Wonderland Wanderess

 He tried to end our lives on a hot Summer night, With hands full of chaos, reaching for our light. The dark pressed close; the fear too sharp to name, Yet dawn still came, and we remained the same. Our world cracked open; safety torn apart, Trauma carved its echo into our hearts. My daughter’s eyes learned truths too soon, Yet still they searched for stars, beneath the moon. Police sirens wailed in the deathly night, Fuel stung our lungs, as we screamed into the quiet. A knife in my hands, I vowed to end his life, If he got close to my daughter, or tried more strife. We carried terror, heavy as our own breath, Each memory a whisper, dressed as death. But love stood watch, when sleep refused to stay, And taught our shaking bodies to wait for the day. What tried to break us forged a deeper strength, Resilience born through an abuser’s cruel length. We are not defined by what he tried to do, We lived; we healed, and nothing broke us two. Scarred but standing—tender, fierce, and whole...

 I didn’t become myself through light, Or gentle change, or things done right. I came apart; I split; I bled, I learned the cost of what I fed. I fed the ache; I fed the lie, I fed the need to feel not I. I fed the voice that said, “Endure,” As if slow death could be a cure. Becoming came with broken vows, With children learning through snapping boughs. They’d read my silence; read my fear, Before they learned the calendar year. I buried girls who begged to be, Chosen, saved, or carried free. I raised a woman hard and plain, Who chose herself and bore the pain. My body learned what numbness stole, My mouth learned love; my spine, its role. To stand without a crutch or myth, To face the days; mine to sit with. No one applauds becoming whole, There’s no arrival siren, or kicked goal. Just choosing right when wrong feels near, When old lives whisper, “Miss me, dear.” I am not soft because I lived through hell, I’m sharp because I chose to dwell; Here—awake—with shaking hands, Becoming...

 My body was a crime scene, taped in yellow fear, Every breath an echo of what once happened here. Fingerprints of trauma lingered on my skin, Every touch a question I was scared of letting in. I walked myself like evidence, guarded and still, A witness to my own pain against my will. Bruises lived in memory; shadows in my head, Testimonies whispered of the things I left unsaid. I learned to live in fragments; lock each fragile door, Calling numbness safety, convinced I needed more. I mistook the quiet for peace; absence for control, Built walls around my body to protect my wounded soul. But healing came like kindness; patient, slow, and true, A voice beside the wreckage softly saying, “This is you.” Not here to take or question; not here to claim or blame, Just here to help me remember, I am more than just the pain. I peeled away the caution tape; let sunlight trace my skin, Turned the evidence into history, and let the living begin. My body is not proof of all the harm I’ve known...

  Dear inner child, come sit with me, I see your hurt, I hear your plea. You learned too young to stand alone, To call cold silence, being grown. You tried so hard to always cope, To turn your fear into your hope. You wore your brave, you hid your cries, With shaky hands and watering eyes. I’m here now, love; I won’t look away, I’ll choose you gently, every day. You don’t have to earn your rest, You’ve always, always done your best. It’s safe to feel; to break; to heal, To trust that warmth and joy are real. I’ll hold the pieces while you’re small, I’ll catch you every time you fall. Dear inner child, the war is through, The world is softer now, and you. You get to laugh, you get to play, I’ve got you, darling; you can stay. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2026

It doesn’t start with shattered skin, But quiet rules that creep within. A harsh voice; a watchful stare, A leash disguised as loving care. It edits you in subtle ways, Your words; your clothes; your nights; your days. Each, “I just worry” tightens more, Until you’re smaller than before. Your world contracts, the walls move in, Your thoughts feel watched beneath your skin. You learn the weight of every sigh, The danger in a question, “Why?” Your laughter fades; your edges blur, You stop remembering who you were. Your “no” dissolves to please; appease, Your silence learned as expertise. Now bruises bloom and blood is shown, Yet something vital has been overthrown. Not flesh or bone, but will and choice, The quiet murder of a voice. They take your trust, then take your name, Rewrite your truth; reframe your pain. You doubt your mind; your past; your sight, Because they swear that wrong is right. This is domestic violence, refined and slow, A careful theft no one can show. Hands clenched ...

