books, writings, shoes & nudes

Tag: writing

  • blooms

    You were my most stable flower. Beauty in your own right. You weren’t my person, but you were such my person that I no longer know how to do this life without you. You were my base. Mine. My stability when Gwen visited, when ghosts from the basement of my brain would darken the hallways, when the color red blinded my eyes. You were the stable brick house with the smoke coming from the chimney I could run to when running in the forest from the big bad wolves of my past. You loved me, you never said it, but you cherished me. You heard me clearer than anyone. Even when I couldn’t pay you, You still had ears. Never was it you and I against the world, it was you, me, and Little Lindsey against all the voice boxes and swinging rage. I miss you swaying in my meadow. Whenever I looked, there you were standing tall. You’re not there any more, one too many rough seasons took you away from me. Nothing left, not even petals to collect. I miss you deeply, my beautiful flower. The growth in this field may never bloom the same.

  • hoes before bros

    Some people would say marriage is a trap. Me, I am some people. Marriage is highlighted as the goal or the way of life in our society and friendship comes as a sidekick. The “love interest” can be found in almost every movie, but we do not get to meet the best friend or the group of friends in those movies. Although marriages have been around since forever, studies have found that friendships are healthier and last longer. It can be argued that marriage provides deep intimacy, but so can deep friendships. 

    This topic is important because with the rapid mental health decline in America, marriage tends to support more of the negative side given the divorce rate peaked at 22.6 divorces per 1,000 married women. Making friendships be the center instead could positively help. Marriage affects everyone and has been around for centuries. It is a timeless institution. The wedding industry is a huge successful industry. While marriage is often celebrated as a cornerstone of adult life, friendship plays a more important and enduring role at the center of our lives by providing emotional support, personal growth, and a sense of belonging that transcends the formal commitments of marriage.

    People believe marriage provides deep intimacy. Marriage provides legal and financial security, and the excitement of weddings tends to make people want to dive headfirst in. Dating is exciting. That adrenaline surge as your heart races. Then dopamine giving you the feeling of pleasure and reward, mixing with oxytocin that deepens bonding and intimacy; all dances around when we fall in love. Having someone propose to you makes you feel like you are the only human in the world. You were chosen. Someone chose you. Plus that gorgeous ring you get to show off on your left hand. Then that big fancy beautiful wedding that you go into debt for. Double dose of serotonin to make us really happy. It is magical. Who would not want that? Connect with one person who loves you deeply and will be your person. Marriages also provide legal and financial security, two huge pros. Two incomes in this economy are always better than one. People married can benefit from each other’s inheritance when relatives die. The tax breaks are better when you are a couple. Health insurance is cheaper and has better coverage. So many people get married specifically for the health insurance. Increased borrowing power when you need a loan. Social security benefits is a fantastic benefit later in life. If you are not good with money, but you marry someone who is, it can be very balancing for people. One partner can do the laundry and the other the dishes. Having someone to be sexually adventurous any time they consent is a huge benefit of marriage. 

    When you get hitched, you not only add your partner to your family, but you also add their entire already existing family. Double holidays, double celebrations, double the gifts and love. You also have the option of creating a family of your own. Getting married also gives you the opportunity to change everything about yourself, including your name. 

    Friendship is statistically healthier explained by the American Psychological Association. Friendships can provide almost all the same benefits as marriage and are so much more flexible. When it comes to friends there is less pressure to spend all your time together. You can go do your own thing for a month and come back. The friendship is still there right where you left it. There are no long-term financial agreements made. If you have a disagreement or get in a fight, you can easily find solutions. You can take a break from each other or reevaluate the friendship without having to get the law involved. Friendships provide vital social support that can buffer against stress and protect against mental health issues like depression and anxiety. Studies have shown having strong friendships has been linked to lower rates of premature death.

    You can have multiple friends that bring you joy for different reasons. Friendships are built on a foundation of shared experiences, allowing for a deep understanding of each other. You can have work friends that you only interact with at your job. You can have hometown friends you see when you come back to visit. The hockey friends you get together with every Thursday from October to May. You can have friends you only see when you travel. Book club friends that only discuss the latest smut book you read. You can have internet friends all over the world that you have never met but still feel so close to. There is not a limit on the number of friends you can have. There is a legal limit on how many spouses you can have. You can be yourself with your friends. You do not have to look your best. You can snort when you laugh and there is not a fear of being abandoned. You do not have to hold in your farts until your stomach hurts for the first few months of friendship. It is a safe space, and if it is not, you can remove yourself from the friendship. Strong friendships can make you feel like you belong and are good enough. They can bring you laughter, love, and memories. When you marry someone, you are stuck in what you both agree your life is going to look like. For example, if you marry someone who is afraid of flying, you may never get to travel to Iceland with them. If you marry someone who gets a life changing condition, it is now both of your sickness. If you marry someone who develops an addiction, you now both have that addictions. Their bullshit is your bullshit. Friendship has so many backdoor escapes that marriage does not have.

    Given our cultural conditioning and religious beliefs on marriages, they will not be going away any time soon. A better plan is to normalize a new way of life, such as groups of friends living in a neighborhood together or coexisting. We live with our friends. We spend most of our time with our friends. Our spouses can be people we see on the weekends or occasionally go on vacations with. Highlighting the support of platonic relationships with multiple people for multiple reasons. Normalize long distance marriages. When it comes to the legal side, marriage licenses should have an expiration date, one that you must renew every four years or its void. Just like we do the president. We could even have a second term limit considering the dreaded 7-year itch. There are so many people in the world, we should not be tied to one person for the rest of our lives. Normalize bringing friends home for the holidays and celebrating friendship anniversaries. If we switched from marriages being the goal to focusing more on our friendship, we would see the rates of sexual assault and intimate violence decrease. If we were with our friends more and not isolated at home waiting for our husbands or wives to come home, we would live safer lives. Plus friends are just way more fun.

