Today is the day, today is my Anniversary! Or should I call it my blogaversary! Yes, yes, it was two years ago today I posted my first post on WordPress. I have grown so much since then as a person and a writer. It has given me a certain freedom I never knew was possible. Being able to write what I want, say exactly how I feel, with no judgment only support. I,  like so many others, needed that in my life so thank you blog family. As I sit here listening to Theory of a Deadman’s SACRIFICE, one of the inspirations for my blog name, and my theme song. It got me thinking about Sacrifice and all the things people sacrifice for others. Like today Memorial Day the day, we celebrate all the good men and women in the military that have sacrificed the ultimate sacrifice their lives, dedicated to making our lives one filled with peace, and the blanket of freedom so many of us take for granted as we lay our heads down at night on our comfortable pillows. While they are holed up somewhere, not so comfortable.

It got me thinking about our liberties, the rights we were given when our forefathers wrote the constitution especially the freedom of speech, and the freedom to write said speeches. The rights that our military still fight for today.  Our history is filled with great men and women that exercised their liberty to speak their minds and had the guts to share them with the world. Such greats as Martin Luther King, Maya Angelou, Charlotte Bronte, Abraham Lincoln, and one Mr. John F. Kenedy.  It makes me feel grateful to be an American woman with the freedom to write and speak as I see, please. When just a few short years before women were only seen and not heard. It gives me a sense of purpose in a world of uncertainty. It is a great time to be an American.

However, times they are a changing. After watching this year’s election, and seeing so many people on facebook and twitter tweeting about everything. I realized that our world, nay my country is filled with censorship. You can’t say this, you can’t say that someone might get offended. Which, the more I think about it pisses me off. Is this the government’s way of working around the Constitution? A loophole if you will. Something our country was built on or has America gone soft. Do they not realize that it is our inalienable right to speak our minds, to write as the greats once did. So what if I piss someone off with my words. In my experience, if I have pissed you off with my words I have struck some kind of cord of truth. Why is it okay for someone to get offended by what I write, but it is not okay for me to be upset they are trying to take my rights away? Doesn’t seem fair, does it? After all only sticks and stones can really break me?

It amazes me that there is so much censored now that we have to walk through the landmine of our words. It frustrates me to no end that instead of taking a leap from where all the greats began leading us in the past we seemed to have gone backward. Before you know it women will be back to not having the same rights we all fought for, for so long. Yet, today, today is not that day. Today is the day we celebrate those that have fought for our, my right to speak my mind and use my words. “The pen is mightier than the sword” for now, and so I pick up my sword and fight. I fight for my right to speak my mind to write about injustice and celebrate my right to offend whomever I chose, simply because I can…




As I sit here in the waning twilight in my favorite spot in the yard. I feel empty, void even. I have just come back from my 3rd Sunday night open mike poetry night and I feel nothing which is disconcerting because I usually feel a sense of peace and the words seem to flow like lava after leaving there but tonight, tonight I feel nothing. Oh, wait no I do, I feel exhausted! I am so tired, of caring about well, everything. I am listening to Kaleo’s Way Down We Go and I don’t know if it is the music or the events of this week but I am so flipping tired.

I am tired of no one taking me seriously, I am tired of being the butt of everyone’s jokes, I am tired of being that person. You know the one, that person that for some reason all their life is never actually seen for who and what they are. I have realized after this week that I again, am someone that is expendable to those I cherish most. After nineteen years of being with my husband, the reality is it doesn’t matter to his family.

I am the wife that cleaved to her husband that put all others aside and threw myself into this family. Mostly because my family is crap. I thought hey, I can make them my family and so I have. Every now and then I am reminded that I am still the outsider, and it hurts, but at the same time, I am angry. Angry that my past came back with a vengeance, angry that the people I have come to know and love as a family have yet again shredded my heart without a thought as to my feelings.

It came to me yesterday when I received a half ass apology from one of these family members about things that were said and to keep the peace I just let it go, again! It also came to me that no one really knows me. Why is that? I have spent years trying to outrun the demons of a past that continue to circle the wagons like buzzards, and yet no matter what I do what I say. Other people have formed and opinion of me that tastes like acid on my tongue. No one ever says, “OMG! I am so sorry this happened to you” or ” How do you feel!” All I hear is “get over it” or the more biblical terms “turn the other cheek”. I have turned the other cheek so long I am running out of cheeks, here. Is it that I have been hurt and put down for so long that I am just used to letting things go or is there something wrong with me.

I internalize all the painful words and the hateful comments so much it is eating away at me. Then one day it is just KABOOM!  Shrapnel everywhere! I am forty, forty and today I feel like that scared little girl I used to be huddling in the darkened corner of her room praying no one finds me. I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to say For Fuck’s sake just SEE ME! See the person I am not the one you think I am. Why can’t they see me for, me? It is exhausting being the complacent one.

