Monthly Archives: June 2014


~ Esther Mitchell, 2012~

 I’ve had enough,
Of hiding in shadows,
Of burying the truth,
And boarding over the windows.

I’m tired of living like this,
Always looking over my shoulder,
Always wondering,
Always waiting for the storm to erupt.

I can’t bear the weight any longer,
The burden of unreasonable expectation,
The blame of all that remains imperfect,
The pressure of it crushes what little remains of my spirit.

My throat weakens,
With every silent scream;
My heart rends,
With every unvoiced cry;
I come apart at the seams,
And want only to die.

My faith in love is my salvation,
For it guides me back to my home;
The warmth, the touch, the presence,
Of what most cannot understand.

No longer will I be silent,
When you’ve sheathed your daggers in my heart;
No longer will I hide the truth,
This is where I draw my line, this is where I start.




~Esther Mitchell, 2014~


I know you’re out there somewhere,

among the bleached white sentinels,

Another reminder of the cost of freedom,

Another symbol of the price of liberty.


While others hold you up as a symbol,

I scour every picture,

For just one hint, one little sign,

That points me back to you.

I promised us both I would find you,

someday very soon,

out there among the rows,

of sentries forever at attention,

unflinching in the heat, the rain, the snow.


You’re far more to me than just a fallen hero,

And I weep each time I fail to find your face among them,

I know you wait for me, out there,

You call for me,

And a promise still unfulfilled,

whispers in the night,

I swore you’d never be alone,

I’d stand there, by your side.

I promised I’d come talk to you,

Just like we always did,

And it scalds my soul to know,

I still don’t know which blank white face is yours.


I’ve made us both a promise,

I won’t rest until I know,

Until I’ve lain my head on the earth

there below the lifeless stone,

And found your face in the air above.

I haven’t found you again, just yet,

But I’m on my way,

And someday soon, my love,

I’ll finally find my way home to you.



~Esther Mitchell, 2000~


I do not speak your name aloud,

Though it lays sweet on every breath,

Touches my tongue with every movement,

Yearning to set you free.


Still, I cannot speak your name aloud,

Though I remain apostate to their rule,

Forever altered by open  heart and eyes,

Seeing the trap within their narrow views.


I have not heard your name,

In enough years my heart cracks,

Shatters in stained glass shards,

A temple they’ve torn apart.


They wouldn’t understand,

Your name upon my lips,

They stripped me of my mind,

Laid waste to my heart, my soul,

And they would never have forgiven you,

For loving me enough to make me whole.


They took my identity from me,

Shoved me in a cage,

Took away my dignity,

Silenced my voice,

And told me I could not know me best,

Because they couldn’t see past my age.


You gave me wings,

You set me free,

Had they known,

They would have punished you,

For daring to believe in me.


So, in all these years,

Your name has not left my tongue,

Until the voice with which I speak,

Has become an unwelcome stranger to myself.


I hate my body, without your touch,

I hate my heart, without your love,

I hate my mind, without your smile,

But most of all,

I hate my soul, because without you here,

It might as well be gone.


I do not speak your name aloud,

Though it leaks out in every tear,

It rips from me in every sob,

And writes itself in the resulting fog.


Yet in the stillness of my broken heart,

The quiet, soft places left of my shattered soul,

Your name echoes like pealing bells,

And it is there I still find my home.


“I Miss…”

~Esther Mitchell, 2005~


I miss the sound of my own voice,

How you coaxed it from my throat,

My lips the fountain you drank from,

Long before our lips ever met.


I miss the foundation beneath my feet,

Of things in which I could trust,

When I didn’t flinch from the sound of screaming engines,

Before I began to tense when my feet left the ground.


I miss the cradle of your love,

Wrapped like a warm shawl around my body,

Arms that demanded nothing,

Asked only what more you could give.


I miss the sway of our bodies,

The breeze of gentle wind through limbs,

Ever moving to a song to which we knew every word,

And I knew what it meant to be clean.