    In conclusion, although marriages are an incredibly common practice with some positives, there are benefits to having marriages take a backseat to friendships. 

  • an unsent hoodie.

    a bittersweet reflection on something that didn’t quite work out—maybe the relationship or the favored chapter in life. acknowledgment that things don’t always fit perfectly, and that’s okay. feels like a metaphor for life’s unpredictability and imperfection.

    even if the experience was complicated or bittersweet, there’s something valuable in it, especially when you savor the last moments. hints at a sense of finality and moving on. leaving behind chaos or pain for peace and healing.

    a touch of warmth and gratitude, implying that despite everything, this experience has a place in the story of life, like a decorative piece at a family gathering—something to remember and appreciate.

    accepting imperfection, finding value in endings.

  • this is so not the right time

    a new feeling stirs, unexpected and loud,  

    like a sudden storm in the middle of a drought.  

    the timing is off, the world feels heavy,  

    and yet, there it is—bright, confusing, and unwelcome.  

    you catch yourself staring, heart skipping,  

    but the calendar reminds you—now is not the moment.  

    there’s a weight to this crush, a quiet tension,  

    because sometimes the heart wants what the mind knows it can’t have.  

    so you hold it close, a secret wrapped in hesitation,  

    waiting for the right time to let it breathe,  

    even if that time feels far away,  

    and the feeling lingers, restless and unresolved.

  • Girlfriends in my corner, fierce and wild,

    Sharp like a blade, untamed and styled.

    Not just pretty faces, but warriors in the fight,  

    Lighting up the dark with their rebel might.  

    We laugh in chaos, break every rule,  

    Living loud and proud, no one’s fool.  

    Together unstoppable, a storm that won’t bend—  

    Yeah, having girlfriends like these? That’s the real badass blend.

  • he’s still in there, but i’m not.

    I saw his dark blue eyes, they were the same as they always were. They’re missing the passion and the spark, but they’re the same eyes I looked into when I said “I do”.

    It’s hard to find him, but he’s still in there. I married him because he was my definition of a “man”. No toxic masculinity or beta energy. Just simple good human energy. He cared about the people in his orbit. I loved that.

    He talked about all the things in his little world. Tame compared to mine. I listen,, searching for the glimpse of him lost in a sea of memories. I can find him. The him I needed then. I needed to walk down the aisle, I needed that to happen. I can find him in between words, but there is no trace of me.

    I no longer see who I am in the same eyes of who I was. The love for him so different now. Still there, but different.

  • i had a good run

    I’m not afraid of death; I’ve had a good run. It’s inevitable, regardless of my fear. Being scared won’t make it slow down. Won’t make it less real. Fear won’t make me die less. Fear doesn’t make people less sick. Within at least 2 years I’ll have done the things. The book will be publish. The building will be ready. I’ll have ran a marathon. I’ll have had a successful business for 7 years. 7 is my favorite number, so it seems fitting. I will have read 3000 books and taught so many people all the things I can. I think dying young feels ok if you’ve lived so many lives. I was told I was going to die 10 years ago, and here I am. Every day since then has been a bonus. I hope they forget me. I hope they don’t remember. I know I was joy, and bright days and boldness. I hope they find someone else to fill that void. I don’t want to be remembered. I want to go peacefully into the forgotten bliss in their minds. I don’t want them to grieve or reminisce on the things I did or say. I don’t want the sadness to be the lingering love they had for me. I want them to move on. Not hold on. I don’t want something named after me. I don’t want flowers on my grave. I don’t want my name to be remembered, I want the legacy to live on. I want the things I started, the choices I made, to just keep going without ever knowing the author. I want the stories to be retold for years to come, but I don’t want them to be signed by me. I want to silently disappear as I go. Because I’m not afraid of death. I had a good run.

  • arthritis

    sharp pain shoots up my hand reaching my fingertips. it’s a particularly rough pain day. remember when you snapped my fingers like a carrot. they dangled there. you did it multiple times within 5 years. the knuckles don’t even exists anymore.

    i don’t take deep breaths without gasping. hiccups are a repetitive shock to my system. tears blur my eyes with every little blip. stops me in my tracks. remember when you gave me cpr when i didn’t need it.

    remember when you held me under the water until the bubbles stopped. my sternum still clicks in and out like your palms are still pressing. you never really let me go.

    collarbones pinned under your kneecaps as your open hands struck my kidlike face until they cracked unable to hold your weight. not stopping until I begged “like the annoying bitch you are”. and I begged. every single time. i begged my last with you.

    no one knows about the bald spot hidden in my perfect hair, your second favorite handle. i will forever have a side part.

    the body you had no right to wreck hurts more in the cold. little acts of rebellion like hating socks and not wearing gloves. spite warming the blood. i hate that our days together linger on my being most in the morning.

  • lindsey never chose lindsey

    (Trigger warning, this writing is about murder.)

    Lindsey never left him. He proposed. “Well, I guess we should do this.” She never said yes. She knew she needed to say no, but Lindsey never chose Lindsey. He didn’t notice she never said yes. Lindsey wouldn’t say no, Lindsey never chooses Lindsey.

    He comes home from work early the next day. She had just gotten out of the shower. She didn’t know he was home, she would have toweled up the water on the floor if she knew.

    She stared at the ugly gold ring on the scratched dresser. Lindsey didn’t put the ring on. She wasn’t ready.

