Inner Demands

I have always loved books. My first major memory was of a book called, “Are You My Mother?” It was read to my class at the public library in Sarasota, Florida. It spoke to my pain like nothing else; I cried. The teachers didn’t know what to do with me. They all spoke about me while I sat nearby. Could you imagine? Why not have a conversation with me?

I remember my first major book that I read from front to back in a weekend. It was “Chariots of Fire.” I couldn’t put it down. I was mesmerized by the parallels to my own life, and yet it saddened me so entirely. Why was no one committed to me and my dreams?

My favorite author is Charles Dickens. I may not have read everything my him, but appreciate his character development. Dickens uses the dirt of the people as the heroes of his stories; you get a sense that they are the real heroes of our society as well.

I thought I wanted to be a dancer for as long as I could remember. But if I really place the origination of that dream, I can see that was my mother’s.

I always wanted her to be proud of me. But now that I know that she was one of the major sources of my abuse growing up, I can free myself of that expectation.



I have been scorned with words of hate.
I have been torn to pieces with your eyes.
Beseech my beckoning call.
Your avarice respite is inadequate.



"Maybe you can stare too long at something
drain out the virtue,
suck out the living juice."

"The Other Side of the Wind" by Orson Welles




You dig your heals in eager to please.
Remember the Lord?
Where does He fit in your fretting?



The shadow of wantonness will not cleave,
it haunts me day and night.

What do you want from me with your shamefulness?
You can no longer keep me captive.



I look to see what has become of you,
only to be awakened with the knowledge
that you too have suffered much.

I am burdened to feel your grief;
do not despair, I understand.
Stand firm in the light.


Childlike Abandon

Come and take all my resistance.
Scourge my conscience for erroneous hiccups.


Coming Up Empty

I am bereaved by the notion
that you were there for me.

I am wise to the way
that you feed your ego.


Call to Action

Weeding out the tendrils that exist in your mind is tiresome.
Capturing the scope of your belligerence is nonexistent.
You moan and groan but get nowhere.

Forward now before it is too late.


Reasonable Service

When held to the fire,
I always wither.

I need you more then ever
when I become despondent.

Please lift me into the inner realm
of your mercy.



I can't move....
I am engulfed in pain and grief.

Why didn't anyone notice and try to help?
Why didn't you see that I needed help?

It was too much for me then and now.
I cannot fathom the responsibility you should have done.

Do my tears mean nothing?