poem by Meggie Lovins-Kappler

He raped her.
She was thirteen. Fifteen. Seventeen.
It was a stranger. A friend. Her boyfriend.
It traumatized her. Almost killed her.
Made her hate herself. Made everyone hate her.
They blamed her. Her parents. Her friends.
She blamed her.
They tried to help her
but she couldn't
"Just get over it" .

He raped her.
She was two. Four. Six.
It was her mom's boyfriend. Her step-dad. Her father.
She was too little to help herself.
Her mother didn't know. She didn't care. She let him.
It gave her PTSD. Depression.
She cut herself to cope with the pain.
Starved herself to be perfect.
Nothing ever worked.
They weren't paying attention.
Her mom. Father. Sister. Brother found her.
Lifeless.

He raped her.
She was thirty. Forty. Fifty.
It was her husband.
Of eight. Twelve. Twenty years.
He apologized.
Promised he would never,
EVER do it again.
Brought her flowers. Chocolate.
She was wary.
Knew she should leave him.
But she loved him.
He raped her.
Again.
Like they wanted.

slip away

Slip Away,

by: Debra Valley

I see you in every face
Passing me by
I let you go
but everyday, I hear your voice,
Speaking with strangers
Calling out my name
I think of you
Missing you dearly
Learning to let you go
I feel your precious fingers
Slip away from mine
As the flowing river
Of life’s memories
Sweep you farther away
Away from me

Thanks for listening.

My pixel princess danced across the reflection of my heart

Like a shadow in the darkest moment of the day.

Still beating like a depressed father, beating,

with sewn stitches parting in my quilted skin…

mom didn’t stitch me right.

My LCD lover hates it when I cry.

playback of a monotonous life on repeat

…and other screens with cracks inside my soul.

Leaking colors that drip down in gray

coating my ashy fate.

This isn’t about you.

Pixelated princess, don’t talk miles…

Construct a key with words that might unlock this prison cell

And free my mind for a couple slow seconds.

This isn’t about you.

It seems as though all I have to show for my life's "efforts" have been narrowed down to my uniform, and the scars my body wields with an awkward grasp. That grip is followed by a swagger-stepped walk, as if I thought i was cool once and never learned to walk like the broken man I am today.

All I Find

An erased memory,

But I’m part of the past.

And every move you made

Happens every day

And every sign I lost

I find in my sleep

And every glare given

Spies through every pore

So, I erased you,

But photos stay apart from page

Graphite streaks along hills of parchment

Find their way in valleys.

So as I do…

Searching for a city, or a life;

Pointing to a photo

That’s all I can find.

An erased memory,

But living in the past,

And pointing to an image

Trapped like graphite in a valley.

-۹ۗ

The day I thought I won.

What was going through my father’s eyes

When I shook his hand and said goodbye..?

When I heard him say “I’m sorry”

Or when I heard him start to cry…

“Be safe out there, kiddo.” That generic fatherly line was too scripted to be the truth. I could tell he was holding back so he could still maintain an image of what his dad taught him to be a man. After all, that was what he had always done. My entire family line had been but mirrors staring at each other; rows and rows forming a tunnel. I was supposed to be another.

His voice got high as I started to open the outside door to leave, and he said: “was it because of me?”

I had just about enough room in my heart for one more lie as I summoned the letters “N,” and “O” out of my lips and laced them together with 19 years of scars.

I left and never looked back, but I could hear his tears hit the ground, like blows of a hammer in my father’s coffin.

I never looked back, but my mind sometimes jumps back to the days he used to hit me,

And to the day I thought I won.