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An old woman survivor: my story

I reached far back under the bed and pulled the orange out into the light of the small bedroom. The mold had grown since...

Sporco

You stood there, surrounded.             Sporco.  Sporco.  Sporco. They towered above you. You (a five-year-old child) stood there, surrounded.             Sporco. Sporco.  Sporco. They (adults) towered above you, laughing. You...

Essays in search of identity after cult, abuse

Part memoir, part essay collection, Leaving Isn’t the Hardest Thing is a fearless book.

Their kind of pretty

Beautiful? Yes, I know I am. Though, it took me years to take such compliments gracefully. Not because I don’t see my own beauty; my own worth. I...

Ghost stories

There's this trick to surviving trauma. You become a ghost. If you leave your body long enough, you can't feel anything. There's no exact...

horses

remember telling me about the horses the wild horses? I didn’t believe wild horses still roamed Georgia but you assured me showed me photographs of the horses in your...

Miasma

drowning I am in your bed my mind is underwater I am almost sleeping you are bathing me with your tongue rendering me all the senses gently shriveling when you hover I do not feel...

Dream mother

I had a dream that you were proud of me. You walked next to me and smiled and squeezed my hand, and that’s how I knew it...

Dish towels

The first lesson you taught me was how to fold the dish towels: First in half then one more half, and if I mess it up again, you’ll...

Rage triptych 

(Because three is, geometrically speaking, the most stable structure.) 1. An acquaintance once told me — at a Fourth of July parade, no less — that...

Recommended Reading

The acknowledgement

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I’m trying to be gentle with myself, but what if I never believe my body when it tells me what happened?

Have the time of your life!*

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*Common side effects may include but are not limited to: harassment, stalking, getting drugged, passing out in...

To the fathers who do not abuse their daughters

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On my street I am witness to the young men who carry the pink-flowered backpacks of little girls, who...