Poetry

I Knew My Faults

“I knew my faults.
And they always stared
back at me in the mirror.”

As long as I can remember, I knew my faults. They were engraved in my flesh, repeated so often that even I saw nothing else. I knew every one. Believed every one. I was every one.

I knew my faults when I was toddling around, learning how to speak, how to walk, how to cower.

I knew my faults when I began school. How I wasn’t smart enough, not social enough. How I was a target in school. And at night.

I knew my faults in the dark. I learned my best to do what was required of me, but I was never quite good enough. I knew what my hands needed to do, how my lips should stay soft, or how my hips were supposed to move with the right timing. After awhile, I knew those moves just enough to get by.

I knew my faults. And they always stared back at me in the mirror.

© Sarah Doughty

Special thanks to Whisper And The Roar
for publishing this piece.
I was inspired by all the incredible pieces (see below)
that spawned from Kindra‘s initial piece.
Thank you, all of you, for giving my words
a place to rest among yours. It is always an honor.

Inspired by:
Kindra M. Austin’s ‘I Knew My Worth
Kristiana Reed’s ‘I Knew My Mistakes
Christine Ray’s ‘I Knew My Name
Eric Syrdal’s ‘I Knew My Heart
Megha Sood’s ‘I Knew My Lesson
1Wise Woman’s ‘I Knew My Fate
Rachel Finch’s ‘I Knew My Purpose

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Updates

A Call for Survivors – Blood Into Ink

Blood into Ink and Whisper and the Roar are looking for survivors to share their stories, hope and light in an interview.

At Blood into Ink and Whisper and the Roar, our curators, collective members and contributors have all opened their hearts and souls to share their stories of survival. Now, we would like to hear from you, our readers, and what makes you a survivor.

I cannot be the only one who watches people walk past and wonder what shaped them, wonder why they get out of bed in the morning and what I could learn from them. When I first joined Blood into Ink and Whisper and the Roar I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to call myself a survivor. In comparison to other members, I had hardly been to hell and back. Yet, I have been shown that ‘survivor’ isn’t a trophy you fight for in a competition, it isn’t bestowed nor taken away, it isn’t a label. It is a mindset. It is the desire to keep enjoying the taste of air and the sound leaves make in the wind. It is the drive to live through midnight and morning. In a simpler sense, if you believe you fought to be where you are today either against another or yourself, you can say you survived and will continue to.

If you would like to be interviewed about your story, please read this post.

Poetry

When I Die

“So when I die, don’t be sad.
I’ll still be with you.”

When I die, let me go. Don’t hold on to the shell of what I was. Don’t reminisce about our years together. Don’t grieve. My spirit needs to be set free, and yours needs to be free of me, even as nothing more than a ghost. Because all I did was hold you back.

When I die, set me free. I know that your world will darken for a time, but you deserve to move on. You deserve to finally be happy. You deserve to live a life where you are loved the way you should be loved.

When I die, scatter me to the wind, settle parts of me in the mountains, let a bit of the sea take me away, and let the last of me burn away. Because those are all the places I have ever been and will always be. Around you, within you. There, even though I’m gone.

So when I die, don’t be sad. I’ll still be with you. I’ll still love you in the afterlife. I’ll still love you for all you sacrificed. I’ll still love you for keeping your vows. I’ll still love you.

© Sarah Doughty

I’ll still love you.

Poetry

Combustion

“I wanted him.
And if I couldn’t have him,
I would spontaneously combust.”

It had been days since I’d felt his touch. And it was driving me insane. Like a fever. The only thing I had were moments that told me all I’d ever wanted in my life was him, and I was reaching my boiling point. I wanted to taste him, feel his lips move against mine. I wanted to feel his warm skin and revel in its softness. I wanted him. And if I couldn’t have him, I would spontaneously combust.

Seriously.

© Sarah Doughty

It was only a matter of time.
And I could feel my fingertips
begin to singe.

Inspired by events that transpired
in my first novel, Just Breathe.

Poetry

Shedding

“But I only know one thing: I need you.
So please, just hold me for a little while.”

