Paper Hearts.

It makes sense to want to put our emotions
down on paper,
because paper is as temporary
as life is,
and fragile
like feelings
but the words are eternal –
like my love for you.


When Narcissists Strike

So here’s where I’ve been stuck. I got divorced like 3.5 years ago and at first it was as amicable as a divorce can be without staying friends and then something happened, and I’m not sure what, but it wasn’t something I did or said. One day we were able to get along with our lives, and the next day I got a scathing email from him out of nowhere about how he never loved me, how I was a manipulator, and how he never wanted to talk to me again (which wasn’t a problem, since we hadn’t spoken in like a year at that point anyway). So, very much out of left field.

Some months later, I wrote a blog post about my experiences in an emotionally abusive relationship with a narcissist. It’s hard. When your whole life revolves around someone whose whole life also revolves around their self, it’s hard. When you find yourself living in a world of double standards, it’s hard. When you find yourself at an impasse with that person about decisions pertaining to your body and your health, it’s hard. When you find yourself cutting pieces away to avoid conflict and be agreeable, it’s hard. Not having access to your bank account? Not only hard but also kind of scary. It’s all hard. It was always hard, and I shared that in an extremely candid way.

And I was and am allowed to do that. It was my experience and I am allowed to share those things.

Anyway, flash forward like 2.5 years where I’m completely happy in life, in my relationship, with my career. He internet stalked me and delved through 2 years of blog history on a blog he didn’t know existed (because I started it after we stopped talking, like…way after). He finds that post – the only post about him – and freaks out. When I ignored the freak out session and protected myself by moving the blog to this URL, he sent a mass email to my family with some truths but mostly warped versions of truths or flat out fabrications which was sad because it just proved he was exactly the person I had hoped he’d avoid becoming. You know the saying: when narcissists can no longer control you they try and control other people’s perception of you.

That, of course, didn’t work because my friends and family know me and we have always been a pretty chatty and transparent family.

But in thinking about these things, I realized this was all a big fit in an effort to get me to somehow lash out or contact him and ask his forgiveness for I don’t know what. No one in my family (as far as I know) ever replied, and I certainly didn’t. There wasn’t a point. He was lashing out about something I shared years ago and had moved beyond. There has never been any reason for me to need to talk to him ever again. About anything.

Why he was cyber stalking me, I’m not sure. The assumption is he is so unhappy in his own life he needed to see how mine was going. Too bad it’s pretty fucking amazing.

Do I have moments of insecurity? Absolutely. Do I have bad days? Of course. But I can’t remember the last time I felt out right bad about my body, my health – or the last time I cried because of something my partner said or did.

So here’s the thing. I haven’t been able to write and blog and share properly since then (not like anyone actually reads this though, we all know that) and that’s because in some ways I feel obligated to respond to his behavior.

But I’m not going to. This is the only blog you’ll ever see about it. Why? Because I moved on the day we filed the divorce papers. Because I was over it way before the first time he told me never to talk to him again (lol) and was beyond “healed” or whatever word you want to use when he started another tirade of emotional abuse aimed not only at me but my whole family.

Healthy people who have grown up and moved on don’t do things like that. Good people don’t tell secrets of and lies about people they once cared about, no matter how hurt they feel.

So there. That’s that. I’m glad that’s not my life anymore, and if it’s yours, please do whatever you can to get out of it. It gets better. So much better.


So, it is obvious that I failed Poetry Month by shorting it by like 7 poems. Tragic. However, I think it’s a wake up call for me to spend more time (where and when I can) throughout the year, writing poetry and drafts and whatever to have it ready to share when April comes around.

It’s not like I don’t have inspiration. It’s just that I don’t like going to those places. They aren’t fun places to revisit. They are corpses I’d prefer to leave decomposing in the ground, until they turn into something new, beautiful, and unrecognizable. Fertilizer for something better.

Not all of those moments are fertilizer yet. And some of them seem pointless to revisit. I don’t want to wage word-wars with useless people who may stumble across my blog after cyberstalking me for hours and days on end who end up sending mass emails to my family about blog posts no one reads because I refused to retract the truth. (Yeah, that’s a story for another day).

Anyway, that is where I’m at. Stuck between wanting to write everything, or nothing at all, because as most people know, there’s not really an in-between.


I owe Poetry Month eight poems, which feels impossible because I struggle (obviously) to come up with one shitty rough draft poem a day! But, I have some things I can do to try and make up for it, so here goes:

3 Haiku Challenge (the last 2 beginning with the last line of the previous haiku)

Cold inhalations
on a hot day in summer
in front of the fridge.

In front of the fridge,
Looking for something to eat
there is no food here.

There is no food here,
because I do not buy snacks
to avoid weight gain.


It has been said that a poem
isn’t a poem if it took less than fifteen minutes to write and
hasn’t been revised to death.
I disagree.
Is a baby not a baby if it is introduced too early into the world?
Is it somehow incomplete for having not spent enough time
being edited piece by piece in the womb?
Of course not.
Something does not have to be finished
or even perfect
to be considered whole.


I call the following poems “chunks” because they were started a few years ago with an intention to expand or re-visit, but were abandoned:

I followed the arrow toward everything I told myself
I never would have wanted –
and not because I didn’t want it,
but because we are only supposed to want what we settle for.
I watched it pierce the protective layer of that exhaled breath,
and endured the sudden aspiration of everything I’d been
filtering out for years.

Everyday, I feel more and more like
one day I’ll go to speak but
nothing will come out and
people will say “I don’t know what happened.
One day, she just stopped talking.”

Everyday, I feel more and more like
my feelings are wrong and
unless they somehow serve
your best interests
it’d be best to keep them to myself.


Raw finger tips grasping the unravelling ends
of a thread bare blanket that looks
like my past,
wrapped around a few lasting memories –
trying to revive the dead with a few
gasping breaths and a moment of silence.