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When my heart tells me to…

Three o’clock on a Thursday morning, typing ferociously after only two and a half hours of sleep, when I should be focused on work. Recording and re-recording on my dictation app while driving in rush hour traffic, cursing everyone else on their cell phones and driving maniacally. maya1

With tears blurring the pencil marks because it’s raining and it reminded me of home. Retelling of a place I question whether it’s a memory or something I made up so vividly it could be real.


I am a writer who writes when the mood strikes me and I don’t put down my tool until everything has poured out of me. I write either every day or every four months depending on when the characters command me to tell their story. I am the type of writer who bleeds onto the page, weaves tales as intricate as my veins, and paints the image in the watercolor of my tears. I am the type of writer who writes when my heart has something to say.

Crucifixes and Teddy Bears

My innocence lies between crucifixes and teddy bears.

Casualty of war between sexuality and faith.

Abandoned by a God I was raised to love.

Tormented by a love I was taught to hate.

It died holding my stuffed bear.

Amidst internal screams that tore me apart.

How could unconditional love have a sinner’s heart?

As if my own demons weren’t enough.

Teddy was the only one to show me love.

Never seemed to care.

What I was or wasn’t and held me tight,

Through countless cries that rang to the heavens

For a love we were taught would never leave us

Deceive us

Holding on to the only comfort little girls know 

In the darkness

“C’mere Teddy let me hug you.”

Still the battle rages


And enslaves us

Nightmares wake us to a new day

Branding our minds with labels that blame us

“Shameful”, “unclean”

But my teddy kept my  hope alive.

For countless martyrs nailed to the cross 

of someone else’s beliefs.

For little girls who imagine her Teddy to be a “she”.

I wear the labels that tear tender flesh.

Raped, dismissed, and left to be forgotten

But War cries still echo…
 Let us “Be!”

For every heartbeat…

For every pulse …

A reminder,

that innocence will rise from the ashes,

proud and unafraid.

Bearing our cross that screams

we have earned the love of the God who made us this way!

And one day, 

maybe I will come to love myself enough 

that I stop the “Hail Marys” 

Put my rosary away. 

Watch my daughter and her teddy bear play. 

And maybe then,

I will tell my beautiful wife about my stuffed teddy

and how it saved my life.


Kiss Me

Seductive Brunette
Seductive Brunette


Kiss me… here.

Kiss me… like

the girl you knew

on the playground,

following all the rules,

never crossing the line,

forever on time…

Sweet.  Innocent…

like Daddy used to say.

Used to…



Kiss me… here.

Kiss me like

I have a job

somewhere important.

Forced to hobnob

behind a desk.

Never rests…

hard worker.

I wish it were that way.

I wish…



Kiss me… here.

Kiss me like

the nerd in school,

aceing math tests,

memorizing science rules…

Asked to tutor or help cheat.

Happily labeled geek.


I remember those days.

I remember…



Kiss me… here.

Kiss me like

my ink doesn’t bother you.

Like it doesn’t redefine

who I am and who you knew.

It is a declaration,

not a petition for segregation.


that’s what I thought they’d say.

I thought…



Kiss me… here.

Kiss me like

you can’t see the speech at my side.

Forget the images on my arms and thighs.

They yell loudly, but so do I…

My body’s a canvas on which I write

screaming don’t judge, except by what’s inside!

I’m the same as I was back then.

Still seeking approval.

Called tramp instead of geek these days.





Kiss me… here.

Kiss me like

you remember when it was you and me…

like the person I am inside

and not the person you see.

Help me to make my statement to the world!

How many times can I say: I’m the same girl?!

I want the same rights as everyone else —

great job, treated nice…

I never knew tattoos on me would change them in any way




Just kiss me…. here.



Good Old Chair

Red Chair

I held your weight when you came home at night,

cushioning your aches in my velvet heat.

I bore the weight of your stolen dreams

while you laid your shoes at my feet.

I held all spilled tears of sorrow,

squeaked joy at each happiness,

endured every slice of ridicule,

in all weather, I withstood the test.

But I prepared for the inevitable,

though worn with age and time.

Built sturdy to last lifetimes,

I knew you’d leave me behind.

I prepared for this moment

with each move and rearrangement.

Your longer hours at work

mostly helped the estrangement.

I thought I worth was a little more,

not considered old, but antique.

Never believed some paper doll

meant more to you than me.

I believed for just a moment

that you would even dare,

to weigh the quiet moments.

Think me more than a chair.

You proved me wrong on moving day,

when baby girl stood crying at the door.

Everything packed, but you came back

to pick her paper dolly off the floor.

Doll By Bailey Powell


© Daydreamer


Submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, With Real Toads, The Mag, and Poets United.  Glad to know these great poets! Come see!


Lone Journey

Inspiration Lane on

We travel this world in constant search of ourselves.

Overturning leaves of personality mimicked from ancestry and childhood tales.

We seek the absolute.  Distinct and separate from others’ “learned” truths.

But there are no absolutes.

If there were, would there be individuality?  Or just supremacy?

But supremacy is just another word for hate and there is no absolute in Fate.

So we continue our journey.  A path with hidden twists, dead ends, and maddening heights and lows.

Trees speak of religion, wind whispers of sexuality, and I swear the animals each have a personality of their own.

Sometimes accompanied by family, but always alone.  New-found answers replace old ones on the shelf.

I still travel this world in constant search of myself.


© Day Dreamer

You can also find this post over at Open Link Night ~ 65 along with some other great poets!

Beauty Evolved


I Am Beautiful by Arto-Fao-Chao

Revolution in evolution

deemed us worthy.

Only the strong survive.

Revolution in attribution

deemed us curvy.

Beauty constantly redefined.

© Day Dreamer

Posted for dVerse Poets and Sunday Scribblings!


Autumn Brings

Pumpkin Season by Silkest on

Laughter and Thanksgiving

Homage to the dead

Touchdowns running

Free throws just ahead

Family and friends gather

in tradition and beliefs

Such inspiration

in the falling of leaves

© Day Dreamer

Linked at dVerse poets, where we are celebrating Autumn!