Painted Eggshells

Painted Eggshells

Painted Eggshells


filled with lies; my life unfolds

a shattering glance, my blood runs cold,

painted eggshells; breakable

crack and fall, with fractured skull

hospital beds, disinfect

the part of my life you don’t detect

one time a punch, one time a kick

lying on the floor, feeling sick

my body cries with muted pain

you took all of me, made me feel insane

although you’re gone, locked away,

I lie awake, waiting for the day

you seek me out, and make me sorry

it gets hard to breathe, I’m so full of worry

I heard you’re changed, you regret your deeds,

but that just doesn’t cut with me

the scars you left are deeply etched

and I don’t need to hear your regrets


Emotional Abuse




Your words drip with
hypodermic insults
inside my veins,
so small they




feeding self-loathing tendencies;
killing me

Your words bruise,
each blow knocking the
fight clean out of me,
each strike
battering my bones,
s t o m p i n g  on my
breaking me

Your words slash
razor sharp blades
splitting me open,
slicing through
my dignity,
fresh cuts scarring;

My words
fail me,
betraying me,
nothing left.

You win,
do what you will with me.


I wasn’t sure whether to share this poem because it is really personal. Like, so personal I can hardly even re-read it myself. But, you know what? I’m going to share it because it’s my story. It’s my tale to tell. I have nothing to be ashamed about. He is the one to blame. And maybe, in sharing my story, it might help others to know they are not alone and they are not to blame. Children are never to blame. So, here it is:




I remember the holiday
in the caravan
by the sea,
just him and me
and his friend
who smelled of cigarettes
and brandy;
just like he did.
Two old men
causing terror
as I lay awake
w a i t  i   n    g
for their game—
their assault
which they said
I deserved.
I had learned to
at home
night after night, as
he took his pleasure
from my immature body
and all I could do was
s u r v i v e
make it through
and pray I could die
in the night.
But I didn’t,
in the end it was he
who never woke up,
and I was destroyed


Courage Tableau

My prompt for today is to write a tableau poem. I’d never heard of this form before, so it certainly presented a challenge. However, when I read the rules and thought about it, it kind of wrote itself. I’m not sure it’s a strictly traditional tableau, but I don’t mind. It feels like an important poem, for me.



Courage Tableau

Beaten down from hate,

the weight of judgement

hunches her shoulders;

lowered head and eyes . . .

Ball of fire inside

screams the words, “Me too!”


If you’re interested, this is the criteria I found for writing a tableau: “The Tableau, a poetry form created by Emily Romano in October of 2008, consists of one or more verses, each having six lines. Each line should have five beats. There is no set rhyme scheme, although rhyme may be present. The title should contain the word tableau.

Since the dictionary states the word tableau means picture or representation, the poem should reflect this. A picture should come to mind as the poem is read.”

This Time


This is a poem I wrote last year, but I haven’t been brave enough to share it.  My prompt was to write a poem that contains the words: time, wasteland, shelter, deceit, unforgiving, and Sandman. It’s one of those poems that, the moment I read the prompt, the poem kind of wrote itself in my head. Anyway, here it is:


This Time

It appears you don’t know
this time there’s no going back.
So many years spent
trudging through the
wasteland of our
you knocking the life out of
anything that stood in your path
which somehow—every time—was
Disconnected memories
f l o a t
around the surface of my mind;
bobbing, going under, resurfacing,
always in turmoil,
and this is the life I’ve known with you.
It hasn’t always been this way,
there was a time when you were my
with the storms that crashed my rocks
not so easy to withstand,
but you were there,
with your sandbags full of love, and your
joy for life that
made me believe you were my hero . . .
but you weren’t,
instead, you were a new
using your knowledge of all my
to your advantage,
and your deceit
sent me flying across the room.
It’s funny how
a fist in the face
can be, and
no matter how
you were the next day,
my respite never lasted for long.

Something inside me has shifted this time,
our tectonic plates too smashed
to stick back together with superglue,
so I won’t even try,
I no longer think we’re worth
fighting for
I have to give you up,
like a drug that’s slowly killing me,
and when I sleep tonight,
it may be fitful at first,
but the Sandman will come and
sprinkle his magic over me;
healing my body and mind,
and my dreams will have hope—
not fear—
and for the first time
in my life,
I will not be afraid.

Once Upon A Time

Domestic Abuse logo


Once Upon A Time

Mornings always roll around,
and the stillness in the air
creates a facade of togetherness,
like we’re two normal people,
and you’re not some kind of monster
who roars nightly, and
my wilderness.
I’ll never understand your chaotic mind,
the savagery of your assault,
both physically and mentally,
leaves me aching for the calm that always follows;
the rough winds of your mind
bluster your otherwise motionless soul,
and you rail against me because I am
closest to you: your true love, so you say.

Once upon a time,
when I believed in fairytales,
you were my prince, and my world was love,
but your dark clouds oppressed me
all too soon, and
I couldn’t breathe because your air stifled me,
and the first time you battered me,
raining down your skewed
sense of love and punishment,
I knew one of us would drown.

The tides rise so high,
each time covering more of my
rainbow-coloured body,
leaving fresh water marks
that only we can see.

The hurricane arrived last night—
the one I’d been dreading for seven long years—
it tore through the town of me,
ravaging my landscape.
I only just managed to stay afloat,
and the rescuers almost came too late,
but now it’s over—
except, it isn’t, not really
I know you’re a storm I will need to
weather once again,
but for now all is quiet,
and the crisp air cools my
broken bones.