Squirrels bark a hazy, unintimidating growl,
While hummingbirds chitter merrily out of sight.
Late November is known for weather that is dreary and foul;
but today the sun shines warm and bright.
Animals are fluffing up for the winter:
Their dens, their fur, their wiggly body fat.
Those flocking South and settling down beginning to splinter
from one another, the birds, rodents, and neighborhood cats.

We humans are no different,
Primping and prepping for the season-
We are animals after all-
Liking to think ourselves advanced in intelligence and temperament,
Whilst verbally and emotionally assaulting one another over the “true” reason
For the obligatory festivities, traditions, and calls. …

Disclaimer: This piece of fiction contains depictions of abuse, sexual assault, violence, and human trafficking. This could be potentially triggering and is not suitable for sensitive readers. This is a work of fiction, but if you are or know of someone who is being trafficked/suspect someone you know is being trafficked, please
Call: 1 (888) 373–7888
Text: 233733 (Text “HELP” or “INFO”)
If you are, know of, or suspect child abuse, please visit https://www.childwelfare.gov/topics/responding/reporting/how/ to learn how to easily report it.

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Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

A young woman in tight shorts and a low-cut tank top stuck out her thumb along the highway as a pair of headlights crested the hill and shone against a blood-red sunset. She slung her backpack on and grabbed her duffel bag as the car slowed to a stop near her. They rolled down the passenger window and the woman saw a younger couple- seemingly in their 20’s- with what appeared to be their first baby on the way. …

My eyes drudge open, blinking several times before locking into unison. How am I here? When did I arrive at my ex’s apartment? I never felt safe here. I shiver, recalling memories of abuse; feeling them pass around and through me. But this is different… I sense immediate danger. Why do I feel like someone is watching me, following me? How do I know they are trying to kill me?

I walk out of the dining room and towards the living room when I notice… I don’t know whether to say it or him. It is an oddly proportioned humanoid, head excessively large and ready to burst, body hunched over and disfigured like in the ableist description of Mr. Hyde. Its feet are puffed out with fat. The torso, chest, and arms are shrunken. It is small; noticeably smaller than my 5’2 frame, with most of the volume being made up of the exceptionally horrendous looking head. Rage seeps from its pores like an inescapable sludge. It is angry; intensifying a simultaneous implosion and explosion of incessant wrath. …

I thought I had crossed the threshold into the dawn after my darkest night, but I now see..... Dusk has merely fallen.


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Photo credit: https://unsplash.com/photos/6TRUeJoOpE0?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditShareLink

My only option for survival makes me want to die, but I shall persist.


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12:47 am 10/22/2020 H.M. Loving

Trigger warning: This short story contains graphic depictions of violence.

“I’m going on a run,” Joanne said, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

“Okay. I hope you have a good time,” her partner said with a soft smile.

The reflection of their screen sparkled in their eyes as they resumed their game. “Thanks, Love,” she said and touched their hair as she walked past them. She took a deep breath, laced her shoes, and left.

She closed her eyes and nodded to the rhythm of the music as it washed over her. She stretched and reflected on how she crafted this playlist to run in tempo with the songs, then pushed herself into a steady charge. …

I am Loving,
I am gracious,
I do the work
To be spacious;
Inviting demons that lurk,
No matter how audacious.

When someone does wrong
To those with whom they belong,
Is it best to leave them forsaken?
Could it really be possible for someone to learn
From the times they were grotesquely mistaken?
Is there genuine potential to earn
Trust after all that once was, was reduced to dust?

What exists within me
That allows me to perceive
You existing in this state?

What do I see
And believe
That is cluttering the slate?

What do I accept about reality
That subsequently
Leaves us bereaved
And unable to relate? …

Sometimes there’s incompatibility;
Like what the fuck
Is with all this hostility?
But you’re in luck,
Because of my ever-strengthening ability
Of self-awareness
And non-depreciating humility.
Look at all this unfairness,
But more so durability;
Determined to remain undeterred
Because I would do anything for her;
Find win-win solutions no one’s ever heard.

She has a way with words,
And gave me her word
That our connection would be secured.
Positivity, negativity, it’s all the same to me. …

You are a child of love.
None could possibly measure,
The depth and magnitude of which you are treasured.

You are a child of love.
There will be many challenges you face,
But nothing could ever erase
Your inherent value and worth.
You deserve joy as a right of birth.
You deserve to be blessed by the pleasures of this earth.
You deserve to be enraptured in mirth.

You are a child of love.
Nothing could ever blemish or tarnish
Your worthiness of love
Even if you make decisions that are regretful,
Even if there are times you are forgetful.

You will find
Your tribe where you belong.
You will find
You are incredibly strong. …

You are the orange to my blue;
Complimentary opposites painting the sky with our hues.
A flash of brash,
A gradient of radiance in a sunset
I would never dare to forget.
A warm subtlety of Autumn
As the intensity of summer softens,
As blossoms wilt to their soil coffins.
I am struck by how this hue
Can be so undervalued
When it proudly provides profound insights so often.

Maybe folks are afraid of something so energized;
After their self-concept was sent to its demise,
From being penalized
If they passed what was generalized
As “too polarized.”

So they close the curtain and avert their eyes,
In hopes they would not be mesmerized;
In hopes they would not realize
Their surprise
Of how many lies
We all tell ourselves to avoid the pain of goodbyes. …


H.M. Loving

Writer of poetry, dark fiction, and social commentary. Student of life sharing opinions & experiences. Musician, artist, abuse survivor, advocate, & self-lover.

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