My own Thor

You offer kindness and basic decency





Please never hide from me for you are

You are

My own god

Enchanted by the unknown

You don’t see me always

Seeing you

We wrap around one another

Blood on the moon

Tell me

It’s always “tell me”

I want everything

I’ll wait for everything

My own god.

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Husbands and other strangers.

Get help. Listen to what people are telling you, especially if it makes you angry to hear it. Don’t go on the defense and make excuses. Stop lying.

Be decent to your loved ones and friends and strangers.

Lose my number. Remove my photos from your Facebook.

Stay away from me. No one needs you here. You will abuse again. Eventually you will abuse someone badly enough where they won’t be able to let you have a pass.

Get help. Real help. Please.

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Fuck you, Mulloy

That’s all. Just fuck you. I wish I hadn’t of held back and instead told you what I really think about you.

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And again

Didn’t even have the balls to talk to me face-to-face.

He puts it all on me like it was my choice. Like I wanted it this way.

He said he loved me. He does not love me.

What a fucking liar. I don’t know why I thought he was different. I need to go get my fucking head scanned. Maybe it’s a tumor I can slice out so I never have to feel like this again.

Cast aside, full of questions, confused, angry.

I wish I didn’t mean it when I told him I love him.

Fuck me for letting him in. Fuck my brain for thinking about him. Fuck my heart. Fuck my traitorous body for missing his touch.

He don’t give a shit about me

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Oh the hell with it

The whole mess.

They’ll sort it out now.

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Wine and other times past

Old post.


He thinks in shadows.

There are days that I spend wiping clean the messes I make. There are days that flash, over and over and over, in my head and in my heart that go on forever, stomach churning thoughts.

There are nights I pass this over, in a soft, godless blanket. There are mornings I wish never came.

These are not unique feelings. These are not interesting feelings. There is nothing in my mind or mouth of which I take ownership. I am a mimic of nothing deep.

Of everything I see and feel and experience, there is no joy but the joy I find in the eyes of my children. My Elvis. My Henry. My sweet, beautiful, echoing angels. My mischievous, demanding, flirtatious boys.

I love my nephews, my nieces, my sister, my mother, my friends; but they are not enough to chase away my shadows. They cast a warm glow, but it lurks, just the same.

It is unfair to put such a heavy burden on my sons. I hope they never know how much I need them. I want them to look at me and see good things. I want to be good.

My life, in verse.

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My boys. My girls.

Smiles from strangers.

Making you laugh.

Odd bursts of affection: giving and receiving.

Secret compliments.


Knowledge. Knowing the answers to questions.

My career.

My mother, my sister, my nieces and nephews.

The light that shines in the eyes of children.


Green chile burritos.


A clean house; no matter how fleeting.



Writing for the demons and juggling for the angels.


Staying up all night – even when exhausted – to finish the book that absorbs me.

Escape to wonderland.

Another chance.

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