My Darkness is a poem I wrote for a counselor.  We had a cousin that was having behavioral problems and was getting into physical fights with her mother to the point that they were both going to jail/juvenile detention.  My family was asked to take our cousin in.  Part of the agreement was that we all go to family counseling.  While there, the counselor noted that I refused to participate when it came to things like complimenting my mother and saying “I love you” to her.  He had no idea I was being sexually abused, neglected, tortured, and more by her on a daily basis since I was four (By then, I was eight years old or so.)  The counselor asked me to talk to him about what was wrong, but I couldn’t find the words.  He asked me if I could write down my feelings toward my mother in a letter to her and turn it in the next time I visited.  So I wrote this letter to my mother:

My Darkness

Dear Mother,

A thought runs through my mind,

     In my heart, it just won’t quit.

Why has God done this to me?

     Upon you, he smiles; at me, he spits.


Trapped in life I am a slave.

     How much longer can this last?

With a belt, you bleed out my soul,

     Until your anger is past.


Sweet, cold Darkness waits for me,

     Behind the bathroom door.

The water’s so hot that it burns,

     But soon I will feel no more.


Metal bites and stings to bone,

     Hatred fills me to the very end.

As salvation flows from my wrists,

     To you this last wish I send.


I hope you live forever,

     With what you’ve done to me.

Until you understand true pain,

     And death too sets you free.


I curse you to remember,

     Those sadistic things you’ve done.

And dream of the day you murdered,

     Your one and only son.


Light soon fades to Darkness,

     I sink in my crimson stew.

Who knew life would end like this?

     With my last breath, I damn you.


The deepest pit in Hell,

     For you, I wish no less.

A thought runs through my mind…

     Then nothing… just Darkness.


~Zero Ehxe (8 years old)

I left the letter on the waiting room table and went home with the family.  That was the last time I ever went to the counselor.  It was never brought up, but the next week at our appointment time, my mother told me I didn’t have to go anymore, that it was just counseling for our cousin from now on.  I’ll never know if the counselor actually got the letter in his waiting room, or if he did and he confronted my mother with it and that’s why she decided not to take me back (mandatory reporting laws for counselors weren’t in place back then.)  It was the first and last time I ever reached out to anyone about being abused, and as a result, the abuse didn’t stop until I was 17 and attempted suicide which put me in a coma for 2 weeks.  But that’s another story.



This next poem, Reflection, I wrote when I was about 10 years old.



“What’s wrong with you? Why are you crying again?”

I ask of a guy I know.

He sobs helplessly,

As more tears begin to flow.


“No wonder no one likes you! Look at you!

You cry all of the time.

You’re just so pathetic,

All you ever do is whine.”


“I know.” He whispers.


“What’s your problem? You’re not any fun,

You’re always just so sad,

I have to waste my time being around you!

It’s me that should be mad!”


“I know.” Spoken even more softly.


“I’m usually nice, but this is getting old,

I can’t even stand to be around you.

You should just kill yourself,

That’s what you should do.”


“I know.” Even softer still.


“Go ahead and do it! Your parents hate you,

And you don’t even have one real friend!

Your life is worthless anyway,

Just bring it to an end.”


“I should.” He thought out loud.


“You’re stupid and you’re ugly…..

Why are you still crying?

Everyone talks behind your back,

I’m the only person not lying!”


“I KNOW!”  he screams.


Body shaking, filled with tears,

He decides to end it here,

I put the gun to my head,

As I turn away from the mirror.


~Zero Ehxe

It’s a poem about having Schizophrenia and hearing voices, which I have since I was four or five.  Often, they were unkind and encouraged suicide.  Even if you’re not Schizophrenic, you are often your biggest critic and can be your worst enemy if you let your thoughts echo back to you from dark places.




Dear Santa is a poem I wrote for a middle school newspaper.  They always held writing contests for the holidays and I was flourishing in my advanced writing classes, so my teacher encouraged me to enter.  I always enjoyed moving the hearts of my readers, so I wrote a letter to Santa:

Dear Santa,


I’m crying on the inside,

It’s Christmas time again.

There was a time I was happy,

But I can’t remember when.


Every year I make a list,

There’s just one thing that I need.

“Can you give me what I ask?”

With you I always plead.


Johnny got a tricycle,

And he was bad all year.

I have been a good little boy,

But my voice you just can’t hear.


How can you overlook me?

I just don’t think it’s fair.

Drive your sleigh right past my house,

As though I’m not even there.


You usually were real good to me,

With the great presents that you brought.

Until one day when I messed up,

You haven’t given me a second thought.


Mommy and daddy were yelling,

I hated to see them fight.