    He startled her. “Hey Moo Moo,” while the sweet words came out of his mouth smoothly, she turned to him.

    He’s in a good mood. Today is a good day. She coached herself.

    He noticed the ring in the same spot it had been when he left 8 hours ago. 8 hours too long. “Something wrong with my ring?”

    “my ring..” It’s his ring Lindsey is supposed to have on her finger.

    Lindsey blinked those rebellious threatening thoughts away.

    The silent-treatment-torture-timer had begun. That all too familiar dark cloud covering the hell that resembled a one bedroom apartment. He left the room. She tried to save herself, but the air cleared ever so slightly as he left. She stole a tiny exhale; knowing it would be the last ounce of peace she would be getting tonight.

    Suddenly interrupted by the sharp cut of words.Words grabbing ahold of her throat.

    “What the fuck is this?”

    Lindsey never chose Lindsey.

    She met her fate in that tiny one bedroom apartment on the third floor.

    The water she never toweled up. She immediately got on her knees. Lindsey never chose Lindsey. He grabbed her by the hair to get a better angle for her to see him, then to see the floor. Lindsey, his hand tight in her hair, saw him, heard him.

    Lindsey saw the floor, then the side of the tub, then the blood. Lindsey saw the blood, the side of the tub, then him. Lindsey saw him, the blood, the side of the tub, the floor until Lindsey saw no more.

    Lindsey never chose Lindsey.

    Lindsey. Never. Chose. Lindsey.

    12.2.21

  • god, the scapegoat

    I want there to be a god. I want to believe I will see my people again. The gates can be whatever shade of white, as long as they get to walk through them. I’m ok with the threat of hell as long as they’re in some kind of heaven. Eternal punishment sounds fine for me, as long as they get the peace they deserve. Peace in their world and peace in their minds. Angels or fluffy clouds, I don’t care.

    I just want it to be real. I want to believe there’s a purpose. Something better than us. I want to believe there’s a net to catch us all as we fall. I don’t believe. It won’t change my behavior, I will still choose to be a better human every day. I miss it. I miss talking to someone more powerful than me. The hope it brings. When it gets so very bad down here, we can just pray and that’s our I-did-something-to-help box to check. Without the box, we have to actually attempt to make things better. Everyone has imposter syndrome, so no one will. Without a god guiding us, who’s going to make a move?

    I want to believe there’s justice or rewards in some kind of afterlife. Some magical equalizer. I want to believe when we die, you sit in a room and watch in 3D all the moments you hurt someone else. You have to feel all the feels your victims had to endure. I want to be in that chair. I want to know what I’ve done, how it felt and the impact I made. I deserve that. I want the people that hurt me to have to sit in that chair and feel how I felt. They deserve that.

    I want the foster mom with all the love to give finally gets her reward. Her throne. All the medals to make it all worth it. To remind her that her life’s choices weren’t for nothing. I need a god to tell her she did well.

    I want to believe I was created for a reason. My meaning bigger than I can imagine. I want to believe someone loves me so unconditionally they know every hair on my head. Almost desperate to believe I was known before I was in the womb. I want to believe I belong to something only made for good. How comforting that must be.

    And so, the echos of faith and justice linger. Yearning for a world where shadows yield to understanding.

  • walls

    The walls have known us all along.

    Seen the fights, sang along with the song.

    They seen us ugly, they’ve seen us proud.

    If the walls could talk, what would they say?

    Would they tell us we were in the wrong? Would they validate or comfort?

    Would they be traumatized by the secondary trauma?

    I stutter over my words but would they know what I mean? Because they’ve heard it all.

    Seen the tears, echoed the laughter. They held the art and steadied the furniture.

    They’ve been steadfast through the move ins, and the move outs.

    Housed the moments. All the moments.

    New paint colors hiding the memories we never want to remember.

    Holding in the secrets, only the walls truly know.

    Held our bodies as we were pressed against for that storybook kiss.

    Kissed our foreheads and palms, took our abuse when we lost it all.

  • it got better baby

    Friday. Fell asleep in your cozy safe bed, living between the books and the thunderstorm sounds being the only violence we see these days.

    Saturday. Blueberry muffins and bitchin coffee in a small quiet town. Adding books to the collection. Spaced themed movie night. Outfits, break dances, galaxy cookies, & shooting star charcuterie. Inside jokes and OoTD in the lobby. I know it warmed his heart. Cool kids at the cool kids table.

    Sunday. Coffee. Moosh. Tasha. Book club, let me nerd about this book. Tabs on tabs. Stitch & bitch. Tell me about your trauma and your deviant behavior. Democracy is dying, but hey cool fireworks; dressed to the 9. 8 adults, one kid. Our people. Our asses slid closing the space between. Glowing glasses, headbands, bracelets and floggers. We sang our hearts out and laughed even harder. This little world where everyone belongs. The most sober people drunk on community.

    Monday. Holiday 5ks & pumpkin spiced lattes. Fambams and birthday trips with the gal I love the most. Hotel beds with tall ceilings and shoe shopping.

    It gets better baby. Just hold out a little longer.

  • dear paternal issues,

    I don’t write about you too often because you’re so 1900’s trauma, but today I am feeling particularly gynarchal. I don’t even know you, but I still have a lot of recordings of the speeches you gave me on repeat in my brain. Even now. 34 years and the daddy issues are still there. 

    I am reclaiming those. You were never an actual dad (insert Mim’s dad joke here) so I can’t REclaim being my own dad, so I will just have to claim. 

    I am now my own Daddy. Back up bastard mentality I gots some shit to say.

