Wagon Girl

Hands in her pockets to hide the scars
her father carved in with swiss army knives-
the scissor ends. not the nail file or
sharpest edge.

The music in her head called poison
control when she drank herself a hole though
her stomach lining,
perfect timing to admit she
needs a change,
but don’t make that
agreement binding,
cause this wagon has no
guard rails.

“We may turn a corner, and wheels
rolling down the
ravine cannot hold my

Hood over the hair to mask the sprawling
disrepair her mother
left when
she planted one final
kiss on her daughter’s
cheek, said she’d be home
one week

And she thought eight days alone in the
company of her monster had
she had yet to meet the
dentures she’d have
to borrow when
he broke
her smile in the
bed she’d never
sleep in

Three years after Mom should have
walked in the
speaks in riddles on
sorrow’s shores.

She sits up the beach,
Scotch in her hand,
losing consciousness around 3 A.M.


13 thoughts on “Wagon Girl

  1. It’s always really hard to write about pain, especially pain that is so real and violent. Kudos for being able to do that. I hope everything is well, and wish you luck dealing with whatever is going on.


  2. I pressed the “Like” button on this but felt foolish for doing it. To say I “Like” a poem such as this feels as meaningless as saying, “That was a good movie, did you like it?” after viewing something you know will change the way you look at the world forever. Stupid.
    I don’t know what to say except I admire your courage, and that putting it on the page is the first step toward healing. The exploration, the endeavor to understand, the permission to feel your pain and scream it out to the world, and lastly knowing it is justice that you name the abusers even if responsibility is never taken by them… all of it is part of the journey. You can heal, enough-perhaps not completely, but enough. I encourage you to stay on the path. And lastly, I am deeply sorry for your pain. You didn’t deserve it.


    1. Yes, I hear what you are saying. It is like pushing the ‘like’ button on FB for a Missing Child Poster, or for some thing really negative. You don’t like it, you appreciate the information, the chance to pass on the information, or just that the information was offered to you, but you certainly don’t like it. I guess that is why we must make comments, to validate what it was we liked.


  3. This is fucking AMAZING. I really like the flow and the words but most importantly that image you painted in my head really sticks. The paint has dried and it’s there for life. :]


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