Dissociative Identity Disorder

A single moment, quiet stillness before the pain descends

She sits in silence, cradled against a wall

Just awaiting the end


Papa brings the waves of pain

She is drowning in her fear

How is she to overcome the torture that awaits her here?


Open your eyes; go shatter the world

Shelter the scars behind your new shield

The stories untold, your world has grown cold

We’re here to uncover your soul


Protect yourself, little girl

Fortress around your mind

Hide yourself, my dear, where no one else can find


You must forget your pain

Force one more new disguise

Hope to God you’ll stay safe; buried deep inside


She splits herself; the best defense

Which part of her can overcome?

In herself, she finds her friends

This little body shares more than one


Open your eyes; go shatter the world

Shelter the scars behind your new shield

The stories untold, your world has grown cold

We’re here to uncover your soul


The beauty of the trees

in capered tones of gray and green

masked by a light so brilliantly clear

it could only be the sun’s rays.

The wheat grass caresses my thigh

and in me is awoken a longing for life

unspoken, undetermined, abiding in grace

For my heart longs to see You, longs to feel Your embrace

and to touch You with these frail hands.

My heart bursts open within me

a shattering of this life to which I so dearly cling.

Immeasurable joy;

Every cell in my body is singing for You

like the flowers as the Sun comes up

their petals stretching towards the sky

their stems straightening out to their full length in the impossible hope they might just reach her this time.

I am in awe

of You.

Quiet Thoughts, Dancing Water

In my mind, there’s a tile turning
Turning every which way, turning this, turning that
So that every facet is fully seen
Every crevice completely discovered
And no secrets lie here, in the wells of my mind
No darkness to dive through, no thrones to uphold

And the waters which rise above us prove cold
and mask every unknown heart beneath us
And do I reach for the hand that stays,
Stays steady, dear, stay steady with me
Or do I cry, with the last breath of my lungs
In the hopes that he might hear me, he above the waters, me beneath

Steady, October, steady your skies
Red leaves fall upon newly pressed minds
And the man, with his hand scarred and bruised
Will raise it once again, and bear the utter darkness
We fear the unknown, we terrify ourselves with light
And shove restless fists towards our brothers

It is in the light that shadows first appear
When fear is first introduced, quiet now
I cannot speak for fear of breaking that sheet of silence

There are circles and tunnels; tornadoes it seems
That spin around my heart and pull my body back and forth
If a new day were to rise out of the water
Or an unknown creature to become my reflection
Where is it that I can lay, and where can I find rest?

Respite hides deep down beneath
Where silence is trembles and walls crumble down
We speak only in whispers, hush hush
And listen to the voices that speak only to us
For in our minds we become stars
Up up up, far away

Up up up, far into the moonlight
Rain falls.


I. Feel. Empty.  Like a jug that once held water, now dry and cracking from the heat. Moaning on the floor for just one drop of water.  Of oil.  Anything, please, oh God, I’m begging.   Every crevice screams for hydration but to no avail.
My life flows and ebbs from one day to the next.  An endless repetition; my mind delights itself in possible horrors, wanting to have anything to wake me up from this death-slumber.
I am like a piece of clay left out way too long in the sun.  Certain parts of me are dryer than others.  Certain parts are dying and decaying.  All of me is withering away.  I can’t breathe.  Each attempt scours my throat, dries my tongue, blows one more lungful into my already swollen brain.  There is such pain in deadness.  There is such despair in darkness.  So long, so long.  And when can I come home?
What can I do to again live?  Tell me!  Where is that water that I can drink from?  Where can I feel that cool liquid dripping down the corners of my soul, oh pit-less body of mine!  Damn the day you chose death.   Damn the day you chose to fatten yourself with food, with drink, with lust and with hate.  I curse each day you chose to walk those paths.  Each step wandering further and further away from those glistening gates.
The Sun is scorching me.  My skin is protesting every movement.  My heart is wallowing in fear. I am lost.  Oh Jesus.  Sweet Jesus.  How do I get back?

The Sky

I open my eyes and feel the cool breeze tugging at my hair.  It’s dawn.  The sun is beginning to rise from behind the hill in an explosion of color.  If you’ve never had your heart break at a sunrise, I might ask if you have a heart at all.  Or maybe you’re blind.  I don’t want to know.

 I’m sitting on the wet grass and the dew is entertaining itself by finding the skin on my thighs and clinging to it.  It’s chilly, the air is.  But unbelievably breathable.  With each intake of breath, my throat, my lungs, my brain shout out in celebration.  So cool, so sweet.  Any fogginess that slept in my head is now gone.  Because now, the world is coming alive.  Flowers, ready to embrace the warmth are reaching, stretching; silhouetted by the glorious light. And the sky, oh that lucky dog.  Practically singing.  Bursting with joy, blushing at the privilege of once again upholding this enrapturing ball of flame.  You can almost see his smile, north to south.  Like a mother, just after giving birth.  Glowing.  That’s what the sky is doing.  
And he prances around, like the peacock he is, emphatically shoving his new found beauty onto all that can see.  Because now, he holds the sun.  He seems to forget that just moments ago, he was a nobody.  A cold, dark nobody.  So big, so vast, so empty.  But now that She has come into his existence… oh. And now, He’s ready to fly.  
I breathe in again and listen.  There’s no sound of cars, no rushing of feet or tires against the pavement.  No voices and no planes.  Just the rustling of furry little paws as they scamper from one hole to the next, they too excited for the day to start.  I can hear as the stalks of wheat brush against each other in the crisp morning breeze.  The sound of my own breathing. 
And I wonder how I can ever look out and think, “Oh.  It’s just another day.”   Because it’s not.  It’s beauty and wonder and majesty.  It’s emotion and fullness and life and flame.  And it’s flowing through my veins, threatening to implode my heart with it’s pulsating joy.  

Who are you?

I am Time, perfectly content

I am the tear of the woman who has just lost her infant son

I am the evaporated water, rising to the clouds, ready to soar

I am the cloud, exhausted and full, so ready to explode

I am the rain, joyous and free from my bondage in the sky

I am the creek, happy and light, flowing towards a bigger world

I am the stream, learning to enjoy this gradual maturity

I am the brook, lonely, yearning for someone to be with

I am the river, strong and majestic, fine on my own

I am the fertile bank, kissing the river day after day

I am the seed, safely nestled in the fertile ground, warm and safe

I am the sprout, curious and enchanted by the huge world around me

I am the small tree, growing and eager

I am time, perfectly content

I am the majestic oak, gaining years, reaching out

I am the woodsman, with my axe

I am the woman, buying the cradle

I am the cradle, holding the infant child

And I am Time, perfectly content

Cold January Morning (Short Story)

The man sipped his coffee and watched the steam rise into the chill morning air.  He could feel the heat as it slid lower and lower into his body until it finally it hit his stomach and froze.  The tick-tock of his wristwatch blared rebelliously against the silence of the street; with each clack a burst of adrenaline seared through his heart and he felt it in his arms, his stomach, and finally, a hammer to his head.  He was afraid, this man was.  No, not afraid.  Terrified.  The kind of terror that makes you frozen, that wipes all emotion from your face except your eyes– that was the kind of terror that besieged this man.  And those eyes, if you were to look carefully, those eyes revealed the true state of this man’s tortured mind.  
Was he being pursued?  Was he going to die? No.  Nothing like that.  Nothing like that at all.