Where My Ghosts Come Out to Play

The room is tastefully decorated

Respectful distance is kept between her desk near the door and the comfortable chair that I decided the first time we met will be mine

Arms folded tightly across my chest,

hands in unconscious fists

Small table next to me holds kush balls and engraved stones with reassuring words like hope and peace and a box of tissues that I do not like to need

Art on the walls is soothing colors

mostly abstract compositions Continue reading

Virgin’s Parallax

as I’ve walked through this life in these womanly curves

I’ve struggled to step safely, not killin’ my verve

since sheltered pubescence my hips have been bewitching

looks naughty and nice, or that set my nerves twitching

this power in my saunter I very soon learned

embodied in me, creates fires that burned

me, carrying unwieldy burdens spelled

responsibilities for self and others melded

been living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax

been living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax

keep living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax

keep living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax

all the messages given about how to use these

curves that entice and disturb, don’t tease!

scramble a girl’s sense of right and wrong

looking for clues in the words of a song

if my power is so contoured, why is it reported

whorish to wield, prudish to control, distorted

if I prance in a moment of joyful exuberance

it’s my fault if you employ your misguided protuberance

been living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax

been living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax

keep living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax

keep living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax

decades later I may dare to enjoy

magic manifest when my sway I employ

I see how you watch, savor the show

deep down in my heart, I always will know

the risks I run when I roll these hips

read the lust on your silent lips

while I keep on with my walking

you may do more than talking

been living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax

been living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax

been living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax

been living all my life, looking through a virgin’s parallax



She spent most of her life up to this point blinded, she spent her life in the darkness… her self respect was lost, she went through hell, determined to find it  so SHE… needs a bit of a “detrimental to her life” separation, she is trying to stop herself from becoming heartless… because daily those demons come knocking, she has to stay focused, so her guard is up constantly, she has to just keep on blocking, so she is about SHE… constantly she comes off as cocky… constantly she is called selfish, because she isn’t always selfless… but what they don’t understand is she has no self left to give… any sliver of that self left has to go to her kids… because her kids are the only thing that made her want to live….


She is something like Wonder Woman… but somehow she is shunned like a villian. So many wish to shut her up, because she has some words that will kill ‘em…



She really is the shit, only thing that ever stopped her was fear… scared to roam this bitch we call Earth alone… now she finds herself LIVING after all… though they disappeared… so scared she would raise her kids all on her own… fear motivated her silence… but see, now you can understand why she is screaming… silence is ended because the fear is gone…


She understands to be free she had to say “I love me”… had to stop worrying about being a partner.. Or ponder on and on about who really loves her… she removed herself from every “WE”… and she is better, better indeed… It is not about greed… she was just trapped and needed to be freed…


She was…. Raised by her rapist… she is not afraid to say this… she stands tall, shameless, all of you weirdo’s who bash someone who is honest, all of you nobodies who want to end her… you stand there kicking her when she is down, and say you are blameless. Don’t you dare take credit in her come up… she was bent but never broken… you aren’t even strong enough to save her, so save it…

She writes masterpieces, and though she appears fearless in her words… there is so much she leaves unwritten… well… its written and has yet to be presented… she still hesitates at times… and that is only because she wastes time considering the consequences…

But… you see it’s like…. she….

She lost all there is to lose… and as unfortunate as that is… she remains undamaged by the fact that her pieces are unfavorable by those who live content with beautiful lies… she cuts all those unwholesome ties…

She is Queen… though you can not picture it… because she is not picture perfect… but trust me love, her fucking vision is a real picture and she is fucking worth it… watch her serve it… and you eat it and try to drop some shit that almost compares to SHE. But she cannot see you while she is in first place…. So continue to chase… keep running your make-believe race… she doesn’t compete… She needs no validation. She is complete…

She was shattered, and what you see is a new creation… sometimes the pieces did not connect, some were missing… she made herself her own version of whole. Sure, there are scars… as expected in war. But her battle is as beautiful as She, her scars perfectly depict her soul. Beauty is in every stitch, her mark on this world cannot be removed, she remains unmoved… she won’t stop until the world hears her truth…

To be like SHE is to be Free…. it’s not necessarily easy, but it is worth it if you can know what it feels like to soar, to be above all the negativity you were associated with before.

