I broke free, from the confines of a doomed ship

I knew it would crash on the rocks if I continued on

Yet you still say 'I love you', cling to my skirt tails despite my wails

You claim that you will always love me, that you have no resentment

Yet when you speak of depression you speak of my actions

I was kind when I cut the ropes, yet you strangle us in them each step of the way

I can feel the resentment building like the crest of the wave

I can taste the salt in your words like sea water on my lips

You think you can hide what you are feeling, yet I see every bit 

You forget my fluidity, you are beginning to hate me for the very thing you love me for

Isn't it sad when love isn't loving anymore?

Your words sting and you know it, watching me wriggle and writhe in the barbs you through

You say you don't want to go, yet you drag me through the mud simply so you can cry

I am not a Wendigo here to eat your dying heart

I am a Woman here to be a friend

I thought you could be my best friend, but that's coming to an end

You resent me, you are beginning to hate what you used to love so great

So when it comes, and you spit venom for the first time, I'll be ready, I don't go down easy

Spit your venom sweetheart, its the reason I have scales and walls

You aren't such the 'nice' guy you pretend to beI am glad I won't be taking the fall 

I imagine your hands along my skin, clawing just enough to bring blood to the surface of pale flesh

I hear my own heart beats as I blast the songs that remind me of you

I smile, my dimples standing out, your visage in my ever flowing imagination

Your mouth against my shoulder, your digits wrapped around my throat

I fight an external gasp as internally I find my expectations grow

Its Cat and Mouse, and who's who is up to the game we want to play

Any time the lyrics repeat, dancing along the static melody

I feel fingers in my short tresses, lightly tilting me back

Lets see if you can play it right, get the reward you want to taste

I imagine my nails clawing down your back, leaving traces of pleasure and passion

Your mouth against my skin, my marks left across your frame

Oh darling, its just as fun as can be, you just have to learn my seas

No patience, I have none, play with me, and I'll play with you

Lets see who gets the rush and who gets the waves, thoughts bleeding away

No doubt

Any time the lyrics repeat, dancing along the static melody

I feel fingers in my short tresses, lightly tilting me back

Lets see if you can play it right, get the reward you want to taste

I'll yank your hair, if I'm squirming beneath your hands

Don't tread lightly, I like prints left in my skin, even if only crimson

Lets see if you can rouse me to a blush too

Oh I want to taste you, I want to taste every bit of your soul and your mind. 

To taste the strong and subtle flavors that create who you are. 

I want to feel your fingers against my skin, asking for the taste of me. 

I want you to taste me, taste my words and my thoughts, the sweet drops of honeyed happiness and the sharp metal of my anger, like blood split in your mouth. 

I want to be tasted til you are intoxicated and stumbling, I want to be tasted till you have consumed all that you can. 

After you have done this, I want you to leave. 

If you have consumed all you can, then you have only tasted my shallow end. 

If you set limits on me, then you have tasted the sweet simmer but not the citrus boil. 

I can revoke your cup as quickly as I have given it to you to drink from. 

You have given nips of the rue and not the gumbo. 

Blessed with the sips of nectar but not the wine. 

I will leave, but I find myself staying. You no longer wish to explore my ocean, only remain lulled in it. Don't you know I am just as unpredictable as I was in the beginning, I am not suddenly settled because you think you have captured me like a sea nymph and chained me to the rock of your comfort. 

I wait, because you have not tasted the depths of me, yet you no longer wish to experience the flavors of my being. I wait for the time you will reveal yourself unto me, and I will throw you up like the creature did Jonah on the beaches, and you will not be granted anything but the lapping edges of me. 

I will wait, as you have no formal binding on my wrists, but I will wait. And I will sink you and drown you because you are so like the others, they drank until drunk, but did not thank the vine or the fruit. 

Step 1. 

Find out who you are. 

Step 2. 

Fight to be who you are, even if you are tired from the fight. 

Step 3. 

Find small things to take comfort in. 

Step 4. 

Love yourself, even if its a small bit of you every day. 

Step 5. 

Find who you are, and improve who you are, start with little habits and words. 

Step 6. 

Learn to express your pain, and your gratitude, realize that you don't have to hide away your hurt, it doesn't negate your gratitude or Truth. 

Step 7. 

You are lovable and loving. Hold this in the Truth of who you are.

Step 8. 

Be kind to those you don't know, because you never know who is sobbing behind that big happy smile. 

Step 9. 

Know that you are apart of something bigger than yourself, always try to remember this when things affect you and will effect others. 

Step 10. 

Be you. All of you, in all the glory that you are. 

1. 

You never loved me.

2. 

You told lies, to make things out to be worse than they were. 

3. 

You took a plea deal. 

4. 

People that didn't experience your wrath, rage, and violence, won't ever know how terrifying you were. 

5. 

You molested me all through my childhood til we got out. 

6. 

You always acted entitled to a life that you didn't deserve, you never gave honor to Mom. 

7. 

You broke my heart, repeatedly. 

8. 

You told me I was stupid, yet were proud of my accomplishments to others. 

9. You tried to isolate me.

10.It is easier on my emotions, and my heart, for all reasons and purposes, act as if in my heart, you are dead. Who you were was never living, who you are, is not my father. My father never existed, simply a monster that tried to convert and pervert that title. 

A reality in which these words paint your skin, and they tell you what you have, but not what you are. 

Is there a place in which my I can look back and instead of picking out each instance where my behavior was erratic, I could look at it at the times I was gentle and I was kind? 

I have beauty wrapped up in ivory bones that tell the story of an ancestry I can't define by mere words. How do I explain how the sound of a Native flute makes me feel, or the pounding of Shawnee drum, how the bagpipes in their haunting melody call to something much large than myself? 