Earlier this week I got to say the things I needed to say to a certain someone that has been building up in me for over twenty-one years. A lifetime, and even though it brought me temporary peace it brought all the painful reminders with it. Instead of a shoulder to cry on I also got horrible things said to my face from people that claim they love me, people that claim to be my family. I act tough most of the time, and yes, I am built of pretty sturdy stuff but I ask you when do the hits stop coming? When is it my time to scream, cry, and shout?

On the few occasions, I have lost it. I was told I needed medication. Really? Is it too much to ask for a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to. Anyone? As I sit here now in the near dark,  there is nothing I am sad in my soul and I can’t even shed a tear for the loss I feel. The loss of trust, the loss of a family I thought I had. It is enough to make my heart hurt. Why do I continuously surround myself with such selfishness, so absorbed in their own stuff they can’t even see I am falling apart inside? I am tired of placating everyone else. I am tired of pretending everything is fine when it is not. I am tired of constantly making others feel better about their wrong doings all the while I am dying inside. I am tired of being alone and adrift on my island of nothingness. Floating toward an abyss I can never reach the end of. I am just tired. Anyone have any suggestions?


It has occurred to me what with the horrific week I have had that things are not always as they seem. I just spent a blissful couple of hours with my best friend we watched THE  CRAFT, and as much as I loved this movie it got me thinking of what  Sarah says at the end of the movie “Relax it’s only magic.” Meaning it is a trick of the mind that is played on you and despite your fears, most of it is in your head. I have concocted some weird theory’s in the last week as to why a certain someone would even contact me after twenty-one years. Some old feelings even came up and whether they were good or bad I realized it doesn’t matter.

It was all an illusion, black magic if you will of a time long dead and that I want no part of. I have been through the emotional ringer this week and for what? So that I could dwell on a past that no longer exists? Sure I went through some hard times, but I now know, no amount of I’m sorry’s will ever be enough! No matter what this individual says to me I no longer care! I was asked, by this person, “Do you regret?” I can honestly say… no! Even though I have a past filled with heartache, and pain I regret nothing because it got me to where I am right here in this moment. It may be a trick of the brain or some sort of practical magic, but I have grown more as a person, nay a human being in the past week than I have in years. I learned to let the past go and concentrate on the here and now. Although was a much-needed break from reality, I know when the morning comes and the sun rises I am a changed person.

I can feel for the first time in many years, a feeling of peace I thought would never happen. As I gaze out the window into the darkness I am no longer afraid of the magic it holds, as I feel the breeze wafting gently over my skin I know that I am whole I am no longer at war with myself. That may be the magic of it all, the illusion I cling to in the dark but it is one I hope to hold on to for a very long time.


The dewdrops fall like midnight rain,

As I step deeper into the woods with nothing but a flimsy nightgown to protect me from the elements.

The fog rolls in thickening to a soupy consistency,

I realize I have had this dream before, or rather a nightmare.

As I throw caution to the wind and all but disappear in the foggy mist guided only by the pale moonlight.

I for the first time in my life,  am not afraid.

There are no demons from a past long forgotten surrounding me.

There is only peace and my soul rejoices that for once it is just me standing in the nightmare of what once was. Enjoying a late night stroll as it should be.

I am alone with my thoughts, that once upon a time were so chaotic, I knew one day they would drive me mad.

Sticks and stones penetrate my fragile feet,  as I walk barefoot through the forest yet I don’t feel a thing.

My soul has been released and I become lighter than air the darkness can no longer touch me. I am filled with my very own light.

I exude its blinding brightness and once again I rejoice in the knowledge that I am free.

Free of my worst nightmares. I faced them head on and they didn’t break me. They strengthened me. I gobbled them up in the darkness of what once was my soul.

I could feel them weakening as I grew stronger. Now, I am unstoppable, here in the dark, I can finally see the light.

My light, and it is beautiful.






As most of you know I am writing a book about one of the most difficult times in my life. It began as a blog but as time wore on I felt there was a need for this story for others out there like me. It is called MEMOIRS OF A BIRTH MOTHER! It is chock full of drama, abuse, and even a near rape on one occasion. I was nearing the end of this book when today Mother’s Day of all days I got “goosed” as they call it. A blast from the past found me on facebook and tilted my lovely, wonderful, MOTHER’S DAY on its axis. So apparently the saga that is my life is not over. That final chapter has not yet, been written as I thought it was. The drama of a past I left in the dust nearly twenty -one years ago surfaced like a bloated body floating to the top of the water. It broke through the carefully constructed web of lies I tell myself in the dark that the past is the past, there is no more looking back.

