the midnight crawl,
soul tired, to the point of breaking;
worn thin by clawing fingernails and
gnashing teeth.

3 years of possession, loss of identity.
My body is no longer my body,
my skin stretched to unrecognizable lengths.

2 am, the ghosts in the corner are quiet,
but the screaming won’t falter.
mind on the brink of madness,
moonlight shining from beyond the veil.

raw, red wounds; old and new.
hair freshly matted, eyes pulsating to
stay awake. coffee can’t solve this
puzzle of exhaustion.

bloody fingertips, i am holding the needle.
but the tapestry has escaped my control;
there are no shears of destiny to cut
away the fate you forge for yourself.
you are the blood of your blood.

bliss, a moment of peace, before the
ceases halt
to wear again.





the monster is only that which you created.



I look at you,
and sometimes the darkness is so overwhelming that I forget:

I forget the way you smile with your whole face. 
I forget your toothy grin when I roar and blow raspberries on that sweet tummy.
I forget your chunky thighs, tiny fingers and toes, and natural curiosity.
I forget your bright blue innocent eyes.
I forget that to you, I am the whole world.
I forget that I chose you, that I wanted you, that you are as perfect as a human can be.

Because all I see is the way I fail you.
All I feel is your pain, and my inability to heal you.
All I hear is your anguish.

Sometimes I look at you, and I am so deep in my own darkness
that I cannot see your light.

Dear baby,

I’m doing my best,

please be gentle with me.

Love, Mumma.

Postpartum blue is estimated to affect 80% of women. Postpartum depression is estimated to affect 10% of women.

I don’t like talking about it. I don’t like thinking about it. This is my truth right now.


my magic is quieter now–
gone are the times of wildly tangled sheets;
mornings filled with whispers of sticky skin
and bursting with an overwhelming recklessness.

my magic instead resides in sleepy awakenings,
tiny hands and toes prodding me into reality,
and a warmth spreading from the nose pressed to my hair.

my magic sparks with gentle kisses,
and precious giggles.

I am filled to the brim
with it every time I hear his words:
you’re beautiful, and I love you.
before he slips back to a half-concious state,
his hand a comforting pressure against my hip.

my magic still aches through my creaky bones,
but it is no longer from drunken 2am adventures,
hasty hands fumbling to own my body;
it’s from a natural agelessness, a wisdom of the world.

I overflow with life, my skin left with the scars of
the overwhelming responsibility of what it means
to be a mother; I overflow with love.