A Real Reckoning

Your blood might be thicker
(and filthier) than most minds
can imagine, but…
my will is a thing of magic.

You can bite into me, rip
my heart, taste my rage, believe
you’ve made me yours, but…
no one can own a wild soul
who knows her Self inside and out.

I will rest awhile, think
of blood and magic, then…
your flesh and bones will feel
a real reckoning.


a wee note…
– June Mac Hill, mistress of A Lot Less Ordinary, told me that her blood-clad fairy could use some “awesome words.” I went ahead and wrote her some—because everyone should have awesome words. I’ve tweaked the original version a bit (since *cough* it needed it [say that 13 times fast]).


Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.


Energy Gifts

I make trinkets out of my horrors.

Remember that railroad spike? No, love, not the one impaling society-spawn shame to rotting tongues I want nothing from—that one can’t be removed without reviving dead brains or touching hearts that lie… lie as elusive as the common-sense continuum. I’m talking about the rusty one, the one clad in bloody screams from trembling young lips (my trembling lips). Yes, love, the spike that tried to break my teeth, the one that scared me (once), I turned it into a bouquet of nightmares that sits charmingly outside time, guarded by sentinels crafted out of all your energy gifts.

I shall never run
out of shields, my wicked love,
not if I have you



the (not so) wee notes…
– some people have justifiable (even cool) phobias. Then, there is me: I have a mostly irrational fear of rust. So, when a friend (who has seen what rust can do to me) said, “What is a jar of giant rusty nails doing by your bed?” I told her the truth: “They are doing absolutely nothing. They probably want to, but they can’t. See that lovingly grinning skull? It was a gift from my boy. The stones, crystals, marbles? Gifts from different friends. All of them guardians. Rust can’t touch me.” The latest boost to my shield is a spoon made of horn bone. Yep, now one of my sentinels can also make sure that I never run out of spoons. Thank you so much, Kerry.

Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.