I went to my room and hid,

And cried to myself all night.


I must have done something wrong,

Even though I was never bad.

When I finally fell asleep,

I woke up without a dad.


Christmas time is coming,

But it will never be the same.

I really miss my daddy,

And I have myself to blame.


I hope you get this letter,

Please don’t send me any toys.

I just don’t feel like playing,

With the other girls and boys.


I want a simple present,

Just a whisper in my ear.

My daddy saying I love you,

Is all I want this year.


~Zero Ehxe


Everyone cried reading my letter and asking if my father left us.  He didn’t, but I have a mental disorder called “Schizoid Personality Disorder” where I don’t feel emotions like other people.  Normal people can feel “happiness” on a scale from 1-100.  They can feel “sad” from 1-100.  Or scared or bored or a myriad of other emotions.  A schizoid person’s emotional growth is stunted, and they can only feel emotions at a range of 1-5.  I never get sad even when my relatives die.  I could win the lottery and not feel true happiness like you would.  There’s nothing in the world I am truly afraid of either.  But because I only understand emotions on a logical level, I am very good at manipulating them in others, a skill I exercise through writing.

By the way, I won the school newspaper contest with my entry.


In middle school, I dated a girl that was my first crush.  I wanted to ask her out for the longest time, but I had no self-esteem or self-worth, so it was impossible to believe anyone could love me.  When I did finally ask her out, I found out she had liked me for a while and had the same anxiety about me that I did about her.  After the success of my Dear Santa school newspaper submission, I was asked to enter the Valentine’s day contest the next year.  Clover was my entry.



In my hand there is a clover,

I’m trying to win you over.


I’ve wished upon a star,

Didn’t get me very far.


On luck my hope now stands,

Luck from the 4 leaf clover in my hands.


You’re all I’m thinking of,

You’re the one I truly love.


If you only knew,

What would you do?


How I wish to tell,

From my soul I scream and yell.


Try my words to take flight,

But my lips I keep shut tight.


I approach you one last time,

To ask you to be mine.


“Hi,” I softly speak,

My words, they come out weak.


“Hello,” is your reply,

In my heart I start to die.


Why can I not say more?

What am I so shy for?


From my clover I take a leaf,

I do to show my grief.


Now my luck is gone,

Somehow I must move on.


I turn to walk away,

I have failed again this day.


This just cannot be,

I need you here with me.


And as I turn to speak,

There a tear did grace your cheek.


And on the ground something lands,

From the leafless clover in your hands.


~Zero Ehxe

I had a four-leafed clover for good luck and tore off a leaf every time I failed to ask her out.  And little did I know she was doing the same thing, and her clover had fewer leaves than mine did.

I ended up moving away from that girl, getting on with my life, but I never forgot about her.  Eventually, we reconnected which is a great story, including me stalker-ishly sleeping in my car in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart where she might or might not have worked, just for a chance to see her again because I had no contact information for her.  It all worked out, and 2018 marks my 10th wedding anniversary with Ash!

On top of that, I won the Valentine’s Day newspaper writing contest with my Clover entry.




Before I married Ash, I was married to another woman.  We were each in abusive households growing up, and we could only afford to move out of those homes if we lived with someone else, so we decided to get married.  Of course, that didn’t last long, and soon we were divorced and I had to move back into my abuser’s house.  Divorce was inspired by these events.



An odd thought:

When they find my body

Will they still call it a “suicide”

When I pull the trigger

After she has already taken my life?

~Zero Ehxe

It is the only poetry of mine that doesn’t rhyme or have wordflow.  I’ve spent hours upon hours reading my poetry aloud and getting the rhythm down to a perfect science for every syllable.  Divorce was just a thought I had that I decided to record.



I wrote this next one when I was around 14.  It’s based on the old board game Chutes and Ladders where you roll dice and move your avatar through the board, sometimes landing on spaces with ladders that make you advance faster, or spaces that have chutes (slides) that make you go back to previous spaces.  The goal is to get to the end before your opponent, but at the end there is one huge chute that, if you hit it, you go all of the way back to the beginning.  I used this as a metaphor for the ups and downs of life in Chutes and Ladders.

Chutes and Ladders


I’m playin chutes & ladders,

It is just a game.

I haven’t played since I was young,

Seems the rules haven’t changed.


I start at the beginning,

What better place to begin.

With all the other players,

Everyone wants to win.


Now it is my turn,

I’m supposed to roll the dice.

But I am apprehensive,

And I begin to think twice.


Once I roll the die,

There is no turning back.

Because if I should falter,

I will fall behind the pack.


