Several months ago I put out a call for guest writing. It has naturally evolved into a survival series here on The Honeyed Quill. Since I work with individuals on surviving their stories by writing for release and recovery, this makes sense. It still surprises me, though. Every time I scroll through my guests’ work, I step back and marvel at not only what I am trusted with (I coach each piece that comes my way which can take weeks or a day depending on the individual’s relationship with their story),
If only this feminist hadn’t curved the nice guy, she could be a real woman! by Mila Salander Throughout my life, I have faced the challenges of working and living with men whose fragile egos required constant attention, pandering, and suppression of my own personality and strength in order to keep their masculinity secure. I spent many years married to such a man (we’ll call him David). The magnitude of capitulation required to prevent upsetting his self-image was all consuming, destructive, and oppressive. The challenges to David’s ego were omnipresent.
by Jera Brown Long before I was sexually active, I was drawn to the Biblical stories of outcasted women—the woman at the well, the woman who anointed Jesus’s feet with perfume, the woman for whom Jesus drew a line in the sand. I think I’ve always felt isolated. I identified with those women because it took me a long time to accept myself as I am, and it took even longer to show others who I am so that they could accept me. A few weeks ago, I tattooed a
by Jessica Boyce It would a simple thing, to take the pain away, to end the battle of my mind, And yet I choose to stay. My mind, so quick to anger, and pain cuts to the bone, yet I force myself onward, For I am not alone. One soul, he is my other half, would be broken and bereft, and children that are precious, would not know why I left. I am proud of my survival. It is my saving glory. The beasts that smeared and stained me, They
Trigger warning: sexual abuse, domestic violence, rape Recently, when I watched the now infamous video of Trump bragging about grabbing pussies, I was reminded of one man in particular: my stepfather, Tom. Tom used to crawl into my twin-sized bed and lay next to me while wearing his white briefs. Tom used to speak of wishing I were ten years older so he could marry me. Tom told me once, with much vengeance in his voice, that he wanted to break me in a way he’d never been able
April Brancamp is a natural living expert whose work with essential oils has benefited me and my family directly. I requested that she write a piece on using oils for grounding as a resource for mood management. I hope you find this how-to helpful! Are there times you seem disconnected from life? Maybe you’re feeling a little scatterbrained, all over the place, disoriented, or perhaps your thoughts are racing? You may need to be grounded. Grounding connects you with the present, instead of thinking about the past or the future.
Faith on the Wind Animosity cannot grow here among the shaded groves and dandelions roaring yellow faith. Let sunlight burst from fertile earth between the broken vines; animosity cannot grow here when twilight comes and blossoms close from bright heads to brimming hearts and dandelions roaring yellow faith. Children mourn the passing scene of selfless beauty and of love – animosity cannot grow here; their gentle hearts echo the light from a thousand little suns: dandelions roaring yellow faith. In old age, when the world has worn away the sight
It was more than forty years ago, when I met this tall gangly fourteen year old, it was my first day of high school, and I’m wearing jeans. This was only a few years after girls were allowed to wear pants in public schools, I was feeling radical, and pretty damn cool. I walked into Spanish class and slipped into an open desk. The kind of desks where the seat, desk, and storage are all connected. I scanned the room for a familiar face and found none. I noticed the
she’s hard on him but she’s done nine years with four walls that she never wants him to know one morning after she lit into him they both skipped class when she picked him up later he said Mama let’s skip to the car like we used to An arsonist by trade, John Reinhart lives on a farmlette in Colorado with his wife and children. He is a Frequent Contributor at the Songs of Eretz, member of the Science Fiction Poetry Association, and was awarded the 2016 Horror Writers Association
Trigger warning: domestic violence, gun violence Anniversary Hail to the guardians of sleep, for one year ago last night, they stood at the foot of my bed, or at the entrance to the baby’s room, in shifts, maybe even drugged him out cold on the couch so I might still have my head when I woke. Hail to the living room drywall, which absorbed fists meant for me the next morning, didn’t care if he tore it to shreds, and he did. Hail to my broken laptop, my broken phone, my