Speak- Matt Eayre/Uneven Streets Studio

Deeply touching piece about the often invisible survivors of sexual assault and abuse.

Blood Into Ink

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Blood Into Ink is honored to publish this deeply touching piece from Matt Eayre

 

They talked about what was lost, what had been taken away

They cried about broken trust and they poured out their rage

I sat in the circle wanting to fix them, not speaking

They took turns revealing wounds and scars and falling to pieces

They saw each other as safety, recognition of shared experience

I cried quietly and wanted to undo their past

They looked at me and asked the question

I couldn’t speak

I couldn’t share

I hadn’t lost anything

I could still see the untouched, innocent, pure picture of me, in my head

I couldn’t reach him, but he wasn’t dead

So I didn’t tell them I understood, because I didn’t

I didn’t spill my hurts, my pains, my betrayals,

I was scared that they could tell the difference

If I showed my…

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The Light Dressed in Chainmail-Kindra M. Austin/Blood Into Ink

Kindra M. Austin

Blood Into Ink

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In the middle of the night, shadows breathe;

bury your face—bite your pillow when you scream.

Don’t wake the house with your nonsense.

Terrors wear an addict’s face, and smile with her teeth;

ten thousand demons seeded in your soul.

Don’t wake the house with your nonsense.

She was never your mother; and you are not her.

You are the light dressed in chainmail—

the greatest warrior I’ve ever known.

This poem was inspired by my aunt. Aunt Denise’s birth mother had tried to abort her with a coat hanger in 1959, and after her birth, she was adopted by her aunt and uncle, whom I’ve always known as Grandma and Grandpa Carter. My beautiful, fierce aunt lived her life plagued with hatred for the woman who didn’t want her. I hope Aunt Denise is peaceful now. I miss her like mad…

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Magical Thinking

My latest piece on Blood Into Ink

Blood Into Ink

black-and-white-1282260_960_720I hide myself behind the hanging coats

praying to a god I already no longer believe in

to turn me chameleon

like the ones I read about

in fourth school

plead with the universe

make my pale skin and dark hair

blend in with the parkas

make my left arm plaid

my cheek blue polka dots

to please make the piled winter boots and sneakers

provide camouflage for corduroyed legs

stockinged feet

cold and wet from melting snow

Please, I beg whatever powers might listen

let his eyes pass over me unseen

let me be invisible to those unblinking eyes

that made me feel so dirty

so repulsive

so naked

just this once

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

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Blinded by the Light

Blood Into Ink

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night turned Armageddon

on a guitar pick

flashes easily mistaken for fireworks

eclipsed neon lights

further fall of civilization

documented on iPhones

played by ravenous media

on endless loops

until eyes fill with tears

bile burns the back of our throats

anxiety twists our guts

no match

for terror

agony

that drowned out

country melodies

as incomprehensible projectile hate

tore lives apart

into before

and

after

fill my closets

with mourning black

my heart is heavy with certainty

that we will live

to sing this bitter song

of grief

of impotent outrage

again

and

again

to tone deaf ears

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

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