    I was a 4.0 student, Dean’s list, merits out the ass. I am a successful business owner. A business that was built on brutalization that I survived by myself. I am the strongest of all the sons. I went ahead and got all the therapy so I could stop that generational trauma. I’m not a cheater, so that’s a huge win from the blood line. I crawled through glass of my own guilt and loneliness to get to be overwhelmed with the amount of people who love me. I get to be authentically me and people still adore me. I have a hot bod, great feet and I am really fucking good at educating myself. I’m financially independent and own 2 cars, including my dream car. I have no children, so no child support court cases in my routine. I speak up for myself and others. I am an undefeated state champion in Brazilian jui jitsu. My skeleton is broken, like super broke, but I am still joy, I still coach, I still run and I’m still great in bed. I fucking taught myself how to read and read more books than Valkyrie’s professor does in a year while my brain is actively trying to make up letters and sounds. I will be Dr Lindsey fucking Falcon and I’m really fucking proud of me for that. I sometimes still have dirt under my fingernails and my hair is always a mess. But I’m fucking funny. And quite frankly I’m the best damn father I’ve ever had.

    So you sit in your unfaithful 18th marriage, and I’ll be sippin’ cold brew out of my #1 Best Dad mug.

    Sincerely,

    The spite-filled oldest daughter.

  • i will let the past have it

    I loved you deeply, as deeply as I think I could love a sister, but I had to love me more. I miss your curly hair and the tone-deaf duets of Christmas music we would sing in the car.  I think about you often. How I could change your entire existence with the magic of Thrive. But I must let you be lost in the tight grip of the past. 

    I wanted so much more for you. I wanted you to be great. I wanted you to be traveling some far off place and not have to keep you at least 500 feet away from me at all times. You chose the end for both of us. I will eventually paint over the blown kisses and butterflies. 

    I chose you repeatedly. I dropped everything and ran when you called. All I needed was for you to love me. I wiped your ass, canceled your cable, spent money I didn’t have, and you still chose to save your poison over me. 

    I broke myself for you. I lost sleep, I lost days, I lost time. You got drunk. I cleaned up your blood, your drool, your piss and your vomit. You got high. I looked high and low and every fucking nook and cranny in-between to fix it. You looked for an escape. I stressed over your daily being; you gave no fucks. You were perfectly ok with making a mess and having me safely clean it up.

    You made a mess of things. I trusted you without ever trusting you. I believed your buckets of trauma and sob stories just to kick those buckets over when I had enough. You were 6 feet 7 inches of territorial diaper wearing mommy issues. 

    I trusted you with my NDA.You weaponized my secrets. You went against the one thing you can not do. The one thing. “I know you.” You’re so careful to never say it. But you said it in the worst way you could have spoke it. I’d rather be strangled, because this was so constricting. Although I won’t be letting the past have you, I will be letting the past have the version of me that allowed you access. And you’ll never even know it. 

    I will let the past have it all.

  • I think I change all the time. Not all at once, not cold turkey, but ever so slightly. I don’t even notice a lot of the time. One of the carved into my skull quotes was from my high school boyfriend. “Lindsey, you are ever changing.” Under that is a quote from my mother’s speech at my wedding. “Lindsey is an ever changing person, if you don’t ride the ride with her, it will be the thing that destroys your marriage.”  I am an ever changing person, but it has been how I survive through the uncontrollable life I was force to exist in. I run full steam ahead changing the directions as I go so I never get trapped in a box or hit a dead-end. I equally need change and fear change. Change is the control I have and the master I am a slave to. Change is the calm and the storm I am creating by changing. 

  • tell me

    Tell me something I don’t know. Tell me something that will change how I feel. Tell me I am making the correct decision. Tell me there is a bigger meaning. Tell me there is a god and my small human brain just doesn’t see or understand the bigger picture. Because I feel like I’ve figured it all out. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me there is more than this. Tell me I don’t have to gaslight myself for the rest of this existence. Call me, text me, DM me. Do something so I can have even the slightest glimpse of faith. Tell me this is the fire and we will regrow through the ashes. Tell me this is as worst as it gets. Please tell me something. I’m losing the spark. I’m telling you I can’t hold it much longer. Please tell me something. Please.

  • I’m not that girl. I won’t be that girl. I have worked too hard to become a good human. I worked too hard to like myself. To be someone to be proud of. I won’t become someone little Lindsey wouldn’t be proud of. Nothing is worth that little girl’s opinion.

    I will stay determined. I will stay focused. I will not break. I will not be weak. I do hard things. I will be the most regulated adult in the room. This will not be my story.

  • She is loud. She is powerful. Mountains question how far when she tells them to move. She never shakes or quivers. She is bold and sharp.

    She is the best friend standing up to her narcissistic father. She is the only one calling out her little brother’s coach for bad behavior. She is the soft soothing I-love-yous and you’re-so-goods spoken to so many broken children.

    She is the fake apologies that comes with being the bigger person.

    She is the yes’s that has made life an adventure. She is the voice of reason. She is the important information the doctors needed.

    She is the advocate for the little one.

    She is the “no” that needed to be said long ago. She is the grounding needed to make it through. She is the voice of the voiceless. She is the cheerleader to remind you you’re made for this. She is the mistaken outbursts. She is the heart on your sleeve.

    She is the healer and the fighter. She is the passion. She is so loved when she came from so much hate.

  • week 33

  • at your core

    It’s the thing I feel most passionate about. It’s the only time I feel fully in my body. I can recognize the feeling of my toes clenched. The hair tie in my hair. I can feel my eyelashes on my skin. I feel most in control.

    I like the pain in the corners of my mouth. The taste of latex. I feel all of me. Existing in this intimate moment. Bodies on bodies. Sweating, breathing heavy. Nails scratching. Exploring different and new positions. Sore for weeks after.

    Brazilian Jiu Jitsu is the wildest side of me.

  • I hope I still live there.

    The house I methodically built.

    Filled with different voices, moments, and energy.

    I hope the smell of wild flowers and honeysuckle still clutter the front lawn.

    I hope vacations and trips make you home sick.

    I hope I still live there.

  • No longer am I going to apologize for behavior that isn’t mine.

    I won’t shield you from the consequences of your own choices.

    I won’t apologize for who I had to become to be able to survive.

    No longer apologizing for the versions of me I had to kill to become so hard to kill.

    I won’t lower my voice or apologize for the brutality of the words I speak.

    I fought for my place and I am no longer apologizing for not making myself small.

    I won’t express counterfeit regret any more.

    I will no longer apologize for the failed attempts at loan sharking.

    I’m not going to beg someone’s pardon for not following social norms.

    I’m not conforming into any box that handmaids fit into.

    I won’t eat my own words or take a bite out of the humble pie.

    This life isn’t real, everything’s fucked, I am human and this is fucking hard.

    I’m no longer asking for forgiveness for the boundaries I set to make this fake life less hard.

  • here is what i need..

    I need more laughter.

    More spontaneous outings.

    I need more of women’s sports and less of violence against my humans.

    I need more days when the coffee hits than days that it doesn’t.

    I need more people in our classes.

    I need more Outfits Of The Days and the tightness of this community.

    I need books, and great sex.

    I need fewer hot days I’m spending outside of a kayak.

    I need snacks, and Izzes.

    I need more good news than bad, and I need straight A’s.

    I need to nap.

    I need holiday walks, and my people to feel loved, important, and safe.

    I need more El Captain coffee, Judith’s jokes, Beastmode’s stories, Mim’s goofiness.

    I need Princess Annarky’s sexcapades, and Valkyrie’s crafts.

    I need more bows by Mazor’s Edge and car rides with Moosh.

    I need more Rage’s rage.

    I need Dilly Bar’s girl drama and facts I don’t care about.

    I need more of this community we built.

    And if it’s not too much to ask, feminist gods, I could really go for some less deaths.

  • your heart is an empty room.

    The piano sounds Apple says I listened the most to in 2024.

    Her hyperness when her meds wear off.

    The green of his eyes I see every time it rains.

    Good morning texts.

    Holding of hands that once shielded the abuse.

    My blue couch.

    The tone of her voice when she says, “GUTTER BITCH or titty baby”, her fake Italian grandmother’s accent.

    Blue

    Showers too long.

    Giggles, stories, jokes.

    Seeing her face walk through the door, knowing she won the war of getting out of bed.

    Cinnamon Tea, and coffee, Hallmark movies.

    Doris Doloris, who will be the biggest heart break of all.

    The shock in a broken face meeting strength for the first time.

    The Professor getting excited to tell me about the girl he likes or the sex he had.

    Books in The Nook.

    Blankets and hockey sweats.

    The end of the day when I lay my head down and remind myself this life is real, and I will wake up still safely in it.

    Smells of honeysuckle, sugar plums, and favorite flannels.

    Lovers that forever stain the walls of this heart.

    So much feminine rage and way too many damn shoes.

  • over cum ;)

    Family guilt

    Mrs. Lee, sophomore year.

    Every chipotle bowl I’ve ever had.

    I don’t know if I’ve overcome anything.

    All the things are scars in my brain right?

    Shit doesn’t go away.

    To just flair up in the moment.

    Maybe I’m stuck on the word “Overcome”.

  • mess with success

    I’m sad. I’m mad. I don’t want to even be with him but he fucks with my trauma buttons. I hate him. So here I am, broken again. I’m not longer available to feel this pain.

    I’m going to live alone. I’m going to walk to work. I’m going to Domme guys and fuck people. I’m going to create rules to live by. People will know nothing about me.

  • shut the fuck up

    I don’t have time to think about what I’m going to do about it. If I let myself think instead of just doing the stuff, I may think too much and realize there’s a back door exit to all of this.

    I miss the days I believed I was dumb. Now that I’m fully aware I am not dumb, I have to actually find out what I’m capable of. How exhausting.

    I could be a 30-something peasant playing video games at my mom’s house. But unfortunately I got an ass ton of therapy. Trusted the nice girl with Michelle Obama arms. Started a business. Learned how to thrive without medication or a husband. Figured out how to study despite my dyslexia. I went and fucked around and quickly found out. Now I feel shit and know shit. And the more you know shit, the more you’re not ok with shit.

    So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to write then go get a drink. Wake up tomorrow make my coffee, domme the patriarchy and fuck up a whole lot of unfair shit.

  • Hello Shadow Work,

    Let me show you around. Walk with me down this hallway full of fancy painted portraits and locked doors. I know when you first arrived, I was not very welcoming. You banged on the door but I never answered. I’m now prepared to give you the grand tour.

    First up on the right is the photo of who I was when we met. I carried a lot more weight back then. Rarely smiled in photos.

    The door next to that is the Madison door. A beautiful room full of red hair, giggles, & smiles. The decorator chose sadness, blame and shame as the paint colors.

    Next up is the door to the Daddy Issues closet. It’s a boring closet where the baseball gloves and the unworn father/daughter dresses hang.

    This door on the left is our newest addition, the Stupid Attached Bitch room. We try to keep that door shut while guest are here.

    Next up is the door everyone wants to see but no one wants to go in. The bed is made and all looks nice. Although the curtains don’t match the drapes. The pretty furniture try their best to cover the body size holes in the walls.

