Heal Trauma

I fit withinside my body differently.

My chest has expanded and widened and

I breathe with so much more expanse.

The insides of my legs work so well!

And my feet walk on the floor of the earth

and it is good.

I can focus differently too.

Not the enragement and its confines so much anymore no now more like ‘I wonder what’s next now with what I want?’

A newness that feels old and familiar

I welcome its flashes

A blank space

through which ancestors step through





A blank space bigger than the I

more than me.

Frost. Numbness.

What is it about a blank white space that can become so destructive?

What is it about the ‘what-didn’t-happen’ that can end in such detriment?

What isn’t there?

What could I build in there then in it’s stead?

Is that what a blank space can be for? Building? Or is it always a space where nothing adheres?

Odious malodorous

what hurts?

It’s so vague so big so sky

so everything

I can’t name that!

There it isn’t! Blank space.

I have no idea what should have been there.


amazing what things will congregate around.

Vanity of Ugliness

My goddesses and gods I am a vane of vanity!

Can I not be ugly? Will I not tolerate myself dirty?

Will I leave myself alone, in ugliness. as others have?

But what when ugly comes calling?

And the other calls stop?

How will I not be bitter?

I know the disappointment

the quiet shock of realization

that it was a thing so common all along. Obvious.

And that much had been assumed to be about something else.

I was doing it to be pretty. For the sex. For sexes.

Wasn’t I? Was I? Was I thinking of another way I could love myself? Be myself? Comfortable.

Was I considering that I had to look good? Was I considering how to feel good?

How to feel good. Helpful good not harmful good. How to feel helpful good.

Was it pressure or was I experimenting?

I feel good considering both. Orbiting around both.

I can’t help wanting to be attractive.

I can’t help not wanting to be attractive.

I want the freedom of ugliness

I want the freedom of beauty

So both then. Full Circle.

Vanity. I escort it through my being.

Ugly. I escort it though my being.

The ugliness of vanity. The vanity of ugliness.

Friends in Places I Know

I suppose there is something I don’t like

thrilling through my body

energizing my body

magnetizing my body

with its currents and spazzes.

It is the agitation of powerlessness

the sadness of helpless rage.

About what?


is why I dig and breath and feel and breath and stay soft and breathe and curse and breathe and rant and breathe and talk to myself feverishly and breathe and bring myself back and breathe and be soft with myself and breathe and don’t chastise myself for flying off the handle and breathe and pull myself back to now over and over again and breathe.

The deepest hurts

the most invisible hurts

the so big they become inconsequentially small hurts

are vaguely always there. Defining. Choosing.

Another me now

not the hurt but the joy

My inner fullness also organizing.

I get to know both of them. It’s good to have powerful friends.


It’s OK

that Im broken hearted at home.

It isn’t the monster that it once was.

I just sit. And it sits with me.

I be. And it be’s with me.

I know now

that trying to banish the heartache

only creates sickness

So I’m not hateful anymore that it is there.

I accept.

The depth and persistence of the pain still shocks me though.

When I don’t have tears

and it feels like a bloated carcass has floated to the front of my eyes and heart

so that everything looks and feels dead

I breathe.

I am getting to know another me.

The Weight of Things

When a depression shifts

and lifts

weight is distributed differently.

When a need is met

fulfilled, quenched,

gravity weighs differently.

Working through

Working out






when these rotate an actual full-circle cycle

Life weighs differently.

A bland, subtle miracle that not everyone will understand.