Yet, today, today of all days he found me. My daughter’s dad after two decades of not speaking he had the nerve to hit me up on facebook and then friend request me as if nothing had ever happened. What? This man that tried to beat my daughter out of me when I was pregnant with her, the man that told me once, that once I get rid of  “my problem” (meaning our child) that we could get back to normal! WTF? The man that slept through the adoption process and even rejected the whole idea that she was even his when there was no denying it. The man that made my life a living hell for the whole of my pregnancy, this man, this is the man that found me on facebook today.

He actually sent me an apologetic message on facebook about when I finally got another book posted on Amazon “Congrats Angela I remember you lived writing. Oh I’m sorry for everything. I was soo wrong and sooo immature back then.” Really? I first want to say immature is not the word I would have used to describe him he was at least five years older than me at twenty-five. I like the word sadistic, or how about brutal, or abusive to women and then blamed them for his behavior.  Why is it always our fault because they can’t control themselves, men like this are no better than animals. Oh, how about psychotic, cruel, child abandoner. Those are all words to describe this man, this coward, as he is not even himself on facebook his alias is a very famous dead author and I bet he is rolling over in his grave right now having to be attached to such a man. Is man really the word here? I don’t think so!

A real man is one who provides for his family, doesn’t do drugs, and loves with all of him, a real man would rather walk through fire before his woman or child were hurt in any way. Yet, this man did none of those things, he brought the pain and suffering and yet, tonight he messages me as if we are long-lost pals. Does he not remember all the pain he caused both physical and mental? And then he had the nerve to say, “you probably don’t remember me but…” I ask you? How the fuck can I not remember you? The person that became my world, my everything, what I thought was the love of my life only to rip it all away from me the second he got the chance to. Do you really think enough time has passed that all would be forgiven? That the pain, and suffering and sheer trauma you caused would just magically disappear if enough time has passed? Think again!

I understand, that it has been twenty-one years, and people can change, hell I’ve changed, but monsters don’t! People that are unhappy with themselves and so misery really does love company,  it has been my experience that they simply can’t change who and what they’ve become, or what they always were. Yet, for my daughter’s sake, if there is a slim chance that he has changed and I am talking slim here considering the messages he sent me on facebook then I am glad, but if he is still the same narcissistic, psychotic, volatile person that I knew him to be then I say watch out! Because even if he didn’t change I HAVE! He is no longer dealing with a naive, fragile little girl anymore, he is dealing with a full grown mother with a grudge. A grudge I didn’t think still existed until today. I spent years after our relationship imploded, dreaming of ways to actually kill this man. I was so scared that I might actually try and track him down and commit such a heinous crime that I went to a therapist to work through my hatred of him. I thought it worked too, instead of an all out murder, it dulled down to a simple beating. A tit for tat so to speak, until today that is!

Today, the minute he sent me a picture of himself and began messaging me about my birthday and all these things he still knew about me I saw red. I got to give it to him, he’s got balls, BIG ONES! To even attempt to contact me. How dare he think he can just waltz into my life as if nothing ever happened when all the while that old sleeping sadistic part of me began to emerge and smile that she still had a chance to kill him herself. How dare he try to connect with me when all I can think of when I saw his sorry face, is my daughter, and how horribly he rejected her. Nevermind me, the shit he put me through was a cakewalk compared to the fact that he simply didn’t want anything to do with his own child.

Maybe, he is trying to make amends, maybe he has changed but as for me. Never gonna happen that ship has sailed! The only person he needs to make amends to is his daughter, whom he doesn’t even know. She is brilliant, and bright and beautiful, and smarter than the two of us put together at her age.  She is actively looking for him and I am praying she is not the one that told him how to find me, because she and I have a deal about that, but as curiosity killed the cat, so is it killing me. How did he find me? I am married now and have been for many years, and yet he found me as my married name on facebook. He should have never been able to find me, on top of that there are about a thousand women on facebook with my first and last name. Did he hire someone? Is he stalking me? Why is he doing this now after so long? The questions just keep piling up and I am terrified to ask because I really don’t like the person I am when it comes to this man. I don’t like the murderous intentions I have toward him. That was a different me in a different lifetime.

On the other hand, as I have said before the past will sneak up on you when you least expect it. I could finally lay to rest ( no pun intended) the past and maybe get some closure out of the one part of my past that hasn’t truly ever been dealt with. I have been torn between actually responding to this person, not in a good way as I have lots to say to him, but then there is another part of me that says,”you are grown now,  ignore him.”  I didn’t know what to do. Then I thought, I will just write about it as that is the one thing nowadays that soothes me, and it has worked. Although I still feel a simmering rage deep down I feel calmer so thank you blog family for listening. If you have any ideas on how to broach this subject with my daughter let me know. After all, she does deserve to know him and where she came from even if he is still the monster I knew him to be. Right?

