The afternoon light, beneath my toes talking a pale story where a mother aborts another one, father, a ruminating hard albumen. our typewriters often broke, and another language was written deformed, cracked Summers have always taught to swim winters, quietly taught about sinking. and a star too that dissolves at night. i have seen it … Continue reading Seasons

I Remember

Dena Daigle on Phoenix Ascended

Phoenix Ascended

Wide-eyes in amber hues brimming with salty tears
Four years old in red ruffles and day of the week panties
Mama’s precious baby girl
Trembling, frozen with fear, cold and confused
Silenced, but I remember

Truth or dare on the trampoline
Triple dog five second French kiss or eat worms
Mama’s little daredevil
and innocent boys following the footsteps of their forefathers
Busted, I remember

Open window and moonlit shadows dancing on the wall
Thirteen and rebellious; Mama’s little wild child
“Everyone else is doing it. Don’t you love me?”
Pressured, I remember

Head down, tears flowing, pushing past the picket line
Fifteen and pregnant, Mama’s dirty whore
Cold steel forced inside me, life ripped from my womb
“MURDERER!” I remember

Strobe lights and rap music, twerking teenage dreams
Sixteen with nothing to lose, Mama’s party girl
Beer run – two guys in a Chevy truck looking for some fun

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His Name is David

Meet the Feminist Confessional

Feminist Confessional

My rapist’s name is David
Not the one who fought Goliath
My rapist has no courage

Not the everyday Davids
The ones that you might know
I’m sorry he has the same name

I’m sorry if your David is nice
Not all Davids are rapists
But mine was, yes

The David who raped me
Is not my cousin
Who is always friendly
With crinkly eyes
His name is David too

Nor my uncle
Who tells the best stories
And has lived an interesting life

And certainly not my Dad’s best friend
Who I’ve known since birth
He is a sweet and gentle man

There are so many Davids
And only one of them raped me

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I am a writer, an editor, and publisher with a background in clinical social work and neurodegenerative research.  I am a mother, a wife, pansexual, dyslexic, living with Bipolar II, and fibromyalgia.  I am an artist, an avid reader, and lifelong advocate for social justice. I am also a sexual abuse survivor. Like many sexual … Continue reading WHY ‘WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED’- Christine E. Ray

What Does It Mean To Be A ‘Warrior Voice Of Survival’?

Over the last week, memes I had made over a year ago with Blood Into Ink writers' answers to the question “What does it mean to be a ‘Warrior Voice of Survival’?” have suddenly started to be shared again on Facebook. The answers to this question really seem to be moving and inspiring others. If … Continue reading What Does It Mean To Be A ‘Warrior Voice Of Survival’?