War Against Alternative Facts

Wars waged by men denying wages
Women war with marches and chants
Willfully demanding their bodies back
Walls threaten to separate differences
With gun enforced steal
Warriors without training promised guns to defend against
Wandering menaces denied second chances.
Women punish women for wanting
World watches, Russia follows.
Wife beating legal.
Wives and children reduced to nothing more than dogs
Wayward dogs have more rights than wives.
Wellness mistaken for beauty, or beauty mistaken for wellness
Willingly chosen walls real and invisible all
While denying differences, and demanding
What they say is their own, pirate laws enacted
Waves must mean maritime laws
Walk the plank all ye who declare
War against alternative facts.


Thoughts of a Former Churchgoer

Damnation is my punishment.
I am pure evil.
My heart is as black as my soul, at least that’s what I’ve been told to believe.
I fled the truth and traded it in for debauchery.
I am worthless, all value lost when I walked away from pews and hymnals
All value lost when I walked away from hearing how to live my life.
Knowing the only way, I can find salvation again would be to return to the home of those who hate me has little appeal.
And yet I sit everyday knowing my worth, or lack thereof and know the only way to get it back.
For twenty years, I was told my only value was held in a man who died 2000 years ago, and walking away from his followers would mean a fate worse than death it would mean an eternity in the most excruciating pain I could ever imagine.
And I would get it worse because I knew the truth and still chose to turn away.
So, I sit here in a coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon tears threatening to break free because I know that those I love think I’m damned and that despite my best efforts to stop thinking the same way I believe it too.
I’m a worthless human being who will burn in hell for all eternity.
And even knowing this it is still better than the alternative which is returning to the lion’s den to be eaten alive by crusaders brandishing weapons of mass destruction in order to get me to do their bidding
I chose, I choose hell over hell on earth.

Astronaut Bird

Promises that roll of your tongue and fall from your lips only seem to lay broken at my feet.
Broken in my hands that can’t remember their own violence.
I am an instrument without a tuner
I cannot control the sounds that escape my mouth as I cry in horror at what we’ve become
We’ve become shouting matches and broken tiles
We’ve become obsessions and justifications.
We’ve become crazy.
I’ve become crazy
A wild ride it’s been
Stability our enemy.
Stability my enemy.
Stability your hope.
Irony of all ironies
Stabilizers cross my lips daily
To try and bring order to my chaotic mind that can’t seem to leave well enough alone.
It must be hard to live with crazy
With tears and shouts
With thoughts dripping with paranoia
I don’t know how you manage to manage me.
I hope you find a way to stabilize your fears of what will happen if I don’t find a way to talk myself down from the ledge I’ve put myself on.
It’s hard to build a foundation with someone who never seems to sit still,
Unless crying in bed for the fourth day in a row, where no number of I love you’s are ever enough to lift spirits that will somehow fly the next day so high you can’t reach them anymore.
I am a bird with a wing that keeps breaking because I fly well above the sky.
I’m an astronaut bird who wants to reach the moon, but thinks she must jump from a window.
I’m the crazy and the earthquake in our happy home, and I don’t know how to make the shaking stop.

Poem Thieves

They stole my poems
Took them as thieves take jewels in the night
Covered in masks and white coats
Promising salvation even as they took mine
Grasping my precious poems and leaving pills in their place
Pills that slow the world and the words until I can no longer whisper them
Slow thoughts once dripping with creativity and in turn leave mumbled phrases
Better suited for this cookie cutter world
Where swings are only for playgrounds and not moods
Where poems are only beautiful if hypothetical
Where tears are only good if they’re not uncontrollable.
Where I’m only good if I’m controllable.
They stole my poems


Pretty pressures push people past
Feeling feelings for the sake of feeling
Numbness replacing sparks that trickle down spines
It’s a feeling fast
Starved sufferers stuff stuff so far down it can never come up
Unless they are shaken or tossed like a bottle
And when one crack forms
Explosions of emotions erupt erasing everything
Apathy vanishes for the final show.
But when the feelings trickle to a stop
Explosion stops
There is nothing left
Forced to fill what should be feelings with things never meant for feeding souls
Souls filled with everything but soul food
Cries for help replaced with cries without cause
Cries without feelings fumbling for reasons
Wondering why tears fall when there is no feeling
Apathetic tears with no explanations fall from eyes
Tired of tightening up tempers for the sake of tempering weakness.
Are we weak for feeling?
Feelings turn cracks into explosions
Turn eyes into waterfalls


I can’t write a poem about how I feel.
I can only write about how I felt
And I think that’s pretty damn sad.
I have to feel something in order to have felt something
And I wish it didn’t work that way
I wish I could just wake up a year from now
Knowing it will all be okay
That fast thoughts will be slowed to a leisurely walk
And faces looking at me that only I ever see will vanish into the walls they came out of
I wish I could just fast forward through all this feeling so I could write poems about it and move on already
I wish I could just make everything stop and start all over
Where is the reset button for our brains?
Tech support always says to turn it off and back on again
If humans are more complicated than computers, you would think we would have one of those
I think I am no more than a machine my wiring must be a bit loose
But then I wonder if computers just need a break because I haven’t been listening to their complaints just using them the way I feel used
Maybe computers need more hugs and less command lines.
Maybe I just need more hugs and less command lines
But a reset would be easier
Would be better
than feeling
because as I feel
I know it will eventually be I felt
This feeling of constant buzzing and my thoughts traveling faster and faster and unable to stop
Will turn to something else
And I can write poems about it

Stars Fall

Words used to fall like rain
It is still raining here.
But no words can come out, but my mouth is open
These rain drops fall with no dictionary to understand them.
I have choked on my own storm.
The mother tongue is gone, replaced only by animal sounds my body must have remembered from the beginning of time
Letting slips water droplets that are made of the same dust the stars are
My stars
They fall
Filled with only memories
And apologies that will never come