Friday, December 30, 2016

Family Words

Age 3, second from the left

Stop talking.
Stop your babbling.
No one wants to hear you!

No one likes you.
You're so stupid.
What are you saying?

What is wrong with you?
No one can stand you.
We don't want you here!


I want a voice.
Only to be heard.
Listen to me!
Don't shut me up.

(Writing has become the voice I didn't have as a child. Thank you for reading.)

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Saturday, October 29, 2016

The Older I Get

The older I get
The less I want people
The more I live in my mind
The less on the outside
The less I seek relationships
With anyone

Maybe because I don't trust
Because I've learned more
Because I'm finally filled up inside
Filled with their lies and bullshit
Filled with my own self worth and love

Maybe I don't need their baggage
Their problems
Because I have enough of my own
My own baggage and bullshit
And the lies I tell myself
About self worth and love

The older I get
The more I am burdened with baggage
That builds up along the road
The less I can carry
The less I'll tolerate
The less effort I'll give

The older I get
The more I want to be alone
In a desert
In a shack
Out of sight
Out of touch

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Friday, October 7, 2016

Broken Body

I am lost, set adrift. I am betrayed by my broken body.

I have plans. . . things to do. Everything halts.

Once again I scream in an emergency room from agonizing pain. My body breaks but my mind isn't ready to stop. My mind had things to do. My mind wants more.

Screaming and tears brings me to my knees, stopping all forward progress. I'm crushed to watch the rest of the world go on without me as I lay prisoner to my own failing body once again.

Piteous, vulnerable, broken. The bondage of weakness clamps down upon me. Plans wither and die.

Rest and heal this broken vessel in hopes to start again.

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Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Visiting Hell

Prison City
Barbed wire words
Cement blocks of feet
Frozen solid

Burning sidewalks
Fiery stares
Longing hearts of pain

Suffocated love
Anguishing, languishing
That child
This child

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Monday, April 18, 2016

If Marriage Were a Motorcycle

We came into the curve too quick
Road of scattered gravel was slick
Spring rains had once poured
Such dangers we ignored
Until the rear tire started to kick

The high side came as a surprise
I couldn't believe my eyes
We came in too hot
Perhaps we forgot
This risk comes with such a high price

We landed apart roadside
Ashamed, you went to hide
Covered in blood
I laid in the mud
And screamed, shouted and cried

Neither picked up the bike
I chose to take a hike
Left you alone
To face the unknown
Behaving quite childlike

We knew coming together was key
The end it needn't be
Picked up the parts
Of our broken hearts
And pieced back the shattered debris

So we'll turn the key again
Take the lesson from where we've been
Learn what it showed
Look to the new road
And from the crash begin again

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Monday, February 8, 2016

Your Black Existence

The infinite hole
That was your soul
All light around
Without a sound
To break within
Your existence.

The sorrow you hide
Every soul
You'll ever know
To die within
Your existence.

The cumbersome black
Of all you lack
The whole
Of humanity
To die due to
Your existence.

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Saturday, December 26, 2015


I am nobody.
I am not real.
I am an actor in the reruns you chose to fill the role of your past.
You don't know my real name, my real pain, my real love.
I go unheard as you read the script of your play.
You see the scene in your mind; beginning, conflict. . . complications, unrest. . .
The play never works out quite right.
There is no final act, no resolution.
The actors don't know their lines, their marks, their cues.
My words, my words are tattered by the screaming voices of your past.
My love is fragmented through a tornado.
Our life is only a repeat.
Same channel, same story, same time.
Repeat the shame, worthlessness, guilt, sorrow, abandonment, pain, loss, FEAR.
Emotions we both grudging drag from day to day, place to place.
We hate the baggage.
I beg to be heard by ears filled with old chants of yesterdays.
You can't be loved.
I want to give to you a new life filled with joy, love, reality, passion.
Our passion fuels the flames of shouting and tears.
We press hurtful cries from lips rather than kisses.
The script's lines hang in the air twisting, gnarled.
Start from the top.
You stand in love's doorway and look backwards, behind you, inside you.
You long for love as much as I want to give it to you.
I haven't the ability to stop the play, to quit the role, unless I go.
I will not quit.
You deserve my love.
I shout, beg, cry my love, my compassion, my empathy, my sorrow, my desire for you.
You can't feel me.
I am not heard.
I am nobody.
I am not real to you.

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About Sash

People call me "Sash" because I'm a former beauty queen in my old home town. My father used to ride in an MC which got me interested in the culture. After my last divorce I said "goodbye" to Susie Homemaker and became the naughty, biker chick I always felt inside. (Read more...)