One of my inspirations

I just want to give a shout out to A. S., whose writings have really helped inspire me to get back to writing. His writing is amazing, but his friendship even more so.

Little Hands

How can little hands 
hold the dagger?
They can't.
So larger hands 
wrap around hers.
Arms go up.
Arms go down.
Head swirls
spinning round and round.
The blade is bloody.
The cries are silenced.
Oh, dear!
Mommy'll be mad.
There's red on your white dress.
How could you do that?
Just look at you!
Don't you know how hard it is
to clean that dress?
I won't get it dirty again. 
I promise.
Please don't...

Who Are You?

Who are you
she asked the reflection
of the woman she saw
in the mirror
Who are you?
Are you the things
that were done to you?
Are you the things
you did?
Are you Daddy's 
little girl?
Who are you?
From deep within
the whisper started
oh so low,
barely perceptible.
She asked again.
Who are you?
The whisper got louder
starting to rumble 
deep within in a tunnel of sound.
Are you the things 
that were done to you?
no, came the whisper.
Are you the things
you did?
no, came the answer a 
little louder.
Are you Daddy's little girl?
No... picking up volume.
Then who are you?
Are you the things that
were done to you?
Are you the things you did?
Are you Daddy's little girl?
With a roar that came 
barreling from the 
heart and soul
came a resounding
roar of 

Then who are you?
I am a precious daughter of
the Creator God Most High,
yet healed.

I am who I am
and I owe no apology
to anyone
for the scars I bear
on heart and soul
and for the wounds
I carry on the way
to whole.
I rise again and again.
I am victory
I am joy
I am strong
I am who I am
a princess who
traded her earthly crown
for a true spiritual one.

The Puppet Master

Who are you and who am I? 
You worked so hard to blur the lines 
to splinter me into a thousand pieces 
and, yet, become one with you. 
You! Who are you? 
Who the heck are you? 
Do you even know 
as you do your master's bidding? 
I feel the pain inside me 
wanting to come out, 
but that is not all I see. 
I also see the pain inside you, 
the pain you try to hide 
behind, "I don't remember doing that". 
You triggered my programming 
every chance you got. 
You pushed me hard to make me break 
in order to keep you safe. 
You never could get that I did/do love you 
in spite of all you have done. 
I know you are broken. 
Do you? 
Are you as painfully aware of your brokenness 
as I am of mine? 
Or am I the first generation? 
I have prayed for you to find freedom 
as I have done, 
for your bonds to be released 
as mine have, 
for your heart and spirit to heal 
as have mine. 
I am not there, yet, 
and won't be until the end. 
But I am not what I was. 
I am no longer a puppet 
to be used for their purposes, 
for your purposes. 
You cannot pull my strings anymore
for they have been cut, 
I no longer respond to the cues, 
to the unspoken (and spoken) 
requests hiding behind your (and their) words and actions. 
No more acts. 
And though I'm still not fully healed 
from the blood that was shed 
or the acts committed 
I will continue to grow. 
I am strong in the Creator,
 not the one you tried
to make Him out to be, 
the real One. 
All glory to the One True God!

I Dare to Dream — May 29, 2010

I Dare to Dream

I dare to dream
of tender moments and soft caresses.

I dare to dream
of healing times and wholeness.

I dare to dream
of shattering glass and invisible walls coming down.

I dare to dream
of open doors and billowing lace.

I dare to dream
of real friendships and shared hearts.

I dare to dream
of quiet memories and gentle breezes.

I dare to dream
of slow walks and soaring flights.

I dare to dream
of clear realities and known dangers.

I dare to dream
of rainbow skies and forward movement.

I dare to dream
of self-expression and being heard.

I dare to dream
of heart safety and protection.

I dare to dream
of walking tall and standing strong.

I dare to dream
of better days and long ago friends.

I dare to dream
of the brightest of futures and heaven’s light.

I dare to dream
of dancing the final dance
and the wedding feast of the King of kings.

©May 19, 2010 all rights reserved.

Like a Child on Tiptoe — January 15, 2013

Like a Child on Tiptoe

Like a child on tiptoe
it sneaks up on me
and then strikes
with a ferocity
that almost takes
my breath away.

