Ghost Stories

Ghosts leave imprints of people on places. Places soak up the tendrils of the dead, hoping to sponge up the last particles of life.
Rust and rot char away at broken windows
infested wood frames
and twisted metal of shells of homes.
Ghosts transcend dimensions to cling to the unfinished memories
memories of a life half lived.

Unanswered letters blow in the dead hanging breeze, never to be opened,
apologies left unsaid, half truths, and honey soaked flattery fading into the pages,
disappearing like the dust of the desert.

I refuse to live among the ghosts, I refuse to live a cursed life. I won't trap myself like an animal. Losing my humanity, laying wake to insanity. Becoming something raw, primal and savage. Ghosts are petty fed on revenge and jealousy of the living.

I want to live in the sun, i want to shout to the tops of branches, i will be known today!

when my time grows short, i won't gasp for images of the past, my life will have been full.
Surrounded by my children and grand-children.
Grey haired and content. I refuse to fade into a ghost.

I will live a life loved. Full.
My ghosts will fade, i will no longer be prisoner.

Thousand Pieces

A part of me died that day, a part of my soul shattered into a thousand pieces.

4 words. 4 words was all it took.

"There is no heartbeat."

Those words hung in the air thick and sticky.

I feel the screaming before i hear it. every fiber in my body screams. 

No, no no no no no no no

I remember everything.

I was losing you so little, so much potential and i couldn't stop it.

My body was failing you. 

I remember them pulling pieces of you out so i wouldn't have to do it at home.

I remember the nurses all crying

I remember my lungs feeling the verge of collapse as i forgot how to breathe. My soul was shattering and no amount of duct tape could keep it together. 

2 days ago i saw your little heartbeat, i saw you wiggle and move. Turning from a tadpole embryo to something more human. You were gone days later and i hated myself.

That morning i woke up full of hope and excitement. I was pregnant but by the afternoon i wasn't. 

I remember slipping into the car and not wanting to go home. Home was safe hours ago, but home was where all hope went. 

A part of me died that day, my soul shattered into a thousand pieces and i am still hunting down those pieces. slowly healing, slowly learning to love myself again.

 slowly realizing it is okay to love my miscarried baby and my rainbow. some days the horrors of that day still break into my dreams. Terrified to think about even trying again, my rainbow's pregnancy was just as rough as your miscarriage. i constant trigger. I am terrified to get pregnant again, but also terrified that i won't ever be again. Luckily i don't have to think that far ahead. just do the next right thing a day at a time. Healing is freeing and sad at the same time. but i am happy to be moving forward not backward.

Better Company

The pages crisp, white, newly-printed. Pressed
safely side by side.
Silent companions.
Colored covers with obscure titles and coy pen names.

I prefer the company of older voices.
Those of Thomas Moore, Jane Austen, Bram Stoker.
Echos of the past that resonate some fractal for of fate.
Lives lived and lives forgotten.

Late nights, early mornings.
Fingers bruised with the tattoos of graphite and colored highlighter.
Writing my own words hidden in the faded pages
Mingling age old insight with those of a woman finding her way back to her own skin.

My favorites are dog-eared, diet coke stained, scribblings
scrunched in the margins. Dusted and smelling of ink, old, pool chlorine

I prefer the company of books. Less hurtful more complicated.

Just rough plots and sharp edges.