Good Enough?

Good enough. Is what you give meand I give yougoodenough? I want to leave you –looking outward through glass. Your gaze turnedto girlsfull of chatter,observefemale handtuck hairbehind ear,crossslender footover other,movement that tiltspelvis in rhythmicconversation. Lostin male observationin the midst offemale banterbehind glass. Then –you’ll leave our crafted hearton the station floor, your hushed scuffed scatteredContinue reading “Good Enough?”


Healing. The thing about healing child abuse is that is confronting. When I first started healing, this confronting nature was rejected by society – at that time, there was an endless focus on family, normal and happiness. Confronting child abuse was what other people did. Today, we see an outpouring of emotion about sexual assault,Continue reading “Thoughts…”

Joan of Arc

12 year old girl Maid of Orleans OMD 1981 Theres’s man touching my clitoris – I know it’s called a clitoris because I looked at in the mirror. My sister told me I should look at my vagina in the mirror. I did as she said. I sat legs astride pulled the skin back saw inContinue reading “Joan of Arc”


Castlegate Castlegate. The word silently rolls around the interior of my mouth. I practice its formation in my mind before I let the sound slip from the angular contortion made by my lips. The vowel is pronounced flat, Castlegate: suggesting something simple and improper about this inconspicuous dot, small and black, that sits in isolationContinue reading “Castlegate”

All of you…

I know you all find it hard to read or think about what I have gone through. I know this. Do not worry – that is okay. What I want you to know is this… I am a fully functioning adult, I have been through every healing therapy known to heal all the damage inContinue reading “All of you…”


From the age of 13 to15, I lived a vagrant life on the streets of a small Northern town. Fleeing a violent psychopathic father: I had no choice but to seek hedonistic escape in pubs and clubs. Men of ages beyond my comprehension were only too willing to trade my offer of myself, willingly –Continue reading “Prostitute.Child.Girl.”

Tattoo Love

Tattoo Love Theirs was a love of crushed beer cans with peeling beige paint and hair tangled in loose broken twigs. He’d carved her name on soft skin at the incline of his right hip: Stace. Some declaration of love.  Her nails bore the remnants of blue and green chipped varnish. Shorn ridges, bitten aroundContinue reading “Tattoo Love”


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