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I’m standing on a ladder,

Looking out over the horizon.

You’re doubled over with laughter.

I wonder why…

I guess I’m just a joke to you.

Especially after you’ve taken a toke or two.

If I had spoken to you,

Would I be better?

Maybe then I would matter.

I find my way back to the ground.

Engulfed by the sound

Of your echoing laughter.

Am I just a clown to you,

Having no sound to you,

Except the pounding of my heart?

I wobble, sometimes stumble when I walk.

My equilibrium is slightly off.

Scarred smile and damaged skin,

A few scattered hairs just under my chin.

Not too tall and not too short,

But still not the sort who will ever win,

Your heart.

My clothes almost never fit right.

What a sight I must be.

But I’m still loveable… huggable…capable,

I am still me.

Why do I have to be like you want me to be?

A prettier, more slender,

Well put together version of me.

For now…that cannot be.

Why can’t you just love me for me?

Love who I am as well as all you see?

I guess you are content to laugh away.

As I walk away from you today.

No need to talk anymore.

For goodness sakes,

Pick yourself up off the floor.

Now I know why the clown is so sad.

Used to being ridiculed, set up, and ragged.

A clown knows just what it takes to make you smile.

A skip, a twirl, a wink, a nod.

All things squirrelly, messy and wild.

I am not a clown you see.

Please…please stop laughing at me.

I’m a person with feelings and presence of mind.

I’m intelligent, fun, a friend for all times.

I’m eccentric, eclectic, a lover of wine,

Good listener, good sista, good lover sometimes.

Clearly that is not enough for you.

You keep on laughing and gasping as you do.

Entertaining your whims, I no longer care.

Utter another word if you dare.

I managed to cut all ties to you.

And finally bid this fine adieu.


They Them Us Me (Audio Version)

Trigger Warning: This is a dark poem expressing emotions linked to childhood abuse.

They Them Us Me is a dark poem that exposes unexplored emotions from my past. I wrote this poem about a year ago after recalling a few vivid childhood memories.

I am grateful for being able to express my emotions through audio creations. It has been extremely helpful for the healing process.

I created and recorded this poem. All of the voices are mine.

Expression without Protocol

On the spectrum is where I reside.

It’s where I learned what to say…how to act.

Robotic and monotone,

Actions never quite my own,

Repeating myself verbatim with same inflection…an undesired reaction,

Words borrowed from parental scripts.

I sit motionless…expressionless…mostly seen as less than,

Rather than, being treated like the rest and…

I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

Thoughts racing through my mind,

So much I want to share;

Do I dare?

Peers frown upon,

May even look down on,

Managing to talk down to,

But never getting around to,

Learning who I am.

So, here I am.

Gifted…still somewhat scripted,

Fumbling with choice,

Struggling daily to find my own voice;

Remembering all that I’ve been taught;

Communication’s raught.

Haunted by past transgressions,

Troubling instructions,

Finding my way towards speaking freely,

By way of constantly seeking…

Finally achieving;

Expression with meaning…

Sadness and Mourning

Sadness and Mourning

Sadness and Mourning

Sadness and mourning are one in the same. It is not important why you are sad or for what you mourn as it is all the same.

Is it that time heals all wounds or could it be that wounds help us pass the time?

One does not have to lose anything to feel a sense of mourning. A simple change can provoke this emotion. Once change has been accepted there is an automatic sense of gain. So does it mean that one has to lose to gain or is it by mere acceptance of change that fulfillment has been achieved?

Why do we hold on to these emotions…sadness, shame even taking on blame? What do we stand to gain?

When life feels dark and heavy do not expend your energy carrying the weight of it; let it sink deep into the earth…deeper…deeper.

Rise and leave it there.



It is in this moment when we think no one is watching.
This moment when all is still.
An old familiar surge occurs,
And we imagine ourselves invisible.
Cloaked in our own illusions.
It is in this moment the truth of our nature is revealed.

In the Land

I wake up in the am hours,

Thoughts flashing in my mind,

Of how mankind has disintegrated,

Mutilated and now demonstrates

The ugliness of being.

