Heads or Tails

The coin has been tossed, round and round it spins through the air.

Heads or tails; there’s no in between. Let’s see what fate has to say.

Tic-toc goes the clock, as time slows to a crawl.

Every second that slips away is another moment sent to its grave.

Right before the coin hits the ground, it goes dark.

Searching for the answer with no sight.









The tide is rising, just look at her depth.

Do you see her strength? Just watch how she crashes against the shoreline.

There’s a story she’s painting, do you see the anger? With every wave she strokes the canvas with a million reasons.

The sky is fierce, just look at how he lights up.

Can you tell how frightened he is? Just listen to the rumble of his voice.

There’s a song he’s writing, do you hear the pain? With every rain drop that hits the water, he sings a tune for all the broken hearted.

The storm is just beginning, a novel not yet drafted.

Don’t you want to know how it ends? Just stop trying to predict the weather.

There’s a voice locked inside, do you hear the whispers? With every unspoken word, I come closer to giving into the ocean.


Heavy is the legs that hold her up.

Heavy is the hearts that were ever distorted.

Heavy is the shoulders drawn together.

Heavy is the lungs filled with grief.

Heavy is the lips that speak truth.

Heavy is the hands that fold to pray.

Heavy is the fingers left behind in the dark.

Heavy is the head that thinks up such darkness.

Heavy is the memories that awaken as nightmares.

Heavy is the gut that churns around evil.

Heavy is the acceptance of pain.

I’m Blank

I’m trying to form the words that are dancing in my head.

I’m replaying all of the things I should have said.

I’m holding on to all the hope that’s ahead.

I’m getting the feeling that he doesn’t even understand what he read.

I’m starting to realize this demon can’t be fed.

I’m praying, all these layers shed.

I’m losing myself, every last shred.


Sometimes finding the words to say

is like trying to form dry clay.

My brain can not process such tasks,

when I try it’s just an empty flask.

How I got this way I don’t know,

but I’m trying to not let it show.

Please understand I really do care,

it’s just really hard for me to share.

The world has been so unkind to me,

there are things I just can’t unsee.

So I sit in silence when your heart pours,

But know that I feel those waves crashing ashore.

Can’t you tell?

I’m drowning, can’t you tell?

I’m broken, can’t you see?

I’m lost, can’t you find me?

I’m alone, can’t you sit awhile?

I’m trying, can’t you try too?

I’m happy, can’t you just believe that?

How I became so Broken

Excuse the grammar errors, I’ll fix it eventually

I’ve added more things in the sections, just trying to make sure my story is painted fully

4 (1993-1994)

When I was 4 my world turned upside down. I pressed my face against the glass, watching everything unfold around me. The side walk seemed to be a thousand miles long that day. I watched the man I’d feared my whole life, shed tears as he put his hands behind his back. My eyes filled up with four years worth of anguish. They spilled over and streaked the window. I sat by that very window for what seemed like years, dreading the day he’d return. He didn’t. What he had done was unforgivable. The judge knew that, my sister knew that, everyone knew that.

The house I called home, wasn’t a home at all. It was nightmare stained walls with fear holding it all together. How I wished to be the wrecking ball that shattered it to the ground. They said it was because of termites. I think the termites knew what had happened there and they took down that house as if it were on fire. The concrete where the house of horror sat, is still there. The gate he walked out of and the shed he worked in still stands tall. The fear also stands, unchanged after all this time.

Is it that i have erased his face from my memory or that I can’t even remember him looking at me? How unfair can the brain be? Allowing you block out a face but keep reminding you of the horror of that same face. People keep telling me time heals all wounds, but they don’t remind you that the deep scars leave marks that are there forever.

5 (1994-1995)

I am now five years old. Life for my mom was hell. No one asks to birth four children, and then have to care for them alone. My mom has a fight in her that I admire. I just wish it hadn’t taken so long for her to find it. She had just put a monster to rest for us. How could she know that there were more just waiting to jump out of the closet with no warning.

So there I am, five whole years in this world, and I had seen more than some do in their entire lives. Even with everything I knew at this age, it couldn’t prepare me for the betrayal of my naive nature. How could a five year old be so stupid? How could a five year old be so gullable? How could a five year old be so trusting? After all, I was aware of mans nature. The man that was suppose to check the closet, made sure at least one of us girls could spread the word. I knew better. Yet I still found myself, eyes shut tightly and trembling. Hide and seek became real, I hid and It sought me out. No matter how good the spot was, he knew them all, but he didn’t find the I hate you notes I left in plain sight.

