Picture source: Pinterest

If I could claw
the words out of
the back
of my throat and give them,
dripping of me, to you,
we would talk of sticky hands,
and the messes they make.

©Nicole Lyons 2016

Thank you, Sir, Can I Have Another? – Stephanie Bennett-Henry

Picture Credit: Midge Belickis©2012

Thank you, Sir,
can I have another?
I wasn’t quite clear
the first dozen times
you called me a bitch,
a whiny female,
Tell me again
how I’m dramatic,
overreacting, just in the way.
Tell me how
I’m ruining everything for you
just by talking.
Somehow my voice
got a firm grip on your balls
and the more I talk,
the more they shrivel away.
You’re losing your power,
testosterone, masculinity,
to my truth, my fight, my words…
you are weak and scared.
I don’t even care about you
or your twisted opinion
about the kitchen I should be
standing in, but you are terrified.
My voice is scaring the shit
out of you, and I gotta tell you
it’s funny.. yes, I’m laughing..
at you. I am everything
you want to be, I am everything
you thought you were,
I am everything you’re not,
and will never be.
I’m not competing with you.
I’m not threatened by you,
but you… filled with so much
fear that one day,
you will wake up to see
that we both get paid the same wage
for the same job,
pay the same price for a haircut,
and we’ll walk down the same street
without anyone yelling “bitch.”
That day scares you,
but it’s coming…
brace yourself.

© Stephanie Bennett-Henry 2016


You can connect with Stephanie on Raging Rhetoric, and find her exquisite writing on Stephanie Bennett-Henry, Instagram, Twitter, and on her website.

If I Could – Nicole on FC

A huge thank you to Julie Anderson and Feminine Collective for publishing one of my most personal pieces today. I wrote this one quite awhile back in response to people dismissing my illness.

If I Could

The Ugliest War of You 

Absolutely amazing. This is exceptional.


I live in a place where people say “faggot”  as causal as one would say, “hello.” A passing respectful nod from a stranger  is common, although just under his brea…

Source: The Ugliest War of You 

Of Maniacs and Manics

Photo Source: Pinterest


You understand words like,
empty, dry, and nothing
but you’ll never know
what hollow feels
because your mind
will never take you
It won’t swallow
the smile
from your daughter’s face
before it ever reaches
your eyes.
You understand words like,
full, vibrant, and ecstasy
but you’ll never know
what euphoria feels
when you walk body
on a wet summer’s day
into a cool room,
worlds colliding
on your skin.
You call me crazy
because I feel
but I feel sorry
for you
because you don’t.

© Nicole Lyons 2016

You Don’t Know Me – Dianne Hoffmeyer



You think you know me?

You don’t.

You think I’m the same woman from a few years back?

Not even close.

You think I’m still quiet, subservient, timid and fragile?

Afraid Not.

You think I’m just going to let you do and say what you want to me?

Think again…


I can see through your lies and bullshit.

I was taught by the very best.

I know your game of manipulation, you’re a player, but now I am a coach.

I know how to be strong, because that’s all I’ve ever been since I put myself back together- alone.

I am neither quiet, nor am I timid.


I say it like it is, I am proud of who I am,

I do not like to fight, but I am not afraid to bleed.


I use my voice to rise above the lies and rumors and gossip that is said about me.


No, I know exactly who I am.


I am not scared to be myself, I am not scared to be alone, I am not scared for my future even though I don’t know what’s in store for me.


I stitched my pain, my tears, my blood,

my anger, my sadness and my loneliness together with such a durable string, that no matter how hard I am tugged on,

pulled on, stretched, dropped,

ignored, abandoned, and no longer loved

so well, that I have MADE the woman you see today.


I am everything you hate, I am all kinds of hurt, I draw strength from solitude, my ideas are formed from isolation. I am loved by myself, for myself, with no motives, with no deceptions, with no lies.


So before you think you know me,

Think again.

