An Unexpected End

This poem was written as a bit of a slam poem about a relationship that abruptly ended. I have not previously written slam poetry, so it might flow weird. I hope you enjoy– KW

can you pinpoint the moment

that your heart last broke

and you almost started laughing

because it’s got to be a joke

i mean you go from being friends

to being lovers so fast

that your head is still spinning

when he firmly asks

if you’re sure you want to do this

because its sex and not love

and he doesn’t want to hurt you

(but maybe he does)

because you keep on getting closer

then he pushes you away

because unlike the last girl

you actually want to stay

and he says he’s bad at dating

he can’t quite commit

and then he asks to meet your parents

but it’s all bullshit

because he decides that he can’t do this

that it just went too far

but all you can think of

is riding in his car

half-drunk, screaming songs

like its 2009

and you’re still fucking kids

not grown and dead inside

he was supposed to be different

but then you fought

and haven’t spoke

and that’s the awful moment

that your heart last broke.

A Collection Of Poems On Love, Abuse, And Recovery

The following is a trio of poems I have written in response to the 2 years of abuse I experienced. They are a small part of my journey to recovery. I hope you enjoy- KW

Concentrated Pressure

I am not shattered,
nor broken, nor cracked.

The choke hold
you held over me has
turned me into
a diamond.

Now I am far too strong,
too radiant,
too valuable,
for you to ever,
deserve me.

Illegitimi non carborundum
It is okay to have a kind heart.
The world doesn’t have

to grind your compassion to bitter dust.

Acceptance of others is not
an invitation to be torn apart.
You deserve to be
respected and protected.

you owe nothing to them.
Don’t let them snuff out your light.

Taking Residence

My love is not
a no-tell-motel
with windows smashed in
by careless boys pretending to be men.

It is not  guest house,
a place to sleep but not to remain in.
You can’t just come and go
without warning or regret
and expect things to be as clean
as they were on the first visit.

My love is a home
with shoes strewn by the door,
coats hanging off of chairs,
forgotten mugs of tea leaving rings on
my coffee table heart.
My love is messy, but it is real.

I offer up the keys perhaps
too soon, too passionately,
but I do not take that offer lightly.
When you take residence in my heart,
pull up a comfortable chair.
Enjoy your stay.

Dear The Next One

This post is inspired by a Youtube video put out by Ayalla Karina. If you have not yet seen her video, I highly suggest you check it out here.  There are references to domestic violence in my work, so read onward at your discretion-KW

Swirly Heart Image Courtesy of

Dear The Next One,
I am not broken, but I am grateful that you are gentle with me. I don’t like admitting how intensely I was abused by a previous partner, nor how deep the hurt goes. You never bat an eyelash when I make passing jokes about being smacked around. I know it can’t be easy to hear the way I cope with my past.

You’ve seen the way my whole body shakes when you get mad, the terror thumping through my veins, ice cold. And I’ve seen the realization in your eyes as I try to stay composed. The anger melts away, and you hold me. You mean it when you apologize. You listen when I tell you what I cannot bear, and you remember it.

You have still hurt me,  my next one. And that’s okay. Conflict is part of being alive. But when I say hurt, I mean by  losing your temper, or telling me something I need to hear, whether I like it or not. You would never lay a hand on me. I told you, over drinks, that I would never let another man hit me again; I said this for my own reassurance, not because I fear you. You have always gone out of your way to make me feel safe.

It’s not easy for me to put my own comfort above everyone else’s. For such a long time I have been unable to see that I am valuable, and worthy of being happy. I let depression wrap itself around me like a climbing vine, leaving me unwilling to care for myself more than necessary. I stopped washing my hair, doing my makeup, doing my laundry. None of it mattered because I didn’t matter.

I know it won’t always be easy. You are not a perfect person, and I would never ask you to be. I’m nowhere close to perfect either. But with you, I see a future where happiness is not fleeting. I don’t know if you will be my last one. You don’t need to be. I am happy for you to be you, unabashedly, my next one.

All My Love,
Katherine Wheel

Suomi Dreams

Even now, at age 24, I dream of happily ever after. I dream of a 3-bedroom house with a modest yard. I dream of little blue-eyed children gazing back at me, still convinced that Mommy has all the answers.

I don’t have the answers. As it turns out, neither does my mother, or her mother. Frankly, I’d like to know who has all the answers. Why do I come from a family with a longstanding background of mental illness and substance abuse? Why do I fall for men cut from that same cloth?

I think that’s why I hold so tightly to my fairytale life, and the fantasy world in my head. It lets me escape from the painful reality of my past and the difficult decisions I must make every day. Fantasy gives me hope for the future. Understandably, I feel mentally stunted. The ways in which I love have changed so little since I was 14. I love furiously, passionately, completely. Love consumes me so much that I often wonder if all women feel this way.

I’m finally going to experience a long-held fantasy of mine next week: I’m going to see HIM for their farewell tour. HIM is and was a band I’ve romanticized for years. A band that created Love Metal. A band fronted by a man who has turned all of his sorrows into something beautiful and healing. Ville Valo is the kind of creator I️ aspire to be. Because of him, his bandmates, and the legacy they’ve built I want to live in their native country of Finland, if only for a little while. There is nothing that brings me the same mental peace as envisioning breathing in the brisk Helsinki air and being free to write and create.

It sounds outlandish, I imagine. It probably is. But I’m holding on to Finland.

All my love,

Katherine Wheel