  A brand new year unfolds today, A clean white page; a clearer way. We set down weight we no longer need, And choose new hope in word and deed. The past can teach but cannot stay, Its echoes fade; we turn away. What broke us once, now shows us how, To stand up stronger, here and now. We promise growth; we promise grace, To meet ourselves fully, face to face. To try again when plans fall through, To keep our hearts both brave and true. Each morning offers something new, Another chance; a brighter view. Small steps still count, slow progress too, The quiet work we choose to do. The road ahead is far from clear, But hope’ll walk us through the year. No perfect lives; no flawless start, Just honest days and open hearts. So let us vow, as this year starts, To keep our word; to play our parts. A fresh slate held in open hands, New promises and better plans. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2026

  Dear 2026, come closer, sit, I’ve got some truths I’ll now admit. I’m not the same one who knocked before, I’ve lived; I’ve learned; I’ve wanted more. I come with scars I no longer hide, With softer edges; a steadier stride. I’ve buried versions that couldn’t stay, And sent them kindly on their way. I’ve learned that healing isn’t loud, It’s choosing peace; it’s standing proud. It’s boring nights and honest days, It’s finding worth in simple ways. I’ve learned my strength is showing up, But that you cannot pour from an empty cup. That love is action, not just flame, And staying whole beats winning games. So, whether you bring me joy or tests, I’ll meet both equally with my best, I promise this, no matter what, I won’t back down; I will not stop. Be gentle, sure, but don’t hold back, I’m not afraid of staying on track. Dear 2026, let’s make it true, A year of peace, and choosing me too. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2025

  Thirteen years since that final call, Since silence learned my name. The world kept spinning; seasons changed, But nothing felt the same. I search for you in quiet rooms, In songs we used to know. In laughter that still catches me, And turns to undertow. Time said it heals, but truth is this, It only teaches how to stand. With empty spaces in your heart, Still reaching for your hand. I’ve grown; I’ve broken, I’ve learned what grief can be. A shadow stitched into my joy, A part of loving, see. If love could’ve saved you, you’d be here, I know that to my core. You were so deeply, fiercely loved, And still are, forevermore. So I speak your name into the dark, I refuse to let it fade. Thirteen years, my dearest friend, You’re still the mark you made. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2025

 I fell in love with quiet words that wait, With ink that knows my truth without debate. A blank white page, a breath before the sound, A place where lost and broken parts are found. Poetry taught my heart to speak in lines, To turn rough grief into deliberate signs. Each rhyme a stitch, each verse a steady hand, Mending pieces no one else would understand. I write to feel; to make sense of pain, To turn life’s storms into gentle rain. The pen becomes a lighthouse in the night, Guiding thoughts back home, restoring light. In writing, I am honest, brave, and free, More myself than I’ve allowed the world to see. For poetry is just love in written art, A thousand whispers from my heart. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2025

He doesn’t enter rooms like thunder’s shout, No crashing need to prove what he’s about. His power lives where steady truths are found, In words kept soft; in promises unbound. There’s no wars to win and I’ve no flag to wave, No fragile pride, demands that he be brave. He knows that strength does not require noise, Nor raised fists, or manipulative ploys. His voice is low, but never born of fear, He listens close; makes space; stays near. He walks away from fights that feed into flame, Refusing ego’s desire to stake its claim. He knows that love is not control, That gentleness is disciplined and whole. He doesn’t shy away from tears that fall, His own, or mine—he honours them all. And standing by him, I don’t shrink or bend, I rise, made steady by a heart on the mend. For real masculinity is not loud or proud, It isn’t toxic when patience and grace are allowed. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2025

  In January, my boys despised me, or so it felt to me, My choices cast long shadows where their trust once used to be. In February, death came knocking, cruel and far too near, I chose my life; my daughter’s life—and sobered up through fear. In March, I faced the wreckage, every humbling step, I fought like hell for sobriety, the promises I kept. In April, my firstborn, marked fifteen years alive, His birthday broke my heart—I learned how grief survives. In May, I turned thirty-six, though older still I felt, As time carved hard-earned lessons from each hand that life dealt. In June, I leapt from heaven, from a plane into the sky, I learned that fear can free you when you dare to let it fly. In July, love found me where my teenage dreams once lay, A boy from twenty years ago—my heart knew right away. In August, six months sober, stood steady, strong, and clear, Half a year of choosing life, of showing up sincere. My girl, she turned eleven, though wise beyond her years, A child fo...

Another Christmas Eve, but this one’s not the same, Something deep within me whispers life has changed its name. Not braced for what might shatter, not holding my breath tight, For once I’m resting easy as the world turns soft with light. Last year was stitched with sorrow, with confusion, pain, and loss, