Tag Archives: love

What’s in a name?


A rose without name would still own its own scent

But what word would you choose if you wanted one sent?

And a person’s still been, if you don’t know their face

But when you looked to your own, which shapes would you trace?

Names can hold meaning, and a face can breed true

You can place in them feeling, and most of us do.


But imagine for me, that there’s a hole in your soul

Which is shaped like a man that you may never know

That his face is a shadow, his name just a sigh

The history you share, just the wind passing by

Your love to be gave slips through fingers like sand

And you’re left holding an ache, instead of a hand


I’ve had a father shaped hole, all my life deep inside

A bitter cold yearning, where there could have been pride

It’s made me angry, and hurt, then bitter, then numb

This haunting of question: from whence did I come?

The shadow once lived, had a name, and a face

And left behind shapes in my mirror to trace


Now, quick as thunder, that hole’s been filled in

And I, in my wonder, don’t know where to begin

The man wasn’t shadow, he had flesh, he had blood!

And had left in his passing, a whole family to love.

Now back to the question: So what’s in a name?

For me, there’s a father, and a void washed away.



Early last year I wrote a letter to a shadow, proclaiming I was giving up on wondering. That I needed to abandon the man shaped hole inside of me and accept that I would never have the answers to fill it in. Life has a funny way of giving you exactly what you’ve always wanted at the moment you’ve given up hope of ever having it. So here’s to my father, Trent Hatton. I never knew you, but you knew me. To be able to hold a photograph of you holding me, look at your face as you look into mine, is nearly as precious to me as being able to hold my own sons.




Recently I’ve had a series of questions come over me. Like why doesn’t anyone ever say “Man, she’s got a really big pair of ovaries”? Where’s the value in having a strong sense of femininity. How is my drive to nurture somehow lesser than when compared to anothers drive to destroy? Where’s my kind of toy? I wanna Mama Hawa doll. Someone who kisses the bruises when a whole NATION falls. I want to see pictures of Alice Paul on nursery walls. I want to see those who answer the call-Not to arms or to harm, but to heal the harried & hurry along the helping hands of change. And why is that strange? Let me say it plain: I don’t want the girls of this world growing thinking or knowing that being Woman means they need to be weak. I don’t want to see people tremble when I speak. I want them to feel shame when I grow silent. I want to make my name a shout out against violence. I want to bring Lady Liberty to life and have her shine a light into all the darkened corners of this world. I want to uncurl the edges of the map and take an erasure to it’s borders. I want to sweep away the pain of war and leave behind a sense of order. I want to give no quarter when quelling the qualms and calamity that are constantly slammed at me from the mouthpieces of multimedia. I want you to see the face of your mother when I speak to ya`. For my words to breed like bacteria; infecting all I touch with a deeper sense of human compassion. I want to take kindness off of ration and stop this rationalization that this is how it has to be. I want women to be free. Unfettered from the confines of smaller minds and mealy mouths that tell them they need to keep to their own place. I want to heal the human race by lifting up the strength and beauty of my sex. I want women to realize that mother really does know best, and life is at it’s best not when she’s beating breast, but when she stands up for what is right. I don’t want to fight. I want to rock you through the night & sooth your weary brow. I want to talk you into sight & show you that this is how we can all be healed: Woman revealed and not reviled. The simple beauty in the nursing of a child. In the nurses and the teachers that take the time to reach to strangers just to let them know that they are loved. I want to bomb this world with hugs. I want to stop the rising tide of endless queries that quest in search of the value of who I am. Because I am not a question. I am the sheer expression of a light that sheds destruction and fills a life that’s barren of. I am not a question. I am forgiveness of transgressions and the bittersweet concession that we need to rise above. I am not a question. I am the last bastion of salvation that can tie together nations with brotherhood and love. I am not a question. I am an answer.

Heroin vs Heroine


Upstairs in your room, where I watched you clean your spoon; that needle in your arm was a knife in my heart that got twisted a little harder every time you pushed it farther until it pushed me far enough that I could turn and walk away. And now today. A decade and 90 miles away from the choice you made between me and your fascination with a fix. Too many years and an ocean of tears away from the lesson that I couldn’t heal you with a kiss. The words that I told you then; “It’s over. You can call me when you’re sober.” And just walking away bled my tears. And days lead to months became years. I let go of the hope that I’d hear “I’m clean”. And I let my white-knight-knuckled fingers let loose my home-coming beauty queen. The only ever woman for me. Edged out to the periphery, of you I wouldn’t speak. Just a slow leak from my bleeding heart tucked beneath one sleeve. And then-came those words-over facebookabsurd! But I heard your voice in every key: “Kila, I’m finally clean”. And my heart strong sung out in joy! You had finally made the right choice. And with open arms and trepidus heart, I hopefully let you back in. But this time, only as friends. Kept an arms breadth of distance at length. Prayed to the hope of your strength. To keep the needle at bay, and keep our friendship this way, and mended, that way it did stay… That is, until early today. And that familiar old choice now is facing me. And I’m pacing my heart speeding racingly. And I’m cursing those demons you have raised in me. And I question my strength; is there space in me? To be some kind of heroine, and fight against your Heroin. Can I bear with it? Can I carry it? Have my arms and my heart grown in size? Yet again I have let you inside… And I find, to surprise, that the scars from your knife-cold needle-have left me quite tough. And that strengthening just might be enough. To carry us both, over fiery coals, to the side where it’s you that you love.



My heart itself, is ripped in half

Like a book been torn in two

And the pages that have scattered round

Are the ones I leave to you

Like the petals which have fallen

From a rose too early bloomed

Autumn gloom has come to pass

And summer ends too soon.



I want to ask all these things

That make no sense in my head

Like what about all those things

Late at night that you said

A long walk on the tracks

Where you talked me out of the same

And now I look back;

Was it only a game?

The things you had done,

The places we’d been

Some are old-filled with pain

But helped the healing begin.

And those lost late-night walks

Where we’d talk and hold hands

I want to turn the clock back

So we could walk them again

I would parrot your words

Throw them back on your part

And pray to hope that they’re heard

And you would hold them to heart

But time faces front

Never turning it’s back

And I’ll go alone

If I go walking those tracks

But still you’ll be there

This time in my heart

Instead of hands in my hair

As I’m flying apart

You said to me best: tomorrow’s a day

And all of the rest, you can’t tell what it brings

You cannot predict what is coming your way

And if the note’s going sour, find a new song to sing

Well you’re voice has been spent

It went hoarse from the cry

For a life too soon wrent

In life’s living passed in time

So now I’m wishing you’d heard

Your words of advice

If only the mirror had turned

Wouldn’t that have been nice?

And happy birthday, too.


This day-you’re birthday-is beautiful

And I wish you were here to see

The cotton clouding puff balls

And the sunlight through the trees

The flowers out and blooming

That I thread into my hair

I know you cannot see them

And I’m feeling it’s unfair

But I’m glad the sun is shining

On this day, you’re day of birth

Because you made the world much brighter

When you still walked along this earth