Who, What, Where, When


is this man

who routinely rapes

with his eyes and his words

publicly displaying those violations

proud of his assaults

who reportedly also rapes

with hands and other appendages

braggadociously brazen

of these conquests

until confronted

then lies like a cur

that teens would label pussy

bequeathing the cleanest vaginas

a rotten stench

he is the ruler of a mighty land


is the consequence

for actions reprehensible

broadcast and repeated

vulgarly degrading

women as meat

for him to masticate

or masturbate

drawing blood

violently squeamish

fearful of omnipresent life-force

of which he is devoid

he is acclaimed and rises to greater power

dissenting voices are squashed


or rise in united protests


is this place

where citizens are brutally mocked

castigated (no, not castrated-

that would be barbaric)

sorted into castes

based upon his basest instincts

as he ordained himself

judge of all female bodies

upon which he may feast

his beady lecherous eyes

vile forked tongue

or libertine whims

it is the greatest country on earth

why are those women bitching

they have it made here

it must be that time of the month


will it end –

the license

graphic and interminably unpoetic

heisted by men

holding positions of power

brandishing them as medieval maces

stiff and steely

as they fancy their penises

wreaking devastation

upon the weaker sex

it will end

when all women

are joined in warrior chorus

with right warrior brethren











Child Welfare


This poem was original published on Whisper and the Roar

I am in a child welfare class
In graduate school
Class starts at 4 pm
The room is crowded and dim
My classmates and I are drowsy
We all could use a snack
Some caffeine

The professor puts on a film
A surprisingly graphic film
About child sexual abuse
I am fine
I am fine
I am fine
And then I am not fine
I am rushing out of the classroom
In a cold sweat
Heart thudding
Hands shaking

I just make it to the ladies room
And the privacy of a stall
Before I vomit my lunch up
In the ancient, cracked toilet
I have never used the words
Sexual abuse
In relationship to myself before
But my body is telling me a different narrative
As I shake, white in the 3rd floor bathroom

I have had lovers
Who are sexual abuse survivors
I have always told myself
That what happened to me was not like
What happened to them
That drifting on the ceiling
Doing my grocery list my head
While having sex
Was normal

That my constant need for control
Was normal
That my inability to let anyone touch me
When I am feeling vulnerable
Was normal
That the fact that I cannot look at pictures of myself from
Certain parts of my childhood
Without wanting to be sick
Was normal
That I first wanted to die when I was 12 years old
Was normal

As I fight my panic in the bathroom
Praying that no one else will need to use it
I am finally forced to admit to myself that
Maybe this is not normal
This unnerves me
Makes my world feel upside down
It takes me some time
To regulate my heartbeat
Calm my breathing
Splash water on my face
And school my expression into something
That resembles functioning adult
Before returning to class
And watching the rest of that damn film


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

Brave and Reckless’ July Writing Prompt Challenge: Blood Into Ink

Graffiti Moon

As you may know, Christine at Brave and Reckless has sponsored several writing prompt challenges over the last six months. The Breath and Bone Writing Prompt Challenge will be winding down on July 9th and she has just announced her next challenge: Blood Into Ink.  Although this challenge is inspired by this writing community, submissions do not have to be about survival.  Women and men alike are encouraged to take this prompt where their muse leads them.


Writing Prompt: Blood Into Ink: Warrior Voices

  1. Using the writing prompt above, write a 100 to 800 word original, previously unpublished piece that integrates the writing prompt.  It can be poetry, prose, short fiction or even essay.  The prompt can be used as the title, you can use the phrase intact, or break it up however you want within the written piece.
  2. Pick out an image to go with your submission
  3. Write a brief biography
  4. Send the following to christine.e.ray@gmail.com by midnight EST on Sunday, July 30, 2017:
    • Your original piece
    • suggested image
    • brief biography
    • link to where you post your writing (blog, Facebook page, Instagram, etc.)
  5. Submissions will be judged by Christine and at least one guest judge.  If you are interested in being a guest judge for this challenge, let Christine know!
  6. Christine will publish all submissions on Brave and Reckless as long as they are appropriate and you are welcome to reblog once they have been published on B & R. They will also get a plug on Brave and Reckless‘ Twitter and Facebook pages. With the approval of the Blood Into Ink Curators, relevant submissions may also be published on Blood Into Ink.

Please feel free reblog and post this challenge invitation



Miniature frozen artwork
Layer upon layer
Covers every sorrow
Layer upon layer
Covers every life

I see the melting
The changing
From thick tangibility
To obscure memory
A fertile life now watered
With hope

A chance to produce my own artwork

Exquisitely Numb

Pull away
Go missing
Find control
In emptiness

Lay quietly
Stare at the wall
Rest in the absence
A disappearance
A melting away

Stillness welcomes me
Into undemanding arms