A Shard of Glass In My Urethra

Samara writes on her relationship with her body and the world’s BS.

A Buick in the Land of Lexus

In some ways, it’s harder to hate your body when you’re thin than when you’re overweight.

Besides your own body negative narrative, you invite hate from others who think you are being an indulgent first world bitch.

I have always loved food. The taste of it; the experience of it; preparing it as an act of love. Sharing it with friends; digging into a holiday meal with family.

It’s sensuous and sublime and one of the great experiences in life.

Unfortunately, I was also an emotional eater as far back as childhood. Food was a replacement for love and attention.

I was a super skinny kid, before it was chic to be skinny. I had a big butt and a flat chest and  I hated my lopsided, pear-shaped body. I cried shopping for jeans that fit. If they fit around my waist, I couldn’t pull them up over my ass.


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Rachel Said I Had To Write This

Devon has some things to say to those who sold her their lies about Hell.

Devon J Hall

So today I had a complete and total breakdown. Crying, and praying, asking God why I was going to hell, Why was I being punished.

Someone asked me the other day how I feel about Father Alex Bouchard being dead, and when I really think about it, I responded with, I’m angry as hell.

I can say that I am a Spiritualist and no longer a Catholic, but the truth is that the thoughts and prayers of that nine-year-old little girl are still there, inside my head.

I am starting to remember more and more about that year, about the things Father Alex said and did, about the way he spoke to me, especially after he knew I’d been abused.

It’s okay, I am not going to die because I had one break down in two or three years. I am okay, it’s not easy – Rachel says I’m not…

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A beautiful poem from Hasty



I see my future

Inside your eyes

A predictable universe spinning

Prying, preaching, reaching

Narrow vision tunneling towards

The very center of my core

Pulling me from this black hole

Into a world full of sparkling stars

Inking hopeful fantasies

Into detailed maps

Where destinations

Are drawn and colored

My new reality

Reflecting back at me

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Hasty is right, shit does happen.



My phone kept chirping.

I didn’t want to look at it so I  left the phone on my nightstand and left the bedroom.  The rest of the house was dark so I flipped light switches on as I walked barefoot over hardwood floors that creaked with each step.

I hate it when these melancholy moods hit.  I focus on my existence. The lights came on because of me.  The floor is creaking because of me.  I am still here.  And not everybody wants to cause me harm.

Why did life have to be so complicated?  Why did I have to second guess everything every waking second?  Always picking apart intentions, motives, body language, and words.  Constantly fighting my first instinct to hurl accusations at every person I know as if I already know the most obscene lie would be the truth?

Because bad things happen that’s why.

I shook my head.  I hated that his voice was still in my head.  He used to have a face…

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Devon has a new project, a Twitter chat – check it out.

Devon J Hall

So you may have noticed, that I’ve not really been posting much. I’m not sick, I promise. In reality, I’ve been focused on not one but two different books, one for free and one I hope to have published.

The first is called “The Spiritualist’s Guide to the Universe” and the second is “My Life of Syn and Denial”.

It’s the second one that is getting me down, and stressing me out, it’s hard because I’m writing about my life, and the more I write the more I am recovering memories I had long ago filed away – and they aren’t pretty rainbow shitting unicorn memories either.

They are sad and painful, and it’s been a really emotional couple of weeks for me.

My friend Rachel recently started a #WhySurvivorsDontReport hashtag and I have to tell you, it surprised me to realize that I am still really fucking angry at…

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Ghost – Poem

Veronike brings a poem.

Thoughts Of A Sunrise

Ghost, I see you standing there,

Don’t turn away, I want you to stay,

Ghost, what’s your name?

Why so surprised? I’m interested…

You’re just a soul that blends into the crowd,

I hear you so loud no one else hears a sound,

You reach out your hand no one else feels a thing,

And I’m just a stranger who could be a friend…

You could have been so great,

I won’t let you slip away,

Is there any hope for us left,

Even a Ghost needs a friend…

You could have been someone,

But you let them into your head,

I want you to know this instead,

That I see the light in your chest…

Ghost, Where you from?

I can take you away, so far away,

Ghost, I’ll make sure they all see,

The kind of man, that you can be…

Open your lungs & inhale my words,

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Where Life Has Taken Me

Veronike writes – Yes, parts are very real and raw, including about feeling suicidal, but also going on and forward to inspiration.

Thoughts Of A Sunrise

I’ve written, but not published, three posts in the last three weeks thinking, “No, this is too intense. I can’t post this.” And, “This isn’t especially helpful or motivational.” So I didn’t publish them. But sitting here I was thinking, I can only write from my heart and my heart might not always be in the most helpful of places or harmonic of places, but it will always be in the most real and raw of places which serves some purpose too. So this post is exactly that.

The last three weeks have been tough. Being admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a depressive relapse lead up to many things. Firstly, about 2 days post admission my boyfriend left me as he felt he wasn’t ’emotionally ready’ for it. I had no reason to be surprised. Most people say they are always there for you regardless of anything. That they…

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No I do not need compassion – I need A reason to keep fighting

Devon says she does not need compassion, but an army. She is a strong voice.

Devon J Hall

Screenshot_15My friend and inspiration Rachel Thompson posted this today and it matters. It is hugely important to note that the troll and abuse she is referring to is someone who accused Rachel of seeking attention when she created the “#WhySurvivorsDontReport” hashtag on Twitter.

Now you all know I love Rachel, I worship at the feet of the pedestal I have put her on, but as I said on Twitter, and as I reiterate here, I do not need compassion.

I don’t need nor do I want, people looking at me with pity or empathy. I don’t need nor want people telling me they are sorry when I share my story. Why are you sorry? Did you rape me? Did you give my ex-boyfriend the drugs that made him decide to kill his unborn child and believe it was a good idea? No. It’s not your fault, you did nothing wrong…

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Alfa spins an image of struggle.



Pic: from Pinterest 

She has moments where she looks up,

and is taken aback at the heavy sky

as it meets blowing trees with outstretched limbs.

And she tries to decipher a defining line

-the place where they connect and lock-in so flawlessly…

and she feels as though she belongs somewhere in the middle

of their natural and accepting love.

Her spirit screams to leap,

and discard the darkness

that is encased in the unforgiving earth

she wrestles in.


My debut poetry book Abandoned Breaths is available on all online booksellers and on Amazon in paperback and Kindle Unlimited.

Abandoned Breaths


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For The Very First Time

On OTV, Meghan Sara writes of first times.

Open Thought Vortex

I know why people make such a big deal out of the first time. It’s the only thing you can never do over.

Like — your favorite food never tastes as good as the first time you had it! And, that joke is never going to be funnier than the first time you told it. True story.

Take, for example, my sexual debut. You might even call it, when I lost my virginity!

Afterwards, we walked to the “Gourmet” Deli on 7th Avenue between 26th & 27th and I had my very first real New York half-and-half cookie. The kind that’s as big as your face, and comes wrapped in Saran wrap. I can remember the squish of that tangy, yellow sponge cookie as I pressed it against the roof of my mouth with my tongue. No cookie has ever tasted quite the same. I remember feeling different, afterwards. “Nothing…

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