A tiny flutter

at the outer corner

of her left eye

Barely perceptible

and yet signaling

loud and clear

Life has become

too much…



I Am Struggling

I’ve written daily, sometimes multiple times in one day.

Until a couple of months ago.

A family member read something I wrote.

Panic ensued.  Demands for an answer were made.

I felt cornered, trying to explain myself, that this is what I, as a writer, am compelled to do.

To allow my heart to bleed across the pages, oftentimes revealing the most painful and harsh thoughts.  Letting them escape my mind and body in a way that relieves me of the pressure that builds within.  A release that ensures that thoughts will never come to action.

But it has almost stopped me in my tracks.  I begin to write the realities and truth of what I am feeling.  And stop.

I am struggling because I want to write, I need to write… but I can’t write without honesty.

How do write again?



You sicken me

standing on the back

of your church preaching

words of integrity and moral values


Three wives down

and a new fling who

moved in pushing the last

out the door with venomous words


Cheater, liar, dog

are words describing

the low life suck ass you

see in the mirror each morning


Biting back words

longing to be flung in

your direction I search for

the high road so I don’t become



wood explosion