But it is just a game,

So I give it a shot.

Roll the die across the board,

And move ahead one spot.


I have just begun the game,

And already it’s getting long.

Every few spaces that I move,

Something seems to go wrong.


I roll the die and make my move,

Thinking I’m doing just fine.

But then I hit the chute and slide,

And end up even further behind.


Everyone else has better luck,

Climbing ladders left and right.

And a few are even so far ahead,

They vanish from my sight.


But it is just a game,

So I will play until it’s done.

I don’t know why I don’t just quit,

Cause I’m not having any fun.


Some players choose to drop out,

And cut their games too short.

But continue watching it forever,

Just to be good sports.


Suddenly it happens,

Up to the precipice I creep.

It’s the last chute of the game,

And damn is it steep.


I can hardly believe it,

I have almost won.

Roll the die one more time,

And it will all be done.


But therein lies the problem,

Two more spaces to go.

I wish that I could roll a 2,

But do I really know?


How many have come before me,

And stood at this very spot.

So close to the end they could taste it,

And had a second thought.


Roll a two and win it all,

Roll a one and slide.

All the way back to the beginning,

And wish that you had died.


Filled with indecision,

I just don’t roll at all.

I’m forever standing on the edge,

Finding the courage I need to fall.


~Zero Ehxe

In the end, it takes courage to go after dreams in life, because failure is always a possibility.


I was contacted by a private publisher of poetry because my school newspaper sent my entries to them and they asked for some poetry to publish.  I had never been into drugs, but I knew that feeling of wanting something to take all the pain and memories away, to just disappear into the drugs, even going so far as hoping to overdose on them just to stop the pain.  So I wrote Swift Silent Deadly.


Swift Silent Deadly


Swift Silent Deadly,

Heroin in my veins.

I wish that I could stop this,

But I just can’t stop the pain.


Swiftly I can feel it,

Calms me to the core.

Erases everything I hate,

About the life I led before.


Silently it helps me,

Hides the light of day.

All the screaming in my head,

It helps to take away.


Deadly now it shows me,

It is my only friend.

Icy fingers, covered mouth,

Waiting for the end.


Heroin taking over,

For one thing I now pray,

Swift Silent Deadly,

Death now come my way.


~Zero Ehxe

This was my first poem to be published outside of school newspapers, by a real publisher that paid me.


In high school, I had a very close friend named Sarah.  She came from a military family and it was her dream to become an officer in the Air Force.  So it was no surprise that she enrolled in boot camp early entry during the summer break from high school.  I wrote this next poem, Falling, to reassure her that I would still be there with her in spirit, and, every night, she could look at the moon and know I was somewhere looking at the same moon and thinking supportive thoughts to her.



I like this girl so much,

And though I have told her so,

How much I really mean it,

I doubt she’ll ever know.


I wish that I could call her,

But I know she’s not at home.

Sitting by myself,

I am stuck here all alone.


Staring at the moon,

Standing in the street.

Body cold without her,

Road will warm my feet.


Wondering what she’s doing,

Hoping she’s ok.

Remembering how she left,

On that dreadful day.


They took her into training,

To push her to the max.

Making life a living hell,

Seeing if she cracks.


I wish that she could hear me,

I have so much to say.

Even though I know she can’t,

I say this anyway:


Sarah I am here for you,

When you think that no one cares.

Waiting for you with open arms,

At the top of the stairs.


And though you have a tough climb ahead,

And the steps are getting steep,

Remember that I care for you,

And before you go to sleep.


Just glance out of your window,

At the moon so bright,

Close your eyes and smile,

And drift off into the night.


Fall asleep content,

Far away from harm.

Knowing that you are falling,

Right into my arms.


~Zero Ehxe




The next two, I wrote separately and at different times, but they go together in spirit.  Drowning is about being in a bad relationship and how every day is a fight that eventually leaves you numb to the world.



She enters the room

Already I can feel it

Pressure building

What’s going on?

Tension growing


Flows in

Blows out


Hold my breath

Must save love

Ankles, Knees

She doesn’t skip a beat

Waist, throat

Still if flows

Mouth, eyes

Ice cold

In over my head

Going numb

No feelings

Muffled scream of fear

Warmth blows out

Still it flows

Last desparate search



Love is lost

So it ends





~Zero Ehxe


Revival is about finding someone that risks being pulled down into your numbness in order to make you feel again.








How did you do it?

Cut through the ice

She escaped unscathed


You risked everything

Risked suffering my fate


To share with me something

That which is essential to life

One sweet kiss

Lungs expand

Warmth blows in


Never believed it possible…

I can feel again.

~Zero Ehxe