A Mini Horror Story (18+)

He talks her in to staying.

She can’t sleep next to him. Too nervous.

She’s out of the tent, walking it down in nature.

He comes to her, tells her he’s been hoping she’d come back in and let him kiss her. She blushes, it’s been a while for her and she’s…affected by him.

“I’m not sure if I can sleep. It’s not personal, it’s just been a long while since I’ve slept next to someone else, ” she shakes her head as her words stop.

His head tilts to the side, a small smile flashes before he says “A mans primal instinct is to protect what he wants to possess,” he shrugs, “So, no sex tonight and you’re safe”. He grins, half serious.

She pushes his shoulder, taking his words as a joke. They go inside.


It’s morning, and they’re having sex. He’s on top. She’s cumming and expressive about it. Her body flails, throat megaphoning pleasure in moans that carry over distance. He’s looking to the side of the bed, reaching. Her upper body stops abruptly as he pins her by the shoulder. The blade flashes in his hand and moves downward at an angle.

Her neck bursts open and she reacts, blinking in shock as her own blood runs down her face. Her last sight was of him cumming with his eyes focused on her face as she died.


3 Poems


Tormented Love

The ones I like the most I let go of early. Once I stayed too long and got rope burn. now I tie them off when I’m sure I can’t walk next to them.
I run with wolves and
howl at the moon,
I dance naked in open windows and yards,
I’d drop the words “fuck”, “my goodness”, and “entrainment”
in the same story.
We have to be able to walk together before we can dance in my forests or climb in your trees.
Different animals can learn
how to
love each other


We talk. Stalking
each other with our mysteries closed
behind our backs when
we’d rather have them on our chests or foreheads.
So we dance. You move and I move with you. I stumble and you steady. I sing and your voice lifts with it.
Your touch is light and firm, I know you’re there and I’m free to leave if I want to. Don’t make me want to.
I want to know you.




Furtive Glances
I peek from inside bushes and ferns
searching for a hint
of you                                                                                                                                                   out of your clothes. When the masks
hit the floor
the gong strikes,
we become cinderella                                                                                                              chasing the hands of our human-made clocks                                                                     holding the slipper of our hearts
until the silence strips us
of freedom
and we go back home.

When your target is uncommon (on toxic people, not a toxic moment)

I still feel it.

The sneering words, the castigation. Cutting me down and projecting a helplessness that isn’t mine onto me. My need for love and belonging was cut at with a serrated blade meant to eviscerate my positive sense of self.
“You’re so intelligent. Why aren’t you doing more with your life?” they say, as they look at me with expectations in their eyes.
I can only be me. What is inside is unclear, made cloudy by the murk banging around en masse.
“We were just trying to toughen you up, get you to live your potential,” they say, never wasting an opportunity to excuse negative behavior.
Maybe I needed something you didn’t think to give?
Maybe I needed something I didn’t know to ask for?
Maybe, just maybe, I am the way I am for a reason. Something this soft is made for flexibility, made for delicate precision, made to stretch across many mediums.
I don’t fit inside your rigid boxes.
You can’t pour me into your glass of “like everyone else”. I rise before I touch the sides. Assumptions close the box lid over my head, and still I seep out through the flap cracks. I have no roots. I have no firm shape.
I am a mist riding on the wind.
You expect me to be rock when I am Ocean,
to be silent when I am a scream,
I am nothing you’ve ever seen
wrapped in your sweetest dream.
If only you dared to open
and know me.

A Date With My Imaginary Sweetie


When he takes my hand and pulls me into his world, he uses only his voice and that look he knows I can’t resist. That look says he wants to spend time with only me and I know I need that time. It’s just him and me. I get to choose, here in my imagination.  I choose the music and the setting.  Create him based on my preferences. His dark hair is soft and frothy under my fingers. His skin is olive and flushes pink when he’s shy or embarrassed. His eyes pierce me and I can’t decide if they are green, grey, or blue. His glasses frame the pointy prominent nose that lends his face more character. He’s tall to me, between 5’10 and 6’3. His hair is a bit longer than mine is now and I like watching him touch it. He smells delicious naturally and takes care of his body, his mind, and his heart. He feeds his spirit good things, so that when we get together he asks perfect things and perfect questions like: “What do you want?” and “What’s on your mind?”, and he means them. He’s genuine and consistent. Respectful and spontaneous. He is the kind of man that knows when to pick me up by the waist, gently twirl me around and kiss me breathless until he sets me on my feet. He asks after my self-care and offers his strengths to help fortify my weaknesses. He let s me teach him things too. He doesn’t make me feel small. He encourages me to shine, unafraid of the vastness inside of me. He knows he has his own vastness and our leviathans don’t need to compete when they complement each other so well.

He repeats the idea of my communication back to me for understanding and makes sure we’re on the same page. He allows me to show him things he didn’t know and deepen his knowledge of things he thought he did. We feed the foundation of each other with the understanding that we will arrive in similar places for different reasons. His lips feel like joy, like coming home, like the prelude to a wonderland. When he kisses me I feel electric, like me on fire on even more fire. He makes my light even brighter and we add to each other’s wisdom. We share. This body, this gift of life. I hold him close until my real sweetie arrives, though I’m not sure if this one will ever leave me.