    At the end of the hall here, is the door with a Do Not Disturb sign.

    That’s enough for today dear.

  • i spoke

    Early Tuesday morning I sat in a crowded court room.

    I remember practically nothing.

    Only two people knew I was there.

    Neither being my spouse or mother.

    I’ve never disassociated so well as I did when the attorney pointed the remote to the tv.

    Probably 40 people.

    Dressed nicely.

    Watching my rape like it was the morning announcements in high school.

    Just another Tuesday.

    For the judge, the attorneys, the accused.

    “Is this you in the video, Lindsey?” The attorney asked.

    Snapping me out of my safe disassociated state.

    She repeated herself.

    “Is this you in the video, Lindsey?”

    I couldn’t speak; an issue I rarely have.

    I looked at my shaking hands placed in my lap.

    The writing that covered the left palm read “Today, you become his nightmare.”

    I lifted my head, stared right into the cold eyes I once felt not good enough to look at.

    And spoke the biggest thing I’ve ever said.

    “Yes.”

    11.9.23

  • dear lindsey

    We did it right. Whatever it was, we did it right. Mistakes have always made life fun & interesting. Our personality so adaptable.

    We made the correct choice. I know sometimes you get confused and lonely, but this won’t be for forever.

    I know you’re scared pretty girl. We’ve always been afraid of the dark and the unknown. He was good practice for being the protector. For being the one that has to save us. This is the real thing now. We can do this. We can take care of ourself. It’s what we’ve been training for. You’ll be ok. You’re the strongest girl I know. We’ve been alone like this once before. We sooth ourself and made ourself feel better. This is no different. We didn’t make a mistake. We chose this path with our eyes wide open. You don’t need the dick you’re thinking about right now. You don’t need the fast food or to go to the store. Just sit in the fear Lindsey. Sit in it until you’re no longer triggered by the dark and the unknown. You are okay. You are good. You did good pretty girl. You are smart and wanted. You are bright. You are compassionate. You are needed. You are ok, Lindsey. You are good. You are safe in your own arms. You are good. I got you now. I won’t let the darkness get you. I will be your night light.

  • wildest thing

    When I was fresh out of high school I met a man. We will call him Connecticut. He was in town visiting his best friend, who was my neighbor at the time. I hung out with him for 3 days before he asked me to go back home with him. Home was Connecticut. I said yes, because why not? I hopped on the back of his motorcycle and rode for a few days. I didn’t even know his last name. I didn’t care. I was young, free, and dumb. It was the best trip. I ended up spending 2 months with him on a navy base. I made new friends, got my first tattoo and just lived in LaLaLand. Rode home on a train.

  • reclaibrating

    I overthink too much, but not in the anxious or depressive way. But in the caring way. I think too much about stupid stuff. Like, how I could switch all my pants for elephant pants, and how to make money from it. Or becoming a comedian to prove I’m funnier than my ex. Why? Just to do it. Or opening a bar for Stephen to work at. Does he want to do that? Probably not, but who cares. Or what Jeff’s nips look like. Or what it feels like to have sex on this mat. I overthink things that aren’t productive and don’t matter. My therapist says it’s to distract myself from dealing with complex emotions.

  • jits

    Jits is suppose to be my safe place. It’s suppose to be the bus in which I transfer the next broken lindseys. It’s suppose to be the team, the community, the family. It was the thing I used to remind myself the answer to the question I have been riddled with every night at 3am for the past eight years.

    “I can handle anything.” Written on the gym walls.

    “I am strong as fuck.” Written on my gi.

    “I am powerful.” Written on my rash guard.

    “I am still alive.” Written in sweat.

    I lost my proof. I became human, and a weak one at that. I am still broken. My body cracked and everyone saw. The mat isn’t safe. Jits is where I find out I am just another broken body. My bones aren’t made of solid belief. They are broken bones. Unusable. Hindering even. Damaged from all the damage. My body isn’t my warrior fighting for me. She isn’t the hero. She isn’t the fighter. She is the score board. She is the unusable target that’s holes are too big to be significant. Jits was suppose to be the showcase where you prove what you are. But jits became the mirror of harsh reality.

  • Carpet floor. 2 book shelves full of books. I’m sure everyone has been read front to back.

    She had a tiny notebook in hand. We were laying on the floor under a bar table. Talking about shades of purples. Woman’s Fight Club. Cool tank tops, boots and leather jackets. Oh and the smoothie shop on the first floor! It seems so long ago now it was all a beautiful dream. But things never stay in dream land when it comes to her. Honestly I’m not sure how we got from point A to point B. Life just happens when you spend time next to her oozing sunniness. We created a wonderful dream like a lullaby. We could sell shirts. Have a desk made out of boards people break. What about a wall where people signed. I pulled out $5 and told her to give me hers. I folded the dream into T-shirts. She framed it and made it come true. She gave me a necklace that said “You are stronger than you have ever been.” Now night after night I feel the dream under my feet. I watch  strong women dream. And she’s still there, dreaming and holding a tiny notebook.

  • cherry

    You took her.

    I said I was ready, but I didn’t know what that meant. Not really.

    You took her forcefully and fast.

    I didn’t even know you. I didn’t even love you or trust you.

    You didn’t deserve her.

    I was so young. Too young. You were young too.

    I don’t remember much about that place where you took her. But I could remember every other detail about that day. Your smell, that dumb laugh. I remember the blood, the confusion, and the tear-filled bus ride home.

    You weren’t nice, but neither was I. I don’t even know if you are to blame for taking her.

