debris of the unsaid

TheFeatheredSleep – Debris in the wake of storm



the storm

predicted and prepared for


blew away the thatch of your house

sent water pouring like words with lament

and whilst

i was sickening

i thought I heard you row

across the expanse of us

holding your roof as umbrella

your feet bare and needy

opened my cabinet of questions

gave you a draft of why?

to which you descended beneath brackish waters

places submerged in lost question

claiming to surface

a moment where you spun in orange pekoe light

sitting stroking Gato before he

tested his claws on a tree the buyers tore down years hence

i climbed that tree in my high heels

you took a photo aping for the camera

and one fixing your sink in mini skirt

that’s my girl you said

we bathed because then you had a bath and I had heated arms to wrap you whole

the ocean of the…

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Peculiar Sing-song Whispers

Nicole Lyons – Crashing and hearing whisper of love.

Nicole Lyons

My world has come
crashing down again,
but from the foot
of my bed and far
beyond the gates
of my garden
I hear you, calling
to me, in peculiar
sing-song whispers
that keep me awake
and believing we could
walk away from this
disaster every time
we kiss, or carve
our names into the bark
and every knotted branch
we could have swung from.

© Nicole Lyons 2018

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The Unproductive, Malignant, Narcissist WATCH: Who FIRED Don McGahn, edition

Calico Jack on the firing of McGahn by the “Stable Genius”

The Psy of Life

This tweet is a perfect example of the frightening fragility of the narcissistic ego. It is not an example of the Ol’ Pussy Grabber trying to cover up his attempts to obstruct justice. This tweet is his weak attempt to do that:

It isn’t even an attempt to undermine the credibility of the media, even though it does contribute to that. The motivation for this tweet is his…

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part 8

Samantha Lucero’s dark tale continues.

samantha lucero

Her wedding veil was long, white gauze dragging on the night time ground in the woodlands maw, like a floating streak of light in the dark. The limbs of the thick trees dripped with the tapping sound of tiny rain, and leaves and earth clung to the ends of it.

They’d put up a tattered blue tarp over the shoulders of two deep south oaks with moss like a shawl and firefly lights strung between its teeth to twinkle over the handfasting. It was late but the couples’ eyes were bright and watery when the green ribbons bound them.

The crowd consisted of tattoos, velvet, bells, vintage jeans, grinning people and alert, quiet german shepherds, cotton ball pomeranians that wouldn’t stop yipping. It was a small crowd of carnival folk, but it was all who loved them.

The grooms mother embraced the bride, Miranda, gave her sweaty kiss on both…

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#tbt When I am Small

Christine Ray – Feeling Small, Needing

Brave & Reckless



half pain

half numb

compressed in on myself

until I am hard light

Cocooned in the strait jacket

I spun

Will you enfold me

in strong arms?

Draw me up

into your body’s warmth?

Remind me how to breathe?

Guide my muscles

my bones

back into the shape

of a woman?

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

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The “Four F’s” of C-PTSD

LuckyOtter reviews a book on C-PTSD that I wish I had had when I was in practice.

Lucky Otters Haven


I just began reading “Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving” by Pete Walker. I can already tell I won’t be able to put it down (I will write a book review when I’m finished, which shouldn’t take long). I’m also going to bring this book to my next therapy session because I want my therapist to see it.

Walker, who is a therapist and also a survivor of narcissistic abuse and sufferer of C-PTSD, is an engaging writer and definitely knows his subject matter. In one of the first chapters, he discusses the “Four F’s”–which are four different “styles” of coping that people with C-PTSD develop to cope with their abusive caregivers and avoid the abandonment depression. Whatever style one adopts may be based on several factors–natural temperament, the role in the family the child was given (scapegoat, golden child, “lost” or ignored child), birth order, and other factors.


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Kissing phantoms

TheFeatheredSleep – Still kissing one gone



I saved an eyelash of yours

grew it from seed in a


at first the greenhouse huffed and curdled

not used to cultivating such delicate wings

till I put you beneath my mattress

soggy with tears morning dew

you see, I had become

a cocoon again

needing no more than

one drop of rain on my

sewn together eyelids

scalded from rubbing

you see, I had thrifted

the parts of me that had

touched you the most

so I did not have to be reminded

why my hands stayed trembling

on countertops or reached

at night into marjoram dark

why my lips were chaffed and sore

from kissing phantoms

better then, to return to wax

bury the hatchet

and ones history

in somnolent earth

smelling of tea bags and bird feathers

ear wigs and lady bird nail polish

your smile

caught winking through amber sun

your convex toes


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Wild Hunt -Twittering Tale #99 – 28 August 2018

Jan Malique conjures the Wild Hunt

Strange Goings On In The Shed

horses-1759214_1280 Prompt photo by Conquero at

Kat Myrman’s photo for this Twittering Tale challenge is filled with atmosphere and intrigue. Where are the horses going? So, here’s my take on the Wild Hunt of legend:

The Wild Hunt begins,
The Signal is given,

Cernunnos emerges from shadows and moonlight,

Calls forth the Old Ones,
Those who are resplendent in glory and deep mystery.

Epona’s children race forth,
Their riders are hidden,

The horn is sounded,
The hounds are loosed,
The Horned One flies!

(277 characters)


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