We sit, eating our dinner with the world tuned out. Sharing invisible touches on the others arm and hand as we converse about the sweet things in life that juice us up. We lean in close, brushing our sides as I show him the rough new poems I’m frustrated by. My inability to feel into the truth of them stumps me. He reminds me that I am still afraid to speak my truth, and that confusion is a truth on its own. Clarity isn’t always present.  He reminds me that it’s ok to contradict myself sometimes.  That a feeling is a feeling in the moment, and in the next moment, it can change.  I decide to let myself surrender to each poem and not cage the words. Then he kissed me. And when I could think again, I realized the poem was complete except for a title.  He is so good for me. I look forward to more time with him.

Happy Belated Beltane and First Blog of the Year!

Since my last blog, I have taken the errant remnants of my sexuality and integrated them with the rest of me. I can be in a room with males that lust for me and not get triggered. Even after I have given them my “no” and they appear to be unconcerned about that. I’ve had a chance to see how some men change once they like a girl and think they have her. I have had a chance to feel so many things that once triggered me. So much suppression has softened since I last posted that I feel like a different person.

In my period of reintegration, I’ve had a chance to look at why I’m not finishing poems. When I think I have the answer, something else comes up. So, I decided to let go, to allow myself to lick my spoon and my fingers in public. I let myself sleep naked and read for pleasure again. I let my anger loose inside myself instead of wrapping it inside a cage in its own chains. I made decisions to help me feel empowered and let go of obligations. All of which helped me recharge enough to see that I have less than one week until I am finished with an almost two-year journey of learning to heal others by healing myself.

I am still afraid to write certain truths, though I’ve decided to slowly let my secrets out. I was confusing nice with kindness. Reconnecting with my ancestry has helped me see that I must let go of silence. I understand so much more clearly how I’ve been wronged in the past, and how I’ve wronged others. Some deserved it, and sometimes I deserved it. Sometimes the bad went down and that is just how the chips fell.  There is so much richness here for word-smithing.I challenge myself to let myself play and write. To go to nature for a week in the month of June so I can recharge properly. I didn’t know how much I needed nature for self-care until I started spending regular time with her.

I have about 26 poems for completion for one of my “Tormented Love” volumes. I decided to start with “Angels and Demons” and put my love and my pain there. I had no idea I was “pulling” my emotional punches as hard as I was until I realized that no one would know who or what I was writing about. None of my poems are that obvious. I blend experience with my observations to create snapshots of feelings, and use imagined experiences to highlight concepts. My work aims to be a sensory burlesque show of the human heart, the human experience exposed. Tormented love is what happens when you love with your heart guarded and without trusting yourself. I will be happy to complete the volumes and grow the seeds of “Variations on a Theme”, the next poetry volume concept that takes an insider’s view of common mental health issues.

I am still letting myself lick my spoon in public, to wear pigtails in my 30’s, and to talk to people when I feel like it whether I know them or not. The inner child “practice” has been so healing. I let go of “broken” (along with those that invite broken into their lives), and have embraced “bent and loving it”. So far, so good. I feel like a flower the bees want, yet only a hummingbird can pollinate. Thank you, Beltane, for the boost.  I have less than a week to go, then a short rest with a belly full of one more accomplishment. Then I tackle the hallway before me with many doors connected to it.

Intensity and Growth

I’ve been quiet a long while, as life has torn me apart and remade me a few times since my last blog. Recently, I had the pleasure of a spiritual dalliance that was so much more than I felt ready for. I only knew I was on the cusp of something I had never touched before and I didn’t want to regret another opportunity. I was afraid of the intensity of how I felt. It has been so long since I allowed myself to think about surrendering to pleasure, to vulnerability with another. Yet there I was, with this man whose energy is sensuality and sex, and I was able to allow him touch me. Not sexually; I think I would have bolted if it had become outright sexual. All I could feel was my desire to surrender, to let go. To be whatever and wherever I was in the flow of those moments with him. And so, I did. I felt a fire grow in me, one I have tasted of long, long ago, yet never like this. So sharp. So full. So dangerous to my control. Once I thought something was left unmade in me, as I had never experienced what my girlfriends described. Until him.

Was it because it has been so long for me? Was it a response to him and the irresistible call of his body? I think both perhaps. To touch him so innocently and feel him react against me had me fighting for control, with the taste of his neck on my lips and an inferno in my body. It was all I could do to just stand there and breathe, pressed against him, praying that I would not let loose this thing inside me that threatened to wreck us. The intent of our meeting was not the removal of his clothes, and there I was trembling on the edge of a massive loss of control. I rode it, learned to let the energy move through me and not to hold it trapped. Eventually the intensity calmed, to my relief. I was shaken, scared, yet still salivating. How could this be happening? I have felt so alien for most of my life, as desire does not move in me often. I’m the woman that needs to be coaxed with consistency, with impeccable word, with a slow seduction before I surrender my body. Before I’d even think to allow it.

