Blank Pages

I burned

my cursed diary

I buried

my broken heart

watched its fading beat

felt its pulse

under my tender feet

silver shovel deep

it’s a parading funeral

I can no longer keep

pigtails cut


time for this woman

to claim her keep

blank pages wait

angels hold their breath

in midnight’s haste

~KendraLynn 2/9/19 ©

Photographer… still unknown.


Tender Heart Bleeding

Snarling face

to which disgrace

I cannot decipher

life on edge


Mother’s grabbing her needle



and I

the silent

voodoo doll

buries every travesty




tender heart



~KendraLynn 2/9/19 ©

Photographer unknown.

Her Story

I was sitting next to her; waiting for her to decide on her own to get up. Waiting patiently, impatiently. Listening and counting the minutes.

Her voice trailed off and I leaned in to hear her better.

A raspy voice that trailed off at the mention of her mother. A blunt voice that recalled her abusive husband. A sad voice that recalled the abuse her babies suffered.

She opened the gate wide, welcoming me down the path of weeds that she called her life. Thorn bushes, dried and cranky; rubbing together incessantly at her retelling. She just shook her head to keep focused on narrating. Like she was someone else, back then. And she was. Someone else.

One of 5 siblings. Her mother rode her like a ragged mule… “Do the dishes, Tina. Wash the clothes, Tina. Mop that floor, Tina. Cook our food, Tina. Say thank you, Tina.”

There were 2 sides to her mama. The best and the beast. And no in between. “But mostly, she was the beast. Always mean.”

I was starting to see her younger version. Tall. Pretty. Determined. Strong willed. She escaped, only to become married to a better beast. A beast that was determined to make life with her mother seem innocent, when compared to her marriage. A beast that punched and kicked and spit. A beast that kept her pregnant and trapped. A beast that snarled at her while he slapped her baby nonchalantly.

That sparked her.

Her fire was now lit and she scooped her 4 babes up and ran… back to her mother.

Nowhere else to go. Up was too far. And low? She’d all ready counted the blood spots on the dirty, wood floor.

3 jobs of nonstop work. She’d escape again. It was only a matter of time.

And she did. Into the arms of the first man willing to look at her. A new, abusive, second husband. Drinking and punching and cussing. A misery that shadowed even the brightest idea. A misery that snuffed out all hope.


She wasn’t a quitter.

She looks at me, at that point in her story. Her eyes got big. Her concave cheeks puffed out proud.

“Third time’s the charm.”

Her third was her prince.

Her third adored her.

Her third gave her, her.

Until his dying day.

Her eyes clouded over again, but her smile was still there.

He taught her how to love. In her swirling world of misery, he opened up a world of glitter and love.

I don’t know why she chose me to tell her story, but she did. And I adore her for it.

~KendraLynn 1/25/19 ©

Fletcher Barber Shop Memories

He stood behind me

a graying memory

of a memory

raspy voice

recalling only the greatest news

clipping out

the muddied shoes

handing out candy

to all of those

pig-tailed dreams

that keep us going

shaving off doubt

with the cleanest edge

wiping off dust

with a barber’s pledge

and he made me think

of you


~KendraLynn 1/5/19 ©

* Fletcher’s Barber Shop circa for as long as I can remember. Dad getting a “tight & clean” cut. The laughter. Fletcher. His raspy voice always made me think he was knocking on death’s door. But life is so odd. I was thinking of Dad. Thinking odd thoughts that made me smile. I was standing in line at Dollar General on Christmas Eve & I heard a familiar, raspy voice behind me. I smiled & turned. Fletcher’s Barber Shop flashed before my eyes. He wished me Merry Christmas & it was like Dad visiting me from Heaven – wishing me the same. My heart. Oh, my heart cradles this moment. And I don’t care if anyone else understands.*


My eyes scan the surface of this shell of a home

memorizing the fantasy

releasing the fallacy

a storm of tears threaten

a welling of excitement for the uncertain


with its silent wound suture

my puckered scars no longer stare


back at me

the name on my luggage tag

is written so bold

rimmed in gold

~KendraLynn 1/5/19 ©

*photo borrowed from Pinterest – unknown photographer*

Acid Rain




I bite my tongue


split yours

talking in circles

the sky

so ready to cry



we all fall down

~KendraLynn 12/29/18 ©

Photo credit: photo borrowed from Pinterest. Photographer unknown.

~Had planned on writing a completely different poem – this one, however, demanded to be written. And so it was.


He decided

to hang his dream

on his own ghost

falling heavy

gasping for air

for that cheering care


flashes of scenes

he didn’t expect

ruthless introspect

His mother

brushing his hair

tender was her care

her stupid tears

at graduation

from kindergarten

her harsh tones

at the few

broken bones

the holding of

a cold, cold hand

at that suicidal end

*not sure why, but it bothers me. He was a stranger that only my co-worker knew. A 19 yr old that hung himself last week. He was an only child to a single mother. My heart breaks for her*

Photographer unknown, but found on Pinterest.

~KendraLynn 10/13/18

Harvesting Gold

White knuckle

steering wheel hold

combine fired up



gotta beat that late summer storm

burn every precious hour

and wait til later

to mourn

I feel the earth rumble as the farm machinery all begin to grumble. And behind every, little bit of it sits the farmer. Scouring the fields. Slapping a cap on a rock hard thigh. Burning a row.

Only one more hour to go

Sunset’s coming soon

Time to harvest that gold.

~KendraLynn 9/21/18 ©

Photo borrowed from Pinterest.

Wildflower Heart

years ago

I let the seeds

fly from my numb, limp fingers

grasping so long

tendrils of a cardiac beat

syncytial rhythm




ear to earth

memorizing the sound

of rebirth

seeds planted

dreaming enchanted


letting go

deep in the heart of me

ever glow

fields once burnt

crisp with grief

now flourish in my heartland

my wildflower heart


with my outstretched hand


~KendraLynn 7/1/18 ©

Quiet Burn

I was on my way to work this past Thursday; a winding, country road with fields of farm animals lazily roaming about. In the distance, I saw a plume of black smoke.

I had the radio singing comfortably loud, but everything became hushed as I drove nearer to the smoke. A house, fully engulfed in flames.

I don’t know why it caught my eye. Perhaps because it was a stark contrast to the peaceful surroundings. My mind envisioned this home before the fire; the family that made it a home.

I noticed all the cars whizzing by. How life goes on, regardless. No fire trucks to be seen. The emblazoned silence held me captive. I drove on. Like the others. Life. And all of it’s precarious happenings quietly burning; a clock on the wall stuck on 7:43 am.

The quiet burn; smoldering heat encompassing everything. Flames licking photos; melting memories; melting walls. Crumbling. Tumbling. Beams crashing down. Everything held within shattering.


~KendraLynn 7/1/18 ©

Photo credit: Random pic from Pinterest-photographer unknown.