Hands of time turn counter clockwise,

Our existing shifting before our eyes,

Old wounds re-opening,

Hope fading,

Civility becoming a thing of the past.

We are told, “We Can,”

Our governing bodies say we can’t.

We vote them in anyway,

Despite what they say.

But operating in hate never pays.

In this land the goal is to destroy us,

Considering a small percentage,

Worthy to represent us.

Not giving a damn about us.

They aim to proclaim power over us,

What just cause do they have for hating us?

Killing us?

They say,

Generations grow weaker and wiser.


Grievous cries in midnight hours.

Lying in wait as they devour,

Our dreams and passions,


Where is the wisdom now?

We stand still to watch it happening,

And don’t know what to do.

An agenda once hidden.

The wolf sheds sheep’s clothing,


Laughing at its boldness too.

We are at the center if this tug of war.

No winners to be found,

Casualties left behind.

The freedoms of our time.

Living in excess excluding the rest.

This way of thinking,

Is the reason for living,

In a land no longer giving.

Hi, it’s me…

I called you tonight.

Just to talk.

I wanted to connect with someone.

I know you’re not my mother,

But I thought you could give me love.

I guess you do but…

Not in the way I ask of you.

Though this is the first time I’ve asked of you.

I try to reach out to you.

We manage to connect by faith.

You speak to me about biblical things.

I appreciate that.

But there are times,

When I need you to put your bible aside,

And just listen.

Listen to what I am saying to you.

Can you feel what I’m trying to convey to you?

You tell me that you can say more when you know more.

What more do I need to say to you?

Do I have to spell it out to you?

Perhaps even script it for you?

I ask you to speak to me from your heart.

To please show me your compassion;

A spark of empathy,

A little sympathy.

Your words, they’re not your own.

They’re true, but no warmth is in them.

Again, I asked for your heart,

But you hid it away.

Instead you give me riddles.

For you they’re probably parables.

You feel discomfort now.

The subject has changed.

There’s little else to say.

Sorry to bother you Auntie.

I just called to talk.

You Can’t Hurt Me

“You can’t hurt me…”

What say you?

You speak an untruth.

You are hurt and are sore afraid.

Pain beyond measure…incomprehensible.

Who hurt you?

You vow that no one will hurt you again.

“You can’t hurt me…”

Walls thick.

Enemies surrounding you…

You strike out.

They must be hurt before they hurt you,

Even if it means hurting yourself to hurt them.

But you’re not hurting them.

They can’t see you.

Not the truth of you,

Only a shell of you.

“You can’t hurt me…”

You’re screaming to be heard,

But there is no sound.

They can’t hear you.

They won’t hear you.

Do you understand?

The readers of your words,

Can they see the bigger picture?

Or will they seek to prove you wrong?

Visions of a deeply wounded soul…

Blood drips from your words.

“You can’t hurt me…”

No Words

His Stare

He stares into your eyes.

Searching you…reading you.

Feeling the pulse of you,

Energy surrounding you,

Embracing you.

This is how he makes sense you.


He turns away.

Lost in thought.

A gentle presence,

and quiet demeanor,

Strength of inner being,

 Flowing in expression and meaning.

No words are needed.


What’s that noise?

What noise?


Where is it?

Find it!

Here I am.

It must be stopped…


You want to destroy it?

Find it.


There it is…


Don’t you mean who?



A little girl,


Over there.



I am here.

Can you hear her?


Can’t you hear?




We’ll destroy it.


We loathe it.


Not perfect.

Tear it apart.

Put it together.

Is she alive?

No…not really.


Yes I am.

Look at it!

Hideous, monstrous…grotesque,

A real life Frankenstein.

People will run and scream.

Don’t say that…she’s beautiful.







Not good enough.

Not like us.

Send it back.

Back to where?

We don’t care!

 You can have it.

But she’s yours.

We don’t want it.

But she’s here.

No it isn’t.

I’m still here.

We’ll get another.

Let her stay.

It’ll be better.

She’ll be good…I know she will.

We don’t want it.


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