If We Couldn’t Change

I’m glad, as a human being, as a person, that I can change.
Aren’t you glad we’re capable of change?
I recently had the need to look back through an old blog post of mine and found myself cringing.
So I’m making some changes.

Let me repeat:
Thank heaven we can change.
*falls over*

My blog is under construction again.
I get itchy. I get agitated. I get tired of how things were.
Right now, I feel like my blog is unorganized and so I’m re-organizing.
Slowly. (because I also tend to put things off that have to do with writing. and emails. i take forever to get to emails.)
I’m also deleting posts that make me wish I could hide under a rock.
It’s like shedding dead skin.

I’m kind of in awe, actually.
It amazes me how much a person can change. Okay, so it amazes (and kind of embaresses me) how much I’ve changed. How I can read a post I wrote two years ago and wonder at the person who wrote it?
Plus I’m finding a post here and there that just seems redudant, as if I really, really didn’t know what to write about but felt obligated… Pointless. And I don’t like it when I’m redundant. I feel like I harp. I don’t like that feeling. (that wasn’t a really redundant paragraph at all)

Have you ever read something you wrote years ago and wondered at how much you’ve changed?

People change.
Situations change.
Atmospheres change.
Could you imagine if we got to a certain point and were no longer allowed to change? To learn, grow. Become.

Without the possibility of change there would be no hope.



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Filed under Everything Else

I Isolate

I isolate

I crawl back in

And beg for peace


I isolate

It’s how I survive

Even while I’m not living


I isolate

And for a split second

For a single moment

I can breathe

I can see


I isolate

Because I don’t know how to feel

I don’t know how to exist

For more than moments at a time

Without imploding

Into oblivion

Into nothingness


I isolate

Instead of raking my claws

Into another’s skin

Instead of breaking the surface

And sliding on in

Distract me from the pain

Such a strange way to live

Because disgusted I remain

With the boiling of my blood

The unspoken on my tongue

Oblivion calls


It is not so depressing

It’s an expression of madness

It is not so despairing

It’s a release of the pressure

So hope can be found


by Daphne Shadows


Filed under Not that Kind of Poetry

No Reason

You ever have one of those mornings where you just wake up homicidal?
You open your eyes and you’re instantly angry…
That morning where you wake up vibrating with the urge to strangle someone who just spews stupid at your face and doesn’t listen to a single thing you say to them!
Or where you want to set the cockroach on fire which just jumped out of the cabinet like a freaking ninja?
Or shriek at the walls until you come out of your skin?
Or kick the little white door in your fridge that never stays closed until someone comes around the corner and asks you if they should be wearing a helmet.

Well, I didn’t have one of those mornings.
But I’m having one of those evenings. Perhaps it started on and off throughout the day.
But anywho…

What do you guys do when you’re having a day where you just want to stab someone in the throat and stomp on their face or perhaps take that annoying person you bump into and throttle them? Or throttle the rules of the universe which conspire to irritate the hell out of me on the precise day that I feel like the bad luck fairy attacked me in my sleep?
But right – what do you guys do on days like that?
Just wondering.
No reason.

*slams head into wall*
I’ll just be over here, killing people in stories in my head.




Filed under Everything Else

Selling My Soul

I think becoming fake is too easy.
It’s falling down a hill, rolling off the side of a cliff. You build speed and keep going and going and going until *WHAM* you realize you just hit a solid rock floor and split into a zillion pieces of glass.
Or plastic. Whichever.
I think of fake and I think of plastic.
Dangle a bit of money in front of a person and we have a tendency to run head first in whichever direction it’s floating down, without realizing we let our brains bounce into the redzone. Autopilot.
We stop thinking, just start doing.
Granted, there should always be a bit of doing and not thinking in life – but that’s a very different sort of reasoning. Whole other bucket of worms.
We have a tendency to sell out.
To sell our souls.

Without giving it a single thought. Without stopping to analyze our own behaviors. We see a desired result and leap into action, without realizing that we can get that same desired result with our heads and hearts still intact.
It’s just easier if we shut them off, I suppose. Quicker to get what we want.
We shut off so easily.
And the evil cloud of bad mojo zinging through the universe (or whatever you believe) doesn’t even have to do much. We do.
We give in.

We run when we should first examine the path we’re on. If we did, we’d see the huge cliff we’re about to run off instead of the pots of gold leading up to it.
I don’t get it. It’s been on my mind lately. But I just can’t peg the piece of the puzzle I’m not seeing yet. Awareness happens in stages. Very slow stages.

(We’re also redundant and have to learn things over and over before they stick. But that’s a whole different story. I think. Everything is connected at some point, right?)

What is this mind numbing? This sudden anesthetic we give ourselves or allow to kick in when we’re not watching ourselves?
I think we aren’t aware of much. How often do we ask ourselves what we really value? What we want? How often do we examine our lives and ask ourselves if we like what we see, what we feel? How often do we look for our own soul and get in touch with who we really are? Do we notice when we begin to lose ourselves, even if whatever it is we’re doing started out right? Do we take into account that people change and that includes us and what we want/value/expect/desire/plan on achieving?
Or do most of us turn into a mindless zombie (and not the cool kind)? Seeing a desired outcome and stomping through life in a blind haze to get to it, when we could instead be genuinely living and still acquiring it? Can we tell when we’ve lost ourselves – before it’s too late?

I believe we can.
It’s all about choices. Awareness. Whether or not we’re ready to live genuinely and take scary risks, or remain safe and blind.
(but come on, who is really safe if they’re blind?)
I won’t be selling my soul any time soon. But the scary part – the really scary part is: taking a look at my life, becoming aware of things, realize how much I’ve been in the dark because of the abuse I’ve lived with. And then wondering, just wondering, as that sinks in, it sinks in that denial has ruled my life… will I notice if I sell my soul? Or can I pay attention to the person living inside my skin well enough to first learn who I am. And then watch myself well enough to stop myself from going numb – the numb that eats away at your heart and mind – and tumbling down the rabbit hole of doom?



Filed under Everything Else



Maybe it isn’t

Perhaps I will never know

Am I better off?



by Daphne Shadows


Filed under Not that Kind of Poetry

The Abyss. The Masquerade.

Do you ever get stuck?

Come up against wall after wall, again and again and again. Until you finally just say screw it?
Do you ever wonder why you’re holding so tightly? Then wonder what it is exactly that you’re holding to?
Do you ever just get tired?
Tired of all the petty, childish, selfish drama of others.
Tired of the same no good, same.
Tired of the pain.
Of the knowing and the incapability to do anything about it.
The correspondence between misery and choice is breath to my lungs.
But I’m still not breathing.
Sometimes the silence is the only thing that keeps me alive.
What do I have but this noise masquerading as life?
What do I have more than a truth I can do nothing about?
What is there but this sadness?
What is there but this madness?
How do I crawl out of the abyss when all I’ve ever known is to suffer? To flounder in the denial.




Filed under Everything Else



The dark is danger

But the bright lights lie to us

And down we all fall



by Daphne Shadows


Filed under Not that Kind of Poetry