Back in April, at the peak of NaPoWriMo, I vowed to do a poem a day in honor of Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Today marked the Day of Unity, the first day of DVAM. Please take a moment to visit my new blog and read more about my pledge, and help me to spread the word. This is the introduction, and Day One’s writing has already been published.

I wind myself up into the wince and the ache, and hesitantly reach for a new prescription. I told you, I can feel this weather in my muscles and bones. I know well before the lightning comes. If I were to fall asleep, then I may not be aware of this pill burning an ulcerous mantra over and over again into my stomach. Ah, but to be numb for a day! You, who chose the easy road between your Point A and Point B— do you feel the lightness and elasticity as your inner pulleys grease themselves along? You, who stands knee-deep in marsh and shiver your way into a minimal existence— does the pain resurface in the night, masked as a disease whose cure is unobtainable? Tell me I have not suffered alone. How can a disease such as this exist, to which there are only symptoms in multiplication, and yet it has no cause and simply exists between the lock-and-key grid work of the mind? I would like to know that I may give my blood and be viewed so hollow, that only this one seed remains clear, and that it may be pitted from me in hunger as a peach is pitted for consumption, and that I may be fruit and fleshed again one day, able to rise from the ground with a natural sweetness from the body of earth, and synthesize a band of warmth from the sun into this cool, dying slab of ache that my body has kneeled to worship.

©2012 Jessica Stephenson All Rights Reserved

I am enjoying NaPoWriMo so much that I’ve decided to do something that might come off as abrasive and annoying, but I won’t be littering your dashes with it just yet.  National Domestic Violence Awareness Month is October, and I will be writing a poem for every day in October to commemorate the struggle of women everywhere and to honor the men who truly love them, and to also raise awareness for the long-lasting traumatic effects that families often endure as a result of having been victimized.

There is an art to leaving, that as our lips are bound and predetermined, just a bit of us goes along in those leading moments.