. Because there is no home to return to… I may be allowed a place to rest but it isn’t home. That is something I was born without. Why did you birth me? I never asked for this. What should they call me when I am dirt dust? That’s easy. I ask to be called Sin. But then it will rain. Sin? More like it. Home… it’s like rain or snow… it’s a fleeting feeling or maybe that’s just my wishful thinking hoping someday someone will think remember me… cry for me sit with me hug me hold me never let me go… instead you told me you hated me worse you were indifferent you laughed in the face of my sorrow. You never noticed anything. By the time you looked over I was broken into a million little pieces if not more and you sneered down at me and called me Liar called me Jealous called me Brute. And somehow all those pieces you could not see never saw they managed to shatter break even more. Splinter me again and again. I don’t know really what more I can say… you are just like yours those who call me Brute to you. You don’t see me. You don’t understand. Don’t you get it? I could never be jealous of you or anyone… jealousy requires competition which means we’d have to be similar or after similar things etc in life… it’s been 28 years and you still don’t see…? All I want out of life is silence quiet… I dream of birds and their songs. I made you tea. I was Nightingale. I was Sin.

The Crossroad

I guess this is where the road ends. Where will you go? I’ll sit here at this crossroad… I’ll sit here for a while… maybe forever. And the sky it was always too wide too vast and clear for me. Suffocating bringing me to my knees. Grinding my face into the dirt. Ashes cover me cover you. Except I stayed was buried under while you kept on kept running. I tried to raise my head only for it to be brought low once more. Broken hands. Broken feet. Will they ever be fixed? I wonder while knowing no no never. Wooden hands and wooden feet. And this puppet I have become or perhaps always was. One day it will burn. I stare at the sun allowing it to blind me pretending that it’s burning glare is kindness. I wonder if that is love? If that is what it’s like? And when I burn I wonder when I am ash if the wind will take me up into that sea that ocean above me that made it hard to breathe. And yet I can’t help but think that my ashes will never stir that no wind will take them up or anywhere nothing will be moved or grow from them. Mother please become wind become thunder lightning all that moves and is. Just please… little one little girl don’t stop but you already have and not a whisper of you shall there ever be.

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