I am blindsided
as the intensity
of emotion
sweeps over me
to drown me.

Who knows
the cause
of this deep
that so fully
engulfs me?

Which deep wound
am I feeling now?
Which betrayal?
Which abuse?
Which loss?
Or is it something else?

There is only
one way out of this
sweeping tide…
hold on,
go through,
and breathe.

Yes, breathe.
The Breath of Life
must flow through me,
filling me completely
with His
healing Shalom.

I am the Creator’s
and He is
my guardian,
my Abba/Father,
my Messiah,
my Healer.

I wait upon Him.

January 15, 2013

An October Poem — October 30, 2012

When darkness falls upon the seas
and the wind starts howling through the trees,
when the bloodlines of history converge
and descendants gather with an unholy urge
to color red their pristine finds
considering themselves to be of greater minds
than the captive ones whose hearts they steal
in a ceremony they think is real,
what they don’t know is that true power
does not come from the bleed
and true freedom comes from the Seed
of the woman and Spirit in that hour
when you surrender all
to the One who was here
before the Fall
the One who someday makes all things new
the One to Whom true allegiance is due
for it is by His hand that we are made
and by His hand we will be re-made
in the time coming long ago foretold
by the ancient ones they paid heed
before their souls were sold
for the sake of greed
and power
causing their life blood to sour
and ruin the futures of the ones to follow
while in evil they did wallow.

But farther on down the line
in a future place and time
one was freed
by trusting the Seed
of the woman and the Spirit.

One would live and another would die
trapped within the destructive lie
that there really was no way out
despite how you kick and scream and shout
and struggle to break the bond
that holds you tight and won’t release
as if you are locked within the valise
of a perverted vagabond.

So with freedom’s wings the heart soars
the shofar blows
and Y’hudah’s lion roars.

There’s no more joining
with bloodline clans
with coloring red
or man’s plans.

There is simply
connection with the Creator
and freedom.

Invisible — January 6, 2011


Walking the streets
am I even seen?
A bit of a smile here,
a tentative nod there,
Even a welcoming greeting.
but who’s it really for?

Do they see the little girl
who wishes for a daddy’s love?
Or the young boy
who longs for a real mama?
Do they see the young teen
who’s been filmed and used time and again,
the one who would really like
to find true love?

Different hearts with one face,
which one do they see?
The hearts? The face? Both?
Most don’t look beyond the face.
They don’t want to see below the surface
or be bothered with what’s in the heart.

They do not see the invisible scars
that wind throughout the mind.
They are unaware of the pain behind the eyes
so closely guarded for fear of rejection.
They only see bits of “odd” behaviours
things that don’t quite seem to fit.

Eccentricities? No, she’s too young for that,
but maybe she’s getting an early start?
“Moodiness”? Sudden changes of emotion?
Well, she is a woman, after all!
Most, though, won’t even see those things
for they are too busy to even look.

Invisible she is.
Invisible she’ll stay.
someone is willing to look beneath
the surface of the external
to the hurting wounded
that lie in her heart.

© January 6, 2011

Loving… — September 7, 2010


Sometimes loving means:
rolling up your sleeves and getting dirty,
walking into the mire to help someone else out of it,
accepting someone just as they are,
hugging someone others deem to be “undesirable”,
challenging someone you love to do better…
and then helping them to do it.

Sometimes loving means:
staying silent,
saying “yes”,
saying “no”.

Sometimes loving means only listening…
with an open heart,
an open mind
and open arms.

Love always means sharing something of yourself with another…
whether it is your time,
your talent,
your finances,
your laughter,
your tears,
your lessons learned,
your mistakes made.

Love always means giving your heart…
sometimes until it breaks…
or until it aches for the other person’s well-being.

Real love is often:
and desperately needed.

Real love can even mean dying for another.

Who has loved you?
Thank them today.

Who needs your love?
Give it to them today.


© September 7, 2010

Rain – July 9, 2010


The sound of rain upon my roof
matches the rain inside my heart.
The pain of so many losses
Is keenly felt, tearing me apart.


©July 9, 2010

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