My body was so there with him in those moments, along with part of my mind. The other part was throwing up warnings like checkered flags that the rest of me ignored. What happened next?  The moment changed, got quiet. I closed up, the fear caught me and had its way with my center. I felt his eyes on me and my mouth opened. Jagged glass fell out, and I vomited a river of fear. The last remnants of the blockages I had been healing splashed onto his feet and I couldn’t stop it. All I could do was feel, be there in my past pain and not stop the train of my very human moment. When I came to myself, the damage was done. Strangely enough, the feedback I received helped a lot. It has been a very long time since a man seemed to hear me and reflected back what he heard intelligently, without trying to fix it. He was beautiful in those moments, which he always is to me, just differently so.

I feel a shrinking in me when I think about what happened, yet I know that night couldn’t have happened any other way. We were both messing with things it was clear we weren’t ready for. Lesson learned. I know with much more clarity what I am transforming within myself, I just don’t know what will show up to effect the work. He has been a wonderful teacher via experience for me. That flavor of fear I no longer run from. I know that accepting pleasure is honoring the divine within. I will not forget that again. I feel more womanly than I have in over a decade, and that I will always cherish. I feel like thanking him for the divine spark jump-start, though I am unsure if he would understand. Those moments allowed me to shed the skin of beliefs that no longer serve me and hear that quiet inner voice more clearly.

I have no idea what will happen now that this fire that has been lit. I know I can choose to put it back to sleep or to let it out and teach it to dance with me.

I’ve really missed dancing.

Self-Care as a Single Mom

I first learned about the importance of self-care in a spiritual study class that highlighted the connection between a strong self and spiritual sensitivity via experiences, discussion and exercises. The two year course was a large commitment for me to make, and my gratitude for being considered for the class as well as for the knowledge gained have no bounds. I have struggled with my sense of self for my 36 years on this planet, and the concept of self-care has revolutionized my life experience.

As a former military member, a single mom of three, and a perpetually busy person, it is hard to think of myself as much more than a provider, a mentor, or a source of others happiness. I prefer my friendships to be very emotionally intimate, which I have observed to be quite different than most of the people I’ve encountered in my travels and many military moves. It never occurred to me during those 14 years in the Navy to ask myself what I wanted and needed instead of assuming that something was wrong with me and how I connected with others. I always assumed I was giving too much, which was partially right. I was giving too much to the “wrong” people and not connecting with people that aligned with my values better. Some people I did connect with and had great friendships that felt close and connected. Others showed what they wanted me to see, and used the knowledge they gained to further their goals. I do not fault them, though it hurt at the time. I learned some valuable lessons from those that took advantage of my kindnesses and refused to try to understand the diversity presented in the unique experiences we were blessed with.

As a single mother, I have to carve out time to myself whether I want to or not. Being introverted also means I have different needs than the norm, which contributes to negative emotions, depression, anxiety, and shortens the length of time I can spend away from home. Without the course I took, I would still be struggling to maintain the mountain of goals, job and family requirements, and perceived pressure from outside of me, while drowning in regret, judgment, and unfulfilled dreams. Without that course, my shift to asking myself “what fulfils me? “ as well as “What best supports me right now?” before I look to my duties would never have occurred. Two years after first hearing about self-care, I am still refining my list and understanding myself even more deeply.

Self-care begins with how you feed yourself. How are you eating and drinking? How are you feeling inside? What are you thinking? Whom do you look up to? What are you reading? How does your living space look and feel to you? Whom do you spend the most time with? Do you allow yourself to have enough fun? Nutritious foods, a well fed mind, friends and loved ones that support you and hold you safe, an environment that is as balanced as possible, and (if you’re inclined) a regular spiritual practice that fulfils you are some basics that I look at when tweaking my list. I also look at sleep, which is an essential for me. Most days I rise at 5:30 a.m. The rest of my house awakens (one way or another) around 7 a.m. I take the time when the house is quiet to meditate, yoga/workout (YouTube is a wonderful source for getting started), and if I have time to journal some. This practice helps to ground me and to center me in self before the selflessness of the day begins. I also make sure I have time to connect with others during the day. I do not have much time during the week to have in-person time with other adults, and if I am not maintaining my mindset I will experience loneliness and/or disconnect.

You can include anything that nourishes you on your list. Ideas include, cuddle time, sex, reading, exercise, connection time with others, alone time, nap time, added value and gratitude journaling, non-screen time, experiences in nature, etc. Adding finances to my self-care routine is my newest endeavor, which I plan to add to my daily checklist.

I hope this is enough to give you an idea of how you might handle self-care. Everyone will have different requirements and levels of variety on their lists. Happy list making!

Love Poem #21

Love Poem #21
I forgot myself with you,
a dangerous thing
that could please or tease,
fill me with fruition,
or bring me surcease.

Your look electrified
I wanted for your touch,
To kiss your mystery
much more deeply
and revel in the crutch.