    I’m sure at some point you figured in out in life.

  • Just for me I do bjj.

    Just for me I sit in the shower.

    Just for me I do word searches.

    Just for me I sleep in the nude.

    Just for me I run blaring screamo music.

    Just for me I try new things.

    Just for me I say no.

    Just for me I forgive.

  • in the zone

    My comfort zone is very little clothes.

    No shoes.

    Good smells and not being touched.

    Cold enough for a blanket, never hot borderline arctic.

    My comfort zone is in the drivers seat and never smokey air.

    Hockey games but don’t cuss around kids.

    Deeper talk than small talk.

    Pain but not too much.

    Cinnamon tea and word searches.

    Security systems and locked doors.

    My comfort zone is everyone in view and sober.

    Loud noise of my choosing or no noise.

    Escape routes and visible exits.

  • i am just so fucking angry

    Anger is the powerful mask my fear wears. It’s easier to be angry than scared. The memories and torturing moments still live in the attic of my mind, but I pretend they don’t. When I see something or have an experience that resembles the secrets, I get scared.

    No, oops. I mean angry.

    Hello triggers, it’s always nice to see you out of your cages, care to rage?

    I go zero to one hundred because I can’t relive it. I can’t be so out of control of my body and mind again. My eyebrows get low, my blood gets pumping. Ready to fight the ant hill I can only see as a fight. Kill the threat, end it. Fight and rage until we no longer fear.

    No, oops I mean anger.

    Sitting alone, broken, putting the pieces back into place, cleaning up the mess. I can’t feel that again. I can’t tiptoe around this life. So we rage. We rage before we need to, because I am just so fucking angry.

  • this coffee is so bad

    Sometimes jits is hard, sometimes mountain climbing is hard.

    I was told I wasn’t good at writing. So I never wrote.

    I don’t actually know how to answer that because I feel like I’m pretty authentic, at this point in my life.

    When I was with The Pastor, I stopped with my fascination with sex and quit the foot stuff.

    When I was with Prince Harming, I became someone completely different. I don’t know, tough question.

  • rules.

    • Always pee after sex.
    • Don’t wear sweatpants in public.
    • Text your friends you made it home.
    • Shave your armpits…everyone.
    • Shave your downstairs, no one wants to go diving into Chewbacca.
    • Fuck yourself daily.
    • Drink water.
    • Don’t be nice to people who annoy you. You will regret it.
    • Try new things.
    • Don’t get attached to anything.
    • Don’t get married, it’s a trap.
    • Elope. Weddings are a waste.
    • Kids ruin everything.
    • Vacation often even if you can’t afford it.
    • Don’t save yourself for marriage, you’ll miss out on prime sex years. Prime experimental sex years.
    • Never forget your birth control.
    • Spit, don’t swallow. No man is worth that.
    • Try all genders.
    • Learn self-defense
    • Choose violence sooner rather than later.
    • Don’t do hard drugs.
    • Admit to nothing.
    • Don’t let anyone sleep in your bed.
    • Sleep naked.
    • Go skinny dipping.
    • Trust no one unless you have dirt on them.
    • Send nudes, but never show face.
    • Keep all dirty photos of exes for blackmail.
    • If someone threatens suicide to hurt you, hand them the knife and tell them to take it outside.
    • Don’t stay in a relationship more than 3 months and you will always be “the one that got away”.
    • Shave your head.
    • Travel the moment you’re legal.
    • Nothing last forever.
    • Believe you are the smartest person in the room, and you will be.
    • People don’t roofie soda.
    • Don’t give too much of yourself to anyone.
    • Always have a run away fund.
    • Keep your own secrets.
    • Go to therapy.
    • Fuck all your friends’ dads.
    • Fuck all your exes’ dads.
    • Don’t be late.
    • Don’t say the “R” word
    • Assume not everyone loves your pets.

  • I was sitting in a coffee shop, like I do so often, and a couple walked in. An odd looking couple to society standards. She towered, at least three feet, over him. She was probably considered tall for a woman. He was considered a short man. I hate that I noticed, but I did. And I loved seeing it. I love seeing real expressions of authenticity. They don’t let it stop them from being together. They don’t give a fuck, I’m sure they have or had reservations at first . We all do, we all “care about what people think.” Even when we try not to.

  • levels of hell

    Level One- Pittsburg penguin fans.

    Level Two- Bad Dads

    Level Three- Anyone that is mean to my husband. (Talking about you Becky) He’s a fucking saint.

    Level Four- Micheal Jackson

    Level Five- Abusers

    Level Six- Anyone who has ever raped anyone.

    Level Seven- Donald Trump (Ugly fat bitch)

    Level Eight- Child Abusers

  • in the afterlife

    My paradise would be perfect smells, interchanging smells. Constant hyper motivation. Soft pretzel place next door. Candy store across the street so I’d have to work for it. Orgasms without the work of sex. Flowers everywhere with food smells. No animals. Perfect nails that don’t keep you from doing anything. Something entertaining everyday. Never needing to relax. Be who ever I wanted to be that day. Try any hobby I could possibly try.

  • Dear Daniel,

    You weren’t a person, nor were you ever meant to be, and I accept that. I have to be ok with that, because I was never meant to be a mother. Though that doesn’t mean I can blink away the “what ifs” like I blink away tears. You were my little gummy bear. I talked to you more than I probably should have. I played you irish music, and read you all the books I started to hoard for you.

    I wanted you.

    Even though I never did, I wanted you.

    I wanted you to have your dad’s eyes and my hair. I wanted you to laugh like your father and have my sense of humor. I wanted you hyper, but smart.

    I wanted you.

