Paul Shanghai

I do not remember my birth

I’ve only the gist of it

The inconvenience

Of my first audible scream

I have never seen scars

Such as those you bare mother

The deep red and purple gashes

Spread over your abdomen

As if I’d clawed my way

Through your flesh

Fully grown and monstrous

How does one survive such wounds?

I have murdered you surely

The banshee before me now

Like the sclera of an epileptic eye

(We’re quite the pair mother)


I mentioned this on Curious Flowers but I started a project to write 1 poem for every year of my life. I can’t say that I will complete the project. I realize what a grim undertaking it might be.



Departing Sun


In the precarious light of a sanctimonious sun I confess my sins to you. You who through rivalry are acclimated but never appalled by my flair for the dramatic. You who share my love of dangerous men and untidy adrenalin filled dalliances that have no hope of proposal. The story is always the same I met a man, good-looking but with a deliciously repellent and misunderstood personality. A man whose bad childhood justifies his actions more or less. The sex was incredible, I mean really incredible, practically religious. Our relationships was 60” by 80” of perfect happiness, outside of that padded cell I was miserable. I broke up with him after a few months of fooling around, it was just getting too sordid, too complicated, even for me, if you can imagine.


He died shortly after, I didn’t murder him, he just died in a very ordinary sort of way, a car accident, no alcohol, quickly I am told. I was devastated, I am not a monster, I really mourned that bastard. Then I started getting sick, I figured it was the lack of sleep and not eating right but I couldn’t manage to pull myself together. It was like he was inside of me, haunting me, tormenting me. Maybe the breakup was what did him in? Maybe he was crying and he couldn’t see the speeding Nissan heading right for him? Rationally I knew he wasn’t upset, I saw him chatting up a girl not three days after the breakup but there was nothing logical about my grief, the immensity of it. You would have thought my husband had died the way I went on about it. I lost my job, I started putting on weight, I stopped showering for fuck’s sake.


Nothing mattered, I visited his grave everyday. What does one do at a grave anyways? I kept reading him poems even though I knew he’d hate them. I just had to keep talking and I didn’t know enough to say anything to him personally. You were a great lay but kinda of an asshole? That’s not really a conversation. Sometimes I begged him to forgive me, not just for his death but for everything. I just sat there praying to this worthless bastard and his worthless corpse, deranged with grief.


During one of my ridiculous poetry recitals an old woman asked me if that was the father of my child. I was livid, fat and livid but it turns out I was also pregnant. It was too late for an abortion and I couldn’t kill his child too, our child, my child specifically. So I had a child, a boy, that looks just like him only bald and with delightfully smiley eyes. He loves me and he is the first man who I can honestly say that about. He’s obsessed with breasts like the rest of them but he is a good guy. His name is Luca and I’d like you to meet him.


The beautiful photograph is brought to you by the prompt host howanxious

Submission for


Blog Challenge 17 Proudest Moment


My proudest moment was giving birth to my daughter!


My husband was amazing. I had told him before hand that I would likely be very scared, emotional, and in a lot of pain so that the last thing I wanted was people asking me every 5 seconds if I was okay. I wasn’t okay obviously and I really didn’t envision myself wanting to answer questions either lol I told him to just stand beside me, hold my hand if I reached for him, and to just remain calm and above all quiet so I could focus. That is exactly what he did, the nurses kept trying to encourage him to talk more but he went right on not talking like a good boy. I was so proud of him because I know he wanted to do something but giving birth isn’t something he or anyone could do for me. I had to do it. I wanted to do it.


My doctor was a blessing. I was so scared of having a male doctor but when I moved half-way through my pregnancy I didn’t have many options. I have had some truly horrific experiences with male gynecologists and I have been sexually abused so I was terrified in the beginning. My doctor figured out I had been abused and brought a female in to perform the exams and talk to me so I would feel safer. They kept the exams brief and never did more than necessary. During the delivery he was incredible he followed my birthing plan exactly and listened to every request I made without questioning it, he never spoke to me in a condescending fashion and he never said things like you have to suck it up. He was calm and patient and kept invasive procedures to the bare minimum.


My daughter she was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen naturally! She was so strong/healthy (she had lungs) and alert. She was actually so alert people would stop me in the halls and comment on how they had never seen a newborn with that level of focus, her gaze was mesmerizing. She literally stared the doctor down when he first held her.


Myself. My mom told me that having a baby would be the most selfish moment of my life but I didn’t want it to be like that. Being born has got to be a terrifying experience (scarier than giving birth) and I wanted to make the experience easier for Isadora. My labor like most first time labors was long. I woke up in the night with cramps and I remembered the doctor had said it will take a long time better to stay at home relax until the cramps get a certain distance apart. I took a bath, tried to go back to sleep, slept some basically tried to keep it Zen. When I felt the time was right (sometime the next morning) I went to the hospital and I was 6 cm along which I stayed for 20 plus hours. Breaking my water did not have an effect, she was pretty reluctant about it and I had to be induced (I wanted to give her time but at a certain point it can be necessary). The actual delivery took me 10 minutes. I was so focused on Isadora, there wasn’t even a self to think about it, it was just bring this little girl safely into the world, be strong because she needs you. I didn’t even scream at anyone lol Contrary to what my mom told me I don’t think I have ever forgotten myself in this way, I didn’t care about anything but this magical little person. Isadora is the only miracle I have ever created, Sam and I made her together and that still blows my mind!


More pictures of Izzy