I wouldn’t tell, it hurt her too bad the first time. I could bare this. I am five years old and I am not weak! Then the day came, a stretcher carried my sister off. Walking barefoot around wood and nails is not advisable. I broke that night. I was a storm to be reckoned with. I fault harder than I ever wanted to fight. I used my fear as fuel, it kept my eyes open the whole night!

So I made myself as small as possible, five year olds are to big anyway. I found the best hiding place, who would have known it was in the lion’s den. The burns from the radiator have since disappeared completly. It was the best feeling. I put myself there knowing it would hurt, but he couldn’t hurt me anymore. I gained an abundance of control that night that I so desperately needed.

As weak as it may sound, I told someone after that night. Truth be told, I didn’t tell the whole truth. I left out the biggest parts because they are mine to carry. The burden of it all keeps my shoulders forward and my head down. People keep telling me “keep your head up, it’ll get better”, but they are liars! It doesn’t get better. It will never get better. It took years of showers to decide what was left behind wouldn’t wash off. There isn’t a magic eraser that can lift this permanent stain.

6 (1995-1996)

Now I am six. I became so aware of people around me, fearing every flinch. Paying so close attention isn’t an attractive quality in friendship. I kept my mouth shut most days, for the shear reason of being noticed. I made no friends this year. It was enough to hide my scars, I couldn’t handle more.

7 (1996-1997)

Still no friends, and quite frankly I couldn’t have been less interested in them. I was the quiet one. No one saw me screaming at the top of my lungs through my tight fists or a closed mouth. I didn’t know how to just talk without things pouring out. So I stayed locked inside my nightmares, running in circles. There was no way out. There was no way in. I was petrified in time. Every moment felt like stones pulling me further in. I was drowning, I didn’t know how to pull myself ashore.

Anger set in. How could they not see how I was crumbling? How could no one care to ask why a seven year old doesn’t smile? How could no one see the scars that were so visibly there? I was alone. I was forgotten. Being angry and silent is what made me forgettable.

Being left in the car all night, locked out, by accident, wasn’t a mistake. It was then that I screamed at the moon, yelled at this God I kept hearing about! They heard me that night. They held my hand and showed me a warmth I wasn’t familiar with. I would not be forgotten again. This was the last night I would go without speaking.

Being seen also came with its sink holes. She expected me to grieve out loud. The anger she had spilled over like a tub left with the water running. She couldn’t help how she was, and I was glad to help. When say glad, I mean sad. I was her outlet and the amps were to strong for me. When mom would ask where my newest injury came from, I would search for the perfect words. I understood her pain. After all she was just a kid herself.

8 (1997-1998)

Mom longed to be loved. I wished she had the faith and patience I had for her. When she brought him home with a ring on her finger, I feared for her. She was happy though, so I stayed hidden and watched from the side lines. The walls I had built up would protect me, but they wouldn’t protect her. She didn’t know how much hatred he had in him. After all, no one wears a sign around their neck, warning you of the poison they will be.

I was beginning to understand things. If you were a girl, you were expendable; you were prey. If you were a boy, you were powerful; you were a predator.

That man, who made my mother so happy, was a wolf. I could see his fangs from day one, but what do kids know. He would treat us as though we were a prized hunt. I could see the pain on my mother’s face. I could see the marks that makeup couldn’t cover. Sunglasses can only hide so much. The ones we couldn’t see were what kept me up at night.

Just when I was sure he’d send her to the sky, she found her fight. That was the day I realized just how strong she was. She fought back and won! He would forever be left in the past. And even though this wolf in sheep’s clothing lives not far from me as an adult, I do not fear him. I do not look his way, I do not hold my breath. There’s no reason to fear a wolf without a pack.

9 (1998-1999)

By the time I was nine, my heart was so frozen solid that I couldn’t see how any man was good. I hated them all, and with good reason. Every man so far, had taken something from our lives. And when they left, they would leave behind a gaping hole of sorrow.

How could I know he was different, when the stench of alcohol filled the air when he spoke. That was a fragrance I was all to familiar with. My mom was stronger this time. She would protect her chick’s better than any mother hen I had ever seen.

Then the day came when that man would give up everything to make us his. I stood by the door listening to that man pour his heart out to my mother. My eyes filled up with pain, and years of uncertainty poured out. He would be the best thing to ever fall into our lives. He wasn’t perfect, but he knew how to love. Best of all he knew how to teach it.

He was kind. He was strict. He was everything you could want and then some. Yet I still made life hell for him. Not just me but all my siblings, as well. You see, even though we were horrible creatures sent to ruin his life, he still stayed. I didn’t know it then but that man would go on to change my life, every aspect of it.

10 (1999-2000)

I will keep writing so just stay with me

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