© Dianne Hoffmeyer 2016


Dianne is an amazing woman; to call her “strong” or “brave” doesn’t cover the half of it. Dianne is a fighter. Blessed with nine beautiful children, she has lived through every mother’s worst nightmare, the death of her child, and she has done it twice.

As a survivor of domestic violence, Dianne found the courage to put her ex husband behind bars, after he shot and stabbed her.

Clean for seven years, Dianne is a recovering addict who in her words, “kept breaking out of handcuffs” until she realized it was time to stop.

Diagnosed with bipolar disorder, anxiety, and PTSD, Dianne is also in advanced stages congestive heart failure. To say she is brave and strong doesn’t do her justice.

Dianne found happiness with her soul mate and was recently married. Her kids are her life, and every decision she makes is made in hope that it is the right one and guides them down the right path in their lives.

The life of love she tries to live each day is a legacy she hopes her kids will live, learn, and never forget.

Crazy, Cancer & Chuckles

Last month Stephanie Bennett-Henry and I wrote something together that touches on Stigma. I was reluctant to post it for (get this) fear of offending people. How ridiculous is that? Pretty ridiculous considering the disgusting comments and jokes that people are making today, in regard to Sinead O’Connor.

I swear to God, some of you need to pass a test before using the Internet.

It’s May, which means it’s Mental Health Awareness month, and I tell you world, you fucking need it.

How funny would it be if I laughed as your daughter lay dying from cancer? What about your mother as she pukes up any strength she has left after dialysis? Maybe we could make a video that pokes fun at everyone who struggles to breathe in the middle of an asthma attack, bet we’d have a viral sensation on our hands there.

Your ignorance is showing, cover that shit up.



S&N illness

Abandoned in Wonderland – Charlene Trolinder

I wasn’t born into normality. My first breath I ever took on this earth came with struggle and strife. I’ve only known the painful roads of life. I guess that’s what contributed to the coldness of my beating heart most of my life. I wasn’t a daydreamer, a wish upon a star type, because I knew just how cruel life could be.


Then one day I met someone I saw in a different light. She touched a void in my life, a mother. I began to believe in fairytales. The Emerald city seemed so real and and the wizard was granting my wish. I almost couldn’t believe it after so long of emptiness and hurt, I had fell down the rabbit hole and found my wonderland, and my white queen was someone I could love and call mom. I should have known better. I should have known every star wished upon dies out. Every daydream fades away. Some fairytales don’t have happy endings.


As I believed and trusted in her she was out seeking her knight in shining armor. He turned out to be my worse nightmare. I became a passing thought. I was simply pushed aside. Her knight in shining armor became the slayer of my self-worth and dignity. He picked each word with the intent of using them to shatter my soul. Each volley of cruelty he spoke to me scarred my heart more and more. Love had become my death trap. I survived because you see since my first breath of life I have known nothing but to fight and survive.


Today I don’t sit here writing this hoping to wish upon a star or dream a dream a little sweeter, I sit here bleeding these words to grow and heal. Today I hope for the heart to know I can be loved, the brains to recognize I am worthy, and the courage to understand that one day the world will embrace me for who I am, the little fighter that forged an undying soul and a big loving heart.



Charlene Trolinder aka Lorna Evol is a small town kid born and raised in Dumas, TX. She fought all her childhood to survive, born with a rare chromosomal disease. She attended West Texas A&M, where she obtained a Bachelor’s in Psychology. It was later in life that she realized she struggled with severe depression and anxiety. Each day is a battle, but she loves the simple things. She is an avid reader and animal lover. She draws her inspiration from her struggles, and she tries to give hope to others through her words.

Follow Lorna’s beautiful words on Evocative Eloquence.

Six Words

It’s amazing how much can be said, or not said, in six little words.


