Flamethrower Heart



I, girl-child


Mother fix me

In your image

Go for the kill

Words are systematic


Reassure you

Own my image

Go for the kill

I will be good

Words are systematic


Glitch in the program

I am fifteen, black as rage


Words are systematic

You lacked my level

And I grew tired

You reeled me back in

Words are systematic


I am good wife



Learned behavior

Thanks to you, Mom

Words are systematic

Fuck when he wants

Eat when he wants

Sleep when he wants

Cry when he wants

Run when he wants

Words are systematic


Daughter, just a babe

Speaks to me the loving truth

And I break my bonds

I break the circle

I break free

See my flamethrower heart

I am mother lioness

I am real LOVE

I am individual

I am woman

I am truth

See my flamethrower heart


*artwork titled “Steam Girl,” by Jeff Wall

You’re a Bitch, and I love You

All my life, mother,

I’ve loved you above myself

even when you’ve loved yourself

more than you’ve loved me in return.

I now know you’ve hated yourself

for making me abandon myself

in hopes you’d love me in return.

You’re sick, my mother;

you’re aware.

But I am strong, and you are proud.

You don’t have to change

because I am


I erase your guilt

because I am strong,

and I can handle you.

Self-hatred comes only in

tolerable intervals.

Tolerable for yourself;

when I’m teaching you lesson

I’m fucking hating myself

because I know I’m making you

fucking miserable, reminding you that you’re

a shit mother–and it’s not even your fault.

Do you know the rage in my heart

kept hot for your mother and father?

How is it that you can forgive them–

have a relationship with these two fucks,

but I cannot stand to even think their names?

I am your offspring, and I love you better than a mother.

I have taken care of you, chased off men better than a father.

I am your daughter, and sometimes I don’t want to be.

But really, who the fuck would I be without you?

I’m grateful for my life with you because

you taught me how to live.


Guest Submission: Summer Solstice

This is my guest submission to The Ink Owl. Please check out his blog–there you will find some very fine writing.

The Ink Owl

Morning had broken. Praying lady lifted her head, and a heavy sigh escaped her lungs; the sound lingered, flirting lightly with currents of air. Atop the tower, she stood alone, olive eyes aimed at the horizon; orange and pink painted the sky, painted her face. Distant birds gathered and soared into fine light, disappearing in luminescence; hand to gentle brow, Keeper of Tower Truth followed the melodious flock into chirruping memory.

Gaze shifted, she marveled at the grandeur of the earth; languid streams marked the land, their faint ripples catching beams of dawn’s radiance; wild blooms of red and blue mingled with  blades of green that blanketed the soil; honeysuckle bountiful produced tubular heads nectar rich; oaks raised robust branches outspread in praise of the sun. Morning had broken; newborn summer colored the kingdom vibrant.


Train of virginal gown trailed lazy; barefoot Keeper tiptoed through the topiary courtyard on…

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Blood Into Ink

steven arnston

Curs-ed, I sang song

spells; wasn’t I beautiful?

Men left in my wake

stunned by my cunting cocaine

lips, pink aphrodisiac.

Did I look pretty

with your spastic heart in hand?

I sang you song spells–

anesthesia to numb pain.

Babe, you bled with mighty grace.

Curs-ed, I sang song

spells; you were so beautiful;

will stronger than mine.

I bled with shame under fists,

and between your canine teeth.

Did I look pretty

in the corner shadow dark?

You sang me song spells–

anesthesia to numb pain;

wings shorn, and larynx muted.

Curs-ed, I sang naught.

Retribution accepted;

a spirit broken,

siren bled with much disgrace.

Would penitence ever end?


Did I look pretty

when I tied your hands in knots?

I spat your venom

back in your face–freed my voice,

and grew new wings, pure dove white.

*art: Steven Arntson

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Warrior Women Anthem: Aurora Phoenix & Kindra M. Austin

Thank you, Aurora Phoenix. You are a stunning writer, a fierce warrior, and gorgeous spirit. ❤

warrior woman face up

Yes, I know my place—

and it’s not in the shadows of darkened corners,

slumped over and bleeding, weeping.

It’s not in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant or otherwise.

It’s not in the hospital having bones reset, or split lips stitched.

Yes, I know my place—

push me down, drag me out,

and I will get up on my two feet

because my place is to stand among my Warrior Sisters.


I have been out of place

cowering, confused by calamities

conforming, if only for moments

to lessened expectations

I have been out of place

biting my lip

silencing biting retorts

eviscerating commentary

on the lot I was caste

I have been out of place

head shamefully bowed

hiding my brilliant plumage

muffling scintillating wit

lest I overstep, overshadow

narrowly defined confines


Shed used skin—toss it away

and open eyes, newborn light.

Hold on heart, the time is now—

cast aside those ropes,

take up your banner.

Riot for your life.


it has been said

I am out of line

dare I speak too loudly

of my truths

my place is colored riotous rainbows

outside your compliant lines

it has been said

I am out of line

dare I dance with abandon

in the face of obsolescence

my place is scented midnight jasmine

in the garden where my good

overgrows obsequious evils