    I was terrified. Terrified of being a mom, having a kid and all the things that come along with being a child of an epileptic and a battered woman. I felt you, that seems so weird to say, but I knew you, and I loved you. I loved you in such a bizarre never met you, but felt you way. I listen to the recording of your tiny perfect heartbeat every night. I wanted you. I wanted to hold you, and protect you. You would’ve been safe with me, if only you could have been safe inside of me. we would have called you gummy bear forever, you would’ve hated it at some point. You’d be a freshy right now. our lives would be so different, stressful, but worth it. Your father would have been your biggest fan. He’d be obsessed. He’d be the dad to annoy everyone at work with pictures of his son. 50 million photos of the same sleeping baby. You’d be his everything. You’d be mine. I wanted that gummy bear, I wanted you.

    Signed,

    The mom I was never meant to be.

  • When my husband and I started boning, we weren’t super serious, but definitely way more than sexers. There was a moment. A simple text. Saint Patrick’s Day is my favorite holiday, it was once my birthday. At that time in my life, no one had first names or correct information.

    The text came in at the exact moment I landed in Chicago.

    “Happy Birthday, I’m in Chicago as well, can we celebrate your day?”

    That was the movie moment where the plot twist could have happened. I didn’t know Stephen that well yet and marriage was a not-on-my-radar, not-in-a-million-years kinda thing.

    I stood there celebration and friends around me. Phone in hand staring at the green river in my favorite city, wearing my sexiest green heels. Having a very wealthy man, who is fantastic in bed reaching out ready to make my birthday memorable.

    I blindly chose Stephen in that moment and for all the moments to come. I chose to break the cycle that my paternal curse had put on me. Not only did I choose Stephen, I chose Lindsey. I gave myself a chance to deserve something I didn’t think I was worthy of. I chose happiness, loyalty, hardship, grace, impulse decisions, hockey games, movie nights, Chinese food, and laughter. I made a choice not knowing the outcome. I chose the right door and I fucking won. I can forever say I never tainted this pure childish real love.

  • friendsgiving

    Moosh’s perfect meal would be a cappuccino and a protein bar inside a gym full of sweaty athletes.

    Disneygal’s perfect meal would be a tall flippa flappa mocha joka next to a fire with obnoxiously fuzzy pj’s.

    The husband’s perfect meal would be anything edible served on top of my naked body.

    Barbara’s perfect meal…Lindsey it’s weird to talk about your grandmother after sexual comments.

  • i vow to forgive and build

    You are smart, strong, and important.

    I will forgive you.

    I will never stop building you.

    You are smart, strong, and important.

    I will choose you over doubt, fear, and expectations of others.

    I will love the you, you have created yourself to be.

    You are smart, strong, and important.

    I will honor the you, you had to kill to become this.

    I will remember what you went through without haunting you with it.

    You are smart, strong, and important.

    I will continue to advocate for you.

    I will continue to unapologetically protect you.

    You are smart, strong, and important.

    I will show up for you everyday, even if I’m not the person I want to be that day.

    I will continue to break walls.

    You are smart, strong, and important.

  • My mom is the most complex human. Christmas time last year I was pregnant with our gummy bear angel baby Daniel. We ended up having to terminate the pregnancy. It was still heavy pandemic time so I had to go in alone.

    My mom and I had been fighting since June. That didn’t matter in that moment. Nothing mattered except pure mother need. My mom showed up, held my hand, laid in my bed and cried with me. In that moment everything was forgiven and I felt loved. She knew exactly what I needed and showed up when it mattered. She dealt with my in laws, cooked me dinner and cleaned my house. She walked into my home being the person I needed her to be.

  • little lindsey lulu

    At age 4 he forgot to pick you up again. I make time for self care.

    At the age of 7 you stared at the parking lot the entire game while playing 3rd base. He never showed. I post my writing on my blog because I’m proud of it.

    At age 13 he yelled at you, humiliating you, telling you, you were stupid, too hyper and annoying. I don’t surround myself with verbally harmful people

    At age 16 he made you wait outside the car for an hour while he made-out with his girlfriend. I rarely depend on people.

    At age 17 he cheated on you. I no longer put my worth in someone else.

    When you were 19, he beat you so bad you spent the night on the kitchen floor because it was too painful to move. I learned how to fight back.

    You pissed yourself at age 22 because you were locked in the trunk of a car for 3 days. I am strong in so many ways.

    You believed you were worthless at age 25. I fixed that hurt little shell of a child inside my soul waiting to be saved.

    I see you. I hear you. I feel you. I chose you. I met you at all those moments, picked you up and held you in my arms. I made you a safe place to grow and heal. I went back to pick up your pieces and put you back together. I got you now.

    You will never be alone again.

  • Oh girl. Listen. One on one, real talk. This is what I need from you. Stop spending money to fill the hole you have in your self where the trauma drama usually occupies.

    Be ok with the calm.

    Be ok with the boring.

    Lindsey, this is normal, welcome to the world of stability. Sit down and shut the fuck up. I know you’re only use to chaos, but over spending and over eating are not going to cause the waves you’re hoping to cause.

    And for goddess’ sake, go running again. Show up to class. Take care of your body again, and this time do it out of love. Not survival.

    Signed,

    The rational side of Lindsey’s brain.

    PS: Stop talking about sex so much, it’s getting weird.

  • sending up your bat signal

    A year ago I needed so much. 5 years ago I needed even more. I’m good where I am. A career I love, friends, joy, laughter, a great above average sex life with a husband I’m into this week. I’m good this week, not too needy, check back next week. I’ve gotten to the point where the world needs from me more than I need from it. I don’t hate it.