I have found simple things, small beautiful things to find comfort in. 

I don't get irrationally angry when my brother picks at his nails or makes whoops and hollerings. 

I don't burst into tears when I am overwhelmed. 

I have learned to curb my tongue, sheathing it when my anger riles up in my chest like a cobra that wants to spit its venom. 

I don't count to ten anymore to help me remain calm. 

I don't lash out with words and digits, wanting to cause people to feel the pain I have been caused. 

I have learned that to look at myself, and say that my beauty is there, it is present, and I am loved by something so much more than I can comprehend, is healing, even if only a small amount each time. 

People compare themselves to wolves or to lions, and I remain here, identifying with a hummingbird or a golden barn owl. My eyes wide with joy and curiosity, but I am lethal, for you do not hear me as my words sink in like talons. 

I believe in God, but I believe in myself, and I learned that it is easy to have faith in a thing unseen, than the body and the mind I see before me. Maybe one day, it will be easy to do both. 

Its hard to come to terms with something you are fairly sure you have, but also don't want

You know there is a stigma, and even though that stigma doesn't apply to family that has it, somehow you are scared it will stick to you

the Warrior that has fought stigma all her life, is no afraid of a stigma she can't wash off

The Queen of Breaking Barriers of her own story, somehow feels like this time she can't control the outcome

Yet if she has it, she knows she can get treated, and things will work out

And maybe finally she can reign in the things that have trapped her for so long

Sometimes coming to terms with something isn't easy, but it alittle less rough each day. 

Growing up I was told to write poetry about the beauty in the world

Not by my Mother, who is my closest confidant, but by the world that fractures everything beautiful

I wrote poetry at the early age of ten, then at twelve, my words spread across the landscape I call home in a competition I didn't really understand, told it went to local, state, region

Then to national, coming third in place

I was told to write about the Beauty

The Beauty

The Beauty

But not the broken

Broken are wrong

Broken are useless

Broken are bad

Yet I am asked how can I correlate my belief in God to my poetry when I write about hopelessness and broken

My God broke his own body for my sins

I am asked how can I wish that all reconcile to God and none go to hell

When my poetry can fuel the pain in my heart created by an earthly father that was never there

I am asked how can I write about anything other than God, if I call myself a christian

Yet my christianity is not all that defines me, it is not a disease that creeps under my skin and into my brain

I reread over the Bible, the New Testaments and the old

I read the poetry that is Psalms, and I see the broken in man

How can you ask me, demand of me, drag out of me what you define as beauty

My God is broken, and he is whole, he didn't leave me in places alone

He had flesh torn from his back and from his being crushed under the weight of a world that hated him

Can you tell me that Beauty is bad when Jesus was broken to make me whole

Write about the Beauty

The Beauty

The Beauty that is consumed and spat out by society

The Beauty soft spoken ears want to hear

The Beauty that bold hearts disdain to see

Because the Beauty that was wanted of me at my old schools, was beauty they could measure 

Beauty is Broken

Broken is Beauty

Dipped in gold and blood of his Life Breath to show how we are healed

And even when broken parts are still not whole, I will write about Broken

Because in my fight, it is not my own

Broken Beauty

Sometimes when life wants to punch you in the face, all you can do is pray

When your mom has to work another eight hour shift, after her first one, all you can do is pray

Sometimes when you used to cry, and break down, while hormones rage through your body, and this time you simply stick out your chin, all you can do is pray

When you don't tear up, you tighten your corset laces, and the strings on your boots

When you get down on your knees, all you can do is pray

And sometimes when that pain hurts deep down in side, when you know you won't sleep tonight, all you can do is pray. 

And sometimes, when you are done praying, all you can do, is believe God will make it all right in the morning. 

Prayer is not as simple as it seems, yet in all reality it is the simplest thing you can do. 

A prayer is not only words that spill from my lips, it also the movements I make within my frame. 

It is the words dripped in pain, and joy, and action of my frame within the pain that dares to make me kneel. 

A prayer is a song, it is a dance, it is the march of the foot and the beat of a drum. 

It is where I go when all seems to be negative and blinding and racking up points of 'bad things' that have happened in today's single frame. 

It is where I go when things that should not have worked out, do exactly as needed for a life that lives singularly on the trust in something I can't see. 

It is a place, and space, an atmosphere, it is something I can feel in my stardust bones. 

It is a living thing that I grasp within my spirit, a live wire that can be tranquil. 

It is an action I do each night before my eyelids fall and I slip into slumber.

It is presence in something I have seen deep long ago, where my existence was apart of God, and I fluttered in and out of his heart like a firefly of brilliant light. 

It is the words that bundle up in my chest, spill from my throat, and drips into puddles at my feet while standing. 

It is free verse and it is sometimes a repetition of the Psalms. 

It is small, yet it can be one of the most powerful things in the world. 

Many say " I will pray for you" and simply mean "I am sorry, I will do nothing." 

When those words, though rare in their occurrence, slip from my petals it means I have do all I can do before hand, I have fed your body, given life rafts to your spirit and soul.

When I say I will pray, it is not a notion of non confrontation to the world surrounding us. 

Prayer is the beating in your heart, and you whisper "Thank God..Oh sweet wondrous things..thank you." 

It is the tears that he catches as you weep from the torment and anguish within your being

It is the anger that floods you when you see the pain of the world and feel powerless

Prayer is the cloak you were even when nude, it was there at your birth, and will be there when you pass from the bindings of earth

To remember something once spoken to me, 

'Prayer from sincerity, hope from truth, can make the world change, even if all you are given access to is renewed hope.'

This is my prayer everyday, may it also help those that need it. 

"May for every one bad thing that thrusts itself before us, may two helpful and beautiful things take its place, Amen. "