Eleven-Eleven. {Poetry}


As the flower blooms, we hold in remembrance all the women who have been sexually assaulted. April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. Before I knew that there was such a remembrance month, I could taste the pain in the air, my mind was wrecked with flashbacks.  I have experienced a torrent of memories of unwanted sexual advances, and this month in particular, I have been swept away by a date rape memory from eleven years ago that has left me with no other option than to express myself. When I feel this way, I must leave my body and go to the creative realm. I need to write. I need to grieve and I need to heal. My healing comes when I can reclaim my power and rediscover my purpose. I hope in my healing and revealing my true nature, in all its visceral chaos and lack of containment, you who have been violated will see that all emotions are correct, you who have violated will fear the wrath of the goddess, and you who have remained indifferent will bloom seeds of compassion. Please share your hearts and bodies respectfully and heal your hearts fearlessly. Love always.


Eleven, Eleven

It took eleven years to regain consciousness.

It took eleven years to traverse the grand chasm of my depression and fear.

Now, I’m on the other side,

Past the portal of the mouth of death.

No more…

Holding, holding, holding my breath,

Forging a smile in the pit.

It took eleven years to cry,

To feel the enormity of your hands around my neck…

The same hands that turned my breasts from a beautiful hue of café to a murky marsh of purple bruises.

It took eleven years for my brain to recover from sips of drugged Merlot.

Flashes of memory,

Pristine glass laid sideways,

a stain on the carpet,

eulogy of my desire to be loved recited in your flippancy:

“It’s just sex.”

You spit on my face.

Lost in a long night of your shadows and silent screams

I hear Divine Feminine voices,

Calling out from your cavernous guts,

Burning my consciousness alight

An angel enters, hovering between dimensions.

Swirls of time bring me back to myself.

I die on the bed.

My remains are left behind.

You fuck a corpse and still do not care.

She cannot say no or yes.

Did I emanate “naïve prey?”

Surely the yearling must be ravaged in the carnality of the world.

“That’s how strong women are made,” said my father.

He who drags a woman by her hair and fucks her raw and calls her whore

must be strung by the umbilical cord,

by the hairs of the mother who bore him,

in his full-grown years of disparate treachery.

Let him no longer be praised in the streets.

Let him not be given more power

More prey




“Greed be here tonight to feast on the heart of a supple woman. Give us her power!”

Call for a sacrifice once more and let me now stand on my pedestal of wisdom.

You see me? I play not the harp, I sing not the whimsical hymns of man, I worship not the holy martyr. I fear not my own power.

I will take your head and feed it to the dogs of Hell’s Hell.

I will squeeze your eyes between my toes until they bulge and burst.

I will birth fire from the palms of my hands and smile with perfect teeth.

Kali Ma ain’t got nothing on me.

I AM the greatest I AM.

Impunity incarnate

Unattainable and indescribable

The resilient creator of the gods

The one who carries scythe and starlight



Vision in the dreams of muses

Touch the hem of my dress and turn to dust.

Be swept away by a slight wave of my small hand into the great oblivion.

You can’t even season a lie to make it palatable.

Your tongue is now the flag of my survival.

Keep believing you are the oppressor, slave.

But without a tongue you cannot speak.

You have no name.

Now you are mine, and I release you to the barren land of defilement.

I could disembowel you with the mere essence of my wrath!

What would that do but make your hungry stomach and parasitic heart find another host?

Let the buzzard pick you clean,

Just as its crooked beak has picked my conscience with the memory of your trespass.

I journey through the eye and the mind and the wormhole of fear.







No longer will I kneel to a man of a man of a man of a man.

I am the goddess of generation.

Do not breathe my air,

For my exhalation is the release of your chokehold.



Transcendent of your human stink,

Healing the spiritually impoverished,

Dancing through the diamond sky,

Choosing to forgive you,

Creating worlds,

Bending time,


“You are the doorway.” Said a Great star

“You can travel through the eye.” Said another Great star

I blink my eyes, and the doorway dissolves.

I’m never going back to the rape room.

The present moment is far too delicious and ripe.

My mouth is too full to hold all the juice.

Fortune and vigor flow from me,

And you can’t have it.






Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s