I miss my home,

Kissing the sky with wings of steel,

Hearts wrapped in promises we meant to be,

Never once aware of the ground toward which we fell.


I miss my heart,

That fragile, wilting flower,

The rose you held cupped within your palms,

As your boots crossed dark seas of asphalt,

That still gags me with its smell.


Burning supernova in my eyes,

Is not beauty, is not awe,

It is the foundation,

Cracking beneath my feet,

The cradle as it drops,

A shawl fluttering at my feet,

It is a song to which I’ve lost the tune,

And I no longer know how it feels to be clean.

It is a home burned to the ground,

A promise turned to ashes in my eyes,



A volcano spreading ash,

Looks a lot like snow,

Until it burns your skin,

And the lava starts to flow.


And I miss the sound of my own voice,

Trapped in the feathers of fallen angels,

A prisoner behind my eyes,

Telling myself not to let them see me cry.

But still, I miss the sound of my own voice,

Because when I speak,

I can still hear you listening.


“God of Lies”

~Esther Mitchell, 2012~


When I was a child,

My parents taught me that good girls go to Heaven,

And bad girls go to Hell.

They taught me a God capable of saving me,

Could be the God likely to damn me,

And that failure to play by the rules,

Would send me straight to Hell,

Do not pass go, and there’s no pay collection here.


When I was still a child,

I learned Hell doesn’t come in a neat little package,

Doled out by a mythological Devil,

And that there’s no God waiting in the wings to save me.

I learned this not in watching another life unravel,

But in an instant when deliverance would have made a difference,

When salvation stood between an innocent child’s faith,

And a bleeding soul with scars so deep,

Your supposed “holy” water could never hope to wash them away.


I learned a different kind of God,

Gods who gave me strength to release the words trapped in my throat.

Gods who do not bear false promises to me,

Do not dangle hope like a shiny bauble I have no prayer of reaching.

The Gods I serve lay claim to equal parts healer and destroyer.

I expect walking Their paths will often leave me open, raw and bleeding.

There are no secrets, no false promises of love,

Only to be torn away when love is most needed.


I refuse a God who lays claim to benevolence,

Then leaves an innocent child to be ripped apart by a demon He created,

Whose priests claim destroying innocence and fragile faith are but “tests”

As if there’s a right answer to make the suffering go away

But I’m just too stupid to know the answer,

to a rigged game in which the prize is my own soul.


That is sadism, a deity soaked in darkness and sociopathy.

That is not a God. That is a monster, thinly veiled,

For, as a child,

I learned that the God of my parents,

Is a God of only lies.

“Home Again”

~Esther Mitchell, 2014~

I lay down on your grave, today,
Dewed the grass with salty rain,
Touched cold stone with frozen lips,
And whispered love through a haze of pain.

I lay staring at the sky,
And listened for the roar of Thunderbird, again,
Telling me everything will be all right,
Though nothing will ever be the same.

I stayed there on the ground, today,
As Sun fled from the Moon,
And wished, and prayed, and begged,
To come and join you, soon.

But as the starlight shapes the sky,
Wind whispers through silent watchmen,
I hear your voice, I feel your touch,
And, for just a moment, I am home again.


“I’m Sorry”

~Esther Mitchell, 2014~

I’m sorry I’m not shiny,

I’m sorry I’m not new,

I’m sorry I’m so worn down,

I’m sorry I’m not just like you.


Forgive me that my body,

Doesn’t do what you want it to,

Or that my heart is broken,

And what I like is so different,

From what you like to do.


I’m sorry I have pain,

I can’t just shed away,

I’m sorry that my past,

Is with me, here to stay.


I’m sorry if my existence,

Causes you so much grief,

I’m sorry I even speak,

And to prove it, I’ll be brief.


You see, I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know,

That you demand I be like you,

I’m sorry you can’t accept me as I am,

The way I’ve always accepted you.