an open letter

Photo by Gwendal Cottin on Unsplash

Dear Individual Who has Found Themself Perusing My Medium Page, Please, if the intentions behind your presence fit within any of the following:

1) You’re on this platform for the exclusive purpose of self-promoting without supporting other writers;

2) To offer cheap, poorly written “self-help” or “self-development”…

a poem

Photo by Dori Bano on Unsplash

Trigger Warning: This poem includes depictions of assault and may be distressing for victims of sexual abuse and/or stalking.

at least, not in this instance (a poem)

Photo by Aziz Acharki on Unsplash

Foodlion parking lot, I remember
the first time my mother told me
I didn’t have a home
Not with her, at least, not with
pill bottles stacking up like
stone sculptures, multiplied
by a bathroom mirror and
I wonder why I always
have to leave…

a poem about chronic pain (inside and out)

Photo by Rafay Ansari on Unsplash

Sometimes, I think, if I just lay still enough,
quiet , motionless ,
the pain won’t find me
where I sleep.
Well ,
external pain (of course).
Inside, I’ll forever be an empty echo
clanking about a steel hall.
I’ll always feel it rushing out,
like a breath,

a poem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

Pluck, baby, bend me
like one of your guitar strings
I say, I never seen
someone quite like you —
blue, them baby blues, you
got a fire that got me
hot, bothered; I can count the
breaths on my neck
I can feel the circles around
my head, whisky spin —
I am fifty shades of fucked…

a poem

Photo by Yousef Espanioly on Unsplash

There was a time when I
hated my sister for blowing
the candles out sooner
Now, each March, I recall
shared birthday parties
never worth attending:

Not in my father’s eyes
nor my mother’s, again
I remember what’s it like
to have never been wanted.

I trace the…

a poem

Photo by Aarón Blanco Tejedor on Unsplash

I do not want to converse right now.
I want to be angry.
The bottle is filling, filling up
Accumulate until I finally explode.


The guts of my thoughts


Change not content
for the sake of measure
I have grown faint from adapting


another love poem

Photo by Nicolas Ladino Silva on Unsplash

A voice that blends
from cool and quaint
to bold and brave
Soft and smooth
in all he speaks

With cigarette in hand
hope in my pocket
I finally felt
his ribbon mouth

His hands found
the small of my back
and the nape
of my neck

a poem ‘cause we’ve all been there

Photo by Syarafina Yusof on Unsplash

Honestly, I’m a bit satisfied
that your beer belly
came back with
vengeance . . .
And, I’m not sorry that
I don’t feel
[not in the slightest]

No, not after you used
the callous of your veins,
your “generosity”
as woolen clothing,
[hiding your teeth]
to coax my spine into an arch,
a curve…

Stephanie Blossoms

Poet, writer, artist, gardener, devout reader, former chef-wannabe, using words and paints to figure out her place in the world.

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