I feel like I’m shedding my skin. Layer by layer, I am unraveling. Like a spool of yarn, at the mercy of a wild litter of kittens. And I am down to the last few inches. I am raw. Exposed. And something is about to happen. I just don’t know what that something is. I don’t know what to do about it.

But I only know one thing: I need you. So please, just hold me for a little while.

© Sarah Doughty

I’m here. So hold me.

Poetry

Lies Like Rainbows

“You had everyone fooled.
And you may not have realized it,
but I saw you for what you were.”

You never accepted the faults you made. And apologies were only for empathy’s sake. Then swept all your wrongdoings under the rug as if they didn’t exist.

Because how could you ever be considered such a hurtful person if your façade was unblemished?

But what I don’t understand is how you did those things and pretended nothing happened. That all was well. How could you lie so smoothly, like rainbows were flying out of your mouth? You had everyone fooled. And you may not have realized it, but I saw you for what you were.

© Sarah Doughty

I still see you.

Poetry

Cowardly Boy

“You see, I knew from the beginning
what you wanted from me.
But I tried to be a good friend anyway.”

You see, I knew from the beginning what you wanted from me. But I tried to be a good friend anyway. You would ask for more. Push for it. Manipulate your way to get closer to me. And, at last, when I refused to have sex with you, I was a horrible person. A terrible friend.

Worthless.

That was the end of our so-called friendship. Because I was a person and you were a coward.

© Sarah Doughty

Or, maybe, you didn’t know
what you did was wrong.
Which would make you a monster.
I’m not sure which is worse.

To the boy who tried to
break me when I was a teenager.

This is an excerpt of a longer piece,
published at Blood Into Ink, here.
Check out @bloodintoinkpress on Instagram
for more stories of Survival.

Poetry

Under Your Spell

“The day that you arrived
I was caught under your spell.
And I was okay with that.”

The day that you arrived was the day my world lit up. Like I saw the sun for the first time under a lifetime of moonlight. It was so bright at first that my eyes watered and all I could see was a white-hot light. But then my eyes adjusted and I could see more than shadows. I could see more than darkened colors. I saw you, and those damn eyes that made color itself jealous. And those hands. Those tendons and veins running through them. Oh, how they could move.

I was caught under your spell. And I was okay with that.

© Sarah Doughty

What sweet music
your hands could make.

I met my husband in high school
band practice. And I couldn’t help
but watch him play.
Sometimes, when he thinks
I’m not looking, I’ll still watch him.

Poetry

Finding My Way

“We were perfect.
Because we were together.”

I think I’m lost without you. The way you used to guide us, like you knew exactly where we needed to be and where we were going. It was perfect. We were perfect. Never a wrong turn, never a place I didn’t want to be. Because we were together. And without you, everything is dark, the roads are twisting and turning, and hope is running out the more life knocks me down.

Yes, I miss you. But I can find my way on my own.

We all experience pain. Heartbreak. Loss. It hurts. And sometimes that pain is unbearable. Just because you can handle your pain better than someone else, it doesn’t mean that person is weak or less of a person. It doesn’t mean the way they feel their pain is any less valid. Accept that people feel and sometimes they can feel a lot. Don’t make things worse by dragging their pain through the mud.

© Sarah Doughty

People feel.
Let them do it their way.
And be there if they need you.

For CC.

Updates

Indie Blu(e) Facebook Author Take-over Event

INDIE BLU(E)
IS HOLDING ITS
FIRST FACEBOOK
AUTHOR TAKE-OVER EVENT
ON MONDAY, JULY 23RD
FROM 2 TO 7 PM EST.

Indie Blu(e) is offering 10 30-minute slots for Indie Authors to “take-over” the event page and promote the hell out of their titles and network with new readers and other Indie Authors. You must make a commitment to promoting the event on your own social media and encouraging your followers to attend. You must be available to post on the event page and to interact with the attendees during your 30-minute slot. It would be even more awesome if you stopped by periodically through the event to meet and support the other authors. If you would like to sign-up for a 30-minute slot, please email at indieblucollective@gmail.com.

Want learn more about the awesomeness that is Indie Blu(e)? Read this.

More details about Indie Blu(e) is forthcoming.