Is It Good Enough? – Matthew D. Eayre

My first day at preschool, I could see that the teacher’s aide wanted to teach me the letters, so I didn’t say,


I know this already… I was afraid of hurting her feelings. When she asked me to try, I read the words and kept reading, I learned to read at home when I picked up a book. I saw the letters and they made sense to me,


I see the words written when people talk to me, a speech-bubble running out of their mouths. The teacher’s aide in my preschool class was proud of me, for not needing her guidance, she was proud of me for things she had no part in.


Is it good enough, I asked, am I doing this right? My mother glanced at my drawing and grunted with a shrug. I was 13 years old, being home-schooled because I got into trouble at Zane Middle School, a year younger than all of my classmates after skipping 6th grade, but I didn’t have problems with them, it was the teachers, faculty, administrators… they wondered at my quirks, questioned my behavior, he’s so different, he’s so quiet, why is he always reading, he doesn’t participate in class, …


It doesn’t matter that he’s going through emotional trauma… It doesn’t matter that he passes all the tests…


He’s weird… He’s different.


They would pull me aside and attempt to exert their supposed authority. I fought back, able to see at 13 that I didn’t want to be what they were, and neither did they.


My mother the artist, the creative force, all energy and no substance, my mother the lazy, the coward, the phony star…


She barely could see me, and told me of her dreams for my life. She could not understand me, and was so proud of me for not needing her guidance, so happy that she did not need to teach me, her reward child, she named me, a gift to her from god, kind of odd, for a mother of seven to say, this ONE is a gift sent from heaven.


Is it good enough, I asked, as I knelt down to the grave of a boy, we were both Matt, he forgot his safety-belt, because his safety was always secondary to fun, his eyes closed and mine opened. As I stood behind the grave as they filled it, feeling like there was blood everywhere, and I spilled it… They looked at me, they looked through me, their eyes so young and full of please, please, please… Don’t let this be true. Is it good enough, I asked as I spoke words for him that I could not believe, goodbye my kid nephew, you fly while we grieve, and the priest in his Latin blessed the shell of his youth, a sermon so hollow, the harsh reality of truth, I must make this matter. I will not let his life be for nothing. I will be what he should have, a star in the sky, I will be the hero of this story, I need to make this matter, am I good enough to be better without God’s guidance?


Is it good enough, I asked myself, when I tied the flowers to the altar. She was always mine and I was always hers but this day we will



To make this thing work, to put in the love, to hang the painting of us in our sky and always together, together,


Is it good enough, I asked as she walked out of the door, dressed as an angel and smiling like the sun, my mind overwhelmed by the love on her face, she is really going through with this and I am finally getting my want. Is it good enough, when my soulmate hurricane asks for more, to feel more, to do things which we have not done, to help her feel things she has dreamed of and never seen. Will she be proud of me if I try, will it be better if I am what she wants or if I am only pretending, will I be good enough to fill her senses with what she needs to feel? Can I be the ocean and not just a river? I am so afraid of not being everything she wants, is it good enough to try… If I fail? Will she be proud of me when I ask her for guidance, I don’t know my way through her maze…


Is it good enough, I asked as my words piled up, displayed bits of my torn sails flapping in the wind, darkness spun into woven gold and silver, shiny pages of purity risen from the graves of sin and beastly desire. Am I what my dear grandmother wanted to see, when she read me the guidelines of writing poetry, when she instructed my hands to create a new world, when she showed me how to say what needs to be said,


without first knowing what it is,


Is it good enough?


Am I a real boy, dancing and playing with Pinocchio, the Fairy Godmother has granted my wish, am I good enough to be more than what I thought I was, more than what life taught me to be?

Is it good enough?


Do I exist, am I real?


Just words on a screen

© Matthew D. Eayre 2016



Matthew D. Eayre is a writer living in Denver with his wife and children. Refusing to exist as only one thing, he works as a supervisor in a delivery company while pursuing his BA in Accounting and chasing his dreams of making his voice heard in the world.

You can connect find more of Matthew’s stunning words at Matthew D. Eayre, Poetry of Monsters and on Instagram.

Purchase a copy of his extraordinary book here.