May 5, 2026

What Life

By Steph

 

What life, that was his answer, then.

And I knew just what he meant.                                 

Neither of us had much to lose.

But we knew, both of us knew,                   

one of us would hurt before the end

and broken hearts are hard to mend.

 

Oh, how easy it is to ignore

things like facts, and fear,

and common sense, when                        

kisses are like lightning storms

and pulses pound with such demand.

 

I am the way I have always been.

Am I? The way I’ve always been?

Maybe, this is who I was, before,

just a daughter, a mother, a wife.

(Until I wasn’t anymore.)

                                 

Or maybe that girl-child-woman                              

 broke into so many pieces

that even she will never find all of them.

Maybe she’s long gone and

you’re looking at the shell of a woman

who so selfishly survived.

 

Or, okay, maybe I’ve been fucked up since the day I was born!

The ‘when’ hardly matters when you

suddenly, somehow, find yourself whole.

If you can acknowledge the fucking travesty of living.

If you can remember the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

 

“Self-care” can, by definition, only be selfish.

Self-absorbed bitch, he named me, and he was right.

Because not killing myself takes all that I have.

I know my worth; I am a burden if anything at all.

But I will keep going, even if I have to crawl.

 

If I live selfishly, care for myself,

with this never-ending “self-care”

then I don’t want to die. Every day.

I can exist, I can just be without

fighting myself for my self.

                   

I can just

be without.

 

Maybe you don’t know the hopelessness

of a hopeless life.

If I’ve accidentally, finally, for now,

found a way to want a life?

What line would I not cross?

What rules would I not toss aside?

For the smallest chance to abide

inside my own mind and not mind?

 

I am no one’s happiness, I am no one’s home,

not even my own.

Still, I know

that any kind of “us”

even an “us for now”

will be time well spent.

Leave a comment   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in poetry, stuff I made up, thoughts

April 24, 2026

Cottonmouth in the Dark

By Steph 
Translucent and paper-thin,
the current suit of skin whispers
across splinters--
bayonets of bone--
poised as if to pierce flesh. 

But these overgrown bones
crumble
under pressure 
and, bluff called, withdraw without drawing blood
leaving only bruises
like threats
blooming in black and blue.

When speaking clearly gets too hard, 
my words stumble,
hung up on the hills and valleys
of the scars that carve
deep fissures into my tongue.

The widening gaps between my teeth
pinch pink lips 
as if to say, "Bite your tongue" 
or "Make a long story short"
suggestions I've heard many times before.

I'm always sorry
before I'm done speaking; 
my apologies chase
the sentences I swallow 
back down my throat.

Heavy-lidded eyes ache, 
so dry they're going blind,
but my perspective changed with my vision--
maybe living in darkness,
I'll finally see?

As my voice and the light fade,
the surrounding silence grows
thick and weighty, like
the things I don't say
or the heavy words of men.

Leave a comment | posted in poetry, stuff I made up, thoughts

April 19, 2026

Names

By Steph 
Call me Shame.
Female: born to bear children, born to bear pain.

Stone me, burn me, imprison me with your name.

The world is yours, boy-a-mother-made.


Call me Shame.

Mother: bore man in birth, life, and death; nearly all her days.

Mother’s sons learn early where to lay their fists and where to place their blame.

“Whore” is only one of our names; heavy words for sons of mothers to say.











Call me SHAME.





Woman: bleeds to breed to bear to birth; a life lived in blood stains.





Sons of mothers born self-righteous, rapacious, knowing they’re owed all things.





Mothers, daughters, motherlands; all exist only to slake man’s thirst to claim.















Call me…Awake.





Call me cruel and mean and broken and insane.





Call me Fucking Bitch as you shoot me in the fucking face.





Call me Baby, ask me why I make you cause me pain.















For every time a woman bit her tongue to keep the peace,





For every time a woman suffered silently, and for every unheard scream,





For every time a woman carried the marks of some man’s rage,





For those reasons, and for 62 million more…





Yes. Oh, yes, we will name names.






			

	

	

		2 Comments		  |  tags: , , , , , , , , 						| posted in poetry, random bullshit, stuff I made up, writing					

	



							


	

		
			January 26, 2024		
	

	
90 Seconds, Still

	

		By Steph	

	

		

It just hit me that most of the people in charge of The Entire World and all the things we’ve created that could wipe out The Entire World and everyone and everything? 





Um, those people are at least as old as I am, so that means older than THE INTERNET. That means hot flashes AND having a period. THESE PEOPLE USED TO PADDLE US WITH WOODEN PADDLES, ANYTIME, ANYPLACE. They didn’t even have to be your parents! 





Omg, like, HELLO GENX, I know most of us just got out of prison (#warondrugs I mean fathers) but do you see who we’ve let run this shitshow? And now look. (Or don’t look. it’s depressing and we’ve all got shit mental health and 12 autoimmune diseases.) 