P.S How does that saying go? Something to the effect of “I AM A WRITER. ANYTHING YOU DO OR SAY CAN BE USED IN A STORY” Well my story that is. How you like me now, friend?

P.S.S To the man that caused me so much pain, and grieve in the past. I know you are reading this, you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t. You are nothing to me, just as you became nothing more than a “sperm donor” nearly twenty-one years ago to your child, your only daughter back then. Who knows how many you have now. You were once my weakness but now you are my strength. You are the person that taught me that I should never settle. You taught me how to not fall for pretty lies and broken promises. You taught me love doesn’t come with a fist to the face. You taught me how to love myself first! So thank you, for showing me what a true wolf in sheep’s clothing looks like so I knew to never fall for your kind again!


Is this poetry? I ask myself for the millionth time as I take pen to paper and prepare to write.

There are rules to poetry and yet, I follow none of them. There are no iambic pentameters, no stanzas, hell there is not even one single rhyme. Once again the question remains, is this poetry?

I torture myself over these “rules” and yet, I don’t care about them all at the same time. I want it to be perfect and I stay awake at night obsessing over the words that came so easily when I was in that moment.

Is it poetry that causes the reader’s lip to quiver, does their eyes glisten, does their throat get congested from the unshed tears caused by the memories it evokes.

I think back to the poetry I have read before such as Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Edgar Allen Poe, Ezra Pound, Walt Whitman just to name a few, and I think to myself is this really poetry?

Is this poetry that carries me out to sea on waves of my written words. Is it poetry that provokes images of moonbeams and starry night skies from A Midsummer’s Night Dreams.

I am adrift on this lonely path I take one of rule breaking and potential poetry making. I see, no more rules, no more laws, only the heart. I write from my heart, I write from my soul, isn’t that enough?

I write with a vengeance, I write with a passion that knows no bounds. It provokes a sense of purpose in a world gone mad. A sense of freedom I have never known.

And yet the question remains, Is this poetry? Is it poetry that makes me feel, with every part of me? Is it poetry that pours out like rain? Is it poetry that evokes such strong emotions for a simple blade of grass?

The answer is clear. Yes, it may not be the conventional poetry of the greats that came before me but yes, it is poetry to me. Poetry is words that come from your soul. That feed your thirsty pallet when you have nothing left to give. So yes, this is poetry, my  poetry…



I had an epiphany last night! It came to me slowly and all at once if that makes any sense at all. My epiphany was this:

My worst trait I see in myself is that I like to start things but never finish them. I become obsessed with new projects to the point that I get lost in them, I dream about them when I am sleeping, I obsess over them when I am awake. They tend to control my existence until the boredom inevitably kicks in. I immerse myself in the project so thoroughly that I all but drown in it. Then I get bored and move on to the next project and the obsession begins all over again.

I hate this part of myself and I thought for a long while that it was just an inherited idiosyncrasy I got from my father. Yet, the epiphany struck me last night when one of the demons from my past reared its ugly head and took a bite out of my ass, hard! I found myself crying and finally breaking down to my husband about this particular demon that has been riding my coattails for years. It was always like the constant buzzing of a bee in my ears. I knew it was there but there was always a bigger badder demon constantly clobbering me. I think writing about the worst of my demons over the past two years have finally healed my broken soul enough that I was blindsided when the other one just showed up and decided it was his turn to torture me.

No one really knows about this secondary demon except for a few people that are close to me. I was so angry and bitter over the first one this one just kind of slipped to the back burner and bided his time. I never talk about it and I don’t know what has triggered the recent clobbering and last night he whipped my ass!  I was so caught off guard that I went numb from it. I felt more broken than I have in years. It got me wondering for about the zillionth time in my life. Will I ever be free of my demons?

Then it hit me a slow burn at first then as if a light bulb was suddenly switched on. It hit me! My obsessive constant need to start a project, and just keep moving isn’t some inherited trait. It is my way of staying sane through all of it. If I just keep moving and obsessing about something new I don’t have the time or the room to let my demons in. I am always busy with one project or another and even though I hate this part of me. I realized it is a behavior I adopted long ago. Just as a child needs a nightlight to keep the monsters at bay I need something to do to keep my demons away. Maybe now that I have come to this realization I can now relax and try to focus on one thing at a time and not get so bogged down with semantics.

I do thank you all for letting me share this epiphany with you. I know I can always count on my blog family to listen even when no one else will. It means the world to me. Until next time.