Explore the Crypt

He kills for sport, or to be cruel— disposing of inconvenience.   He seeks out a target to shoot his anger at. Does not see that sometimes he’s the one who should be aimed at, instead.   He needs to lock onto something, or someone, at all times. When all else fails, the arrow always finds me.

He clasped a choker around my neck in a dark restaurant. A leather symbol  of the words he whispered: I own you.   In the light of day I did not dare wear it.   Collecting dust, I learned I was too eager to be claimed. The pleasure was his alone. I learned this by how quickly it ended.   Buried in a drawer  after I became a mother,  belonging now to three was far too much.   He’s become impatient— quick to yell. And the children, demanding more than I can give.   I wear a sim

What does it mean to be somebody? Isn’t everybody a somebody?   I tell myself it doesn’t matter even though it does. He insists I’m already somebody, but I don’t believe it. A grain of sand among many, I do not command attention nor shape the beach the way ocean waves do— no ripple at all. When I speak, the room stays steady; the wind of my voice never shifts it.   I’ve been insignificant all my life— the last-picked coconut cream bonbon in a heart-shaped box, a participation

He resents buying her “baubles.” His note on scratch paper when he forgot her birthday stating he would have  bought flowers, chocolate, and a card after work but stores aren’t open 24 hours anymore— should be enough. New pots and pans for Christmas— appreciated,  already scorched by him and the children— So thoughtful.   The wedding rings  with the center stone  taken from his ex-fiancé’s ring should suffice. She shouldn’t even notice.   The Tiffany olive cuff she longed for

Not having you before me, to defend me, wounds me— slices straight through my core, stings worse than the swords and daggers you left me exposed to.   You shielded me from the blows of my world. Now I brace for the impact of arrows and gunshots, each one piercing my thin, unprotected skin. You were my chainmail— no more.   You whispered strategies into my ear, showed me the places my enemy was weak. Now I am blinded, left out in the open to be captured and bound by his ropes,

Separate lives— he sleeps during the day, a vampire; I sleep during the night.   Not much more than a hello passes between us. Anything more meets only silence. He won’t acknowledge me— not in the same room, not when I text while he’s away.   My words fly into the ether, evaporating before they ever reach their destination.   The wait for any reaction— even a meaningless thumbs-up emoji— is a hunger. I starve, feeling less than human.   Head down, I walk into the room as he w

He dangles a carrot before a soul craving something new.   Offers a whole buffet— from the simplicity of a golden apple, a vanilla cupcake, to a whole suckling pig.   I find the ultimate bait— a mille-feuille, a tower of fragile layers, pastry and cream barely holding together. French, indulgent, uncommon. The last piece. Exactly what I want.   I think it’s mine— but he turns his back, walks away, devours the whole thing.   He points back at a dish of carrot sticks. This is a

The sun is up. You wait for me to rise out of bed to say hello. I wait for you to leave, go to your bed. Act like nothing happened, you didn’t hurl empty insults at me. Everything’s fine. I won’t walk into the line of fire knowingly for your next attack.   You called me selfish repeatedly last night. All I do is serve this family while you and the children only worry  about your own amusement.   Baskets still full of dirty laundry, you sit in your chair, unaffected. Sink of d

Trying to find the gratitude in this month of Thankful Thursdays and Thanksgiving. At the moment, I can’t. Maybe just for the Wellbutrin that gets me through one more day. It helps me survive but not quite thrive in a daily life of   baskets of laundry— we won’t have clean bath towels unless I take on the load.   Spilled coffee on the counter no one will wipe up but me.   A family who won’t listen when I ask them to put their dishes in the sink after they’ve eaten, or take ou

He says I don’t speak English. But I’m sorry? Not in his vocabulary.   I read the book on love languages— none of them seem to be his.   So I’ve made my own: a lexicon of forced apology. Not kiss it better, but buy it better.   Flirting with an ex at a party, staying by her side past midnight. A Tiffany cuff for his lies.   Pink satin bows in the glovebox— he swore he wasn’t seeing anyone. Wicked tickets? Now it’s not so wicked.   A bottle of Viagra, three tablets gone. Marti

You know the tabby cat who lives in our backyard, painted with splotches of orange and white. He’s both child and friend to me. I’ve held him over my shoulder, cheek to cheek, him and me. Feed him once a day—feed him less, you say. You only care about seeing the dead baby rabbits that won’t get into our garden now.   My father raised a hard-working, respectful woman, submissive to you—your servant. He succumbed to the sickness of addiction— no longer the same reflection in th

Heavy suitcase— with dresses, makeup I’ve worn, trying to be beautiful at last.   Larger panties from comfort eating. Sweatshirts to warm me, though I can’t be warmed.   Chocolate, because I’ve needed sweetness.   A hardcover journal, pens to record all the unkind words— so I don’t forget, and because my journal is the only one who cares.   Clutter filling my mind— surely I left something behind.   A pillow, reprieve from constant fatigue.   Antidepressants, to help me feel b

Your breath on my back as you hold me, our bodies entwined the stress, anxiety, sadness, all goes away, you help me unwind. Even though you are deep asleep and this is our first night together instinctively you know I’m here. Your body, a furnace that keeps me warm on this chilly night. You are my safe place.   Your love has saved me. Can I be your safe place too?

Phone calls when he’s not here, I wish you were near. I send gifts from far away hoping they brighten your day.   I have to delete each text fearing what happens next if he does find out the love we’re about.   Sounds like a lie— if he knows, I’ll die. His threat is true, I’d never deceive you.   Your words are kind, and comfort my mind. Our love gives me life amidst all the strife.   His insults break me, but he doesn’t see. That’s why your touch means so much.   Fight or fl

Bullets fly as he berates me after making a wrong turn. If only he’d let me ride shotgun.  I’d never driven in Georgia. Takes only a...

Agitation does not leave me alone.  It is a child pulling at my skirt. It is the stinging corner of my forehead, expanding. It is the...

She only knew fairytales. Her green eyes were cast down as she plucked a four-leaf clover in the courtyard, pressed it in her Shakespeare...