I don’t know the rest of the letters, but I need to know how close we are to starting over at letter A. TELL ME! Has the A GENERATION been prepping for this or what? 





WHILE I’M YELLING, THE X was a one-off that we EARNED, very disappointed in whoever did the Y, Z nonsense, but then again, it IS alphabetical, and I still don’t know the order so this message could be from the Ambien I forgot I took and the pot I smoked right before I had this epiphany.





*THIS POST MAY NOT BE TAKEN AS AN ADMISSION OF GUILT BY ANY PARTIES, LET ALONE GENX, FOR FS LEAVE US ALONE. A lot of us are still on probation from that time we caught 3 felonies for a fucking blunt roach and a one-hitter. 

			

	

	

		5 Comments		  |  tags: , , , , 						| posted in invisible illness, Just Being Awesome, random bullshit, stuff I made up, thoughts, total chaos, your health is your wealth and this is why I'm poor					

	



							


	

		
			December 13, 2023		
	

	
Full Moons are for Finding Yourself

	

		By Steph	

	

		








Again. 





And again.





Maybe the Universe knows we’ll always need reminding. 





Five years ago in August, I was in a really bad place. Sick. Alone. Getting a divorce. Either losing custody of my children or losing them to their own adult lives. All painful in different ways, but that’s not what I want to talk about today.





Today, I want to talk about beauty. How amazingly, awesomely, breathtakingly beautiful it is to be in love…with yourself. 





There is no doubt in my mind that I will journey through that dark, hideous place of pain and fear again. That’s the way humans, and this human in particular, are built. So, this isn’t me saying I’ve cured my depression or healed my trauma or that I’m not going to be sick anymore. 





This is me saying: I will survive it. Whatever it is that sends me to bed with heating pads or ice packs, with pillows soaking up my tears, I. Will. Get. Back. Up. 





This is me saying: It’s worth it. The pain, the hurt, the worry, the fear, the illness after illness after illness; it’s all worth it.   





This is me saying: I DESERVE MORE than survival. 





This is me saying: I don’t care what people think about me. What I care about is how people treat me.





This is me saying: I lost my health, my partner of 16 years, and my children all in a matter of months, and yet here I am. (Yes, y’all, I’m still me, the “motherfucker” at the end there is silent.) 







This is me saying: I’m stronger now than I have ever been. And as someone with depression, I was strong to begin with. You have to be when you spend your life fighting your mind for your life.







I’ve spent a lot of time alone in the last few years, and time alone is time to think. I need it like I need air. I notice so much more now that I can listen. I worry less now that I can feel without judgement. 





Our intuition has been shit on for so long, it’s almost like those of us with “feelings” trained ourselves not to notice them. Because when you say, “something doesn’t feel right” or, worse, “I’m getting a weird vibe” or even “what’s wrong” to someone who doesn’t want you to notice any of those things, what do they do? 





They tell you that you’re fucking crazy.





What happens when you ignore your feelings though? 





I spent a lot of my thinking time out in the woods. When I say “woods” I hope you’re picturing hundreds of acres in the Ozark Mountains, because that’s what I’m talking about. Where people can and do disappear. I figured out that if my gut said, “something isn’t right” that I should scoot my happy ass back to the house where I most likely won’t get eaten by a bear.   





Obviously (to me) these kinds of feelings are part of us for a reason. The older guy from town who was cute but who I always, always, always avoided? In prison for violent crimes against women. That look some people get when you accidentally make eye contact? That glimmer of meanness that makes your skin crawl? The feeling that you’re being lied to, or manipulated, or that something just isn’t right?  





Guys, we’re not all crazy. Some of us, okay. Me? Probably, but I LIKE IT. 





Actually, I LOVE IT. I’m 44 years old, and I fucking LOVE myself. I’m hilarious, often unintentionally which makes it even better. I’m brutally honest, but I never intend to hurt anyone with my words. I’m smart sometimes and some ways, but also hardheaded and can be incredibly stupid and so, SO naive. I’m frequently oblivious because I’m so caught up in living. LIVING, do you understand what I’m saying? What you are doing RIGHT NOW IS YOUR LIFE! 





The full moon was a while ago, but that’s when I lit some candles and watched the shadows of flowers dance on my ceiling and then danced with them. I’ve been thinking this post since then. I had come to a point where I felt like I was moving backwards. I’d been so at peace and then my peace shattered, and I felt like I would too. But I’m not made of glass, and neither are you. 





Life isn’t a straight line. People say that about grief, but I think it applies to life too. We’re always going to be picking up the pieces of ourselves, and we’re always going to be putting them back together in a better, stronger, more beautiful way.






			

	

	

		11 Comments		  |  tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , 						| posted in chronic illness, CPTSD, Depression, disability, invisible illness, joy, kids, love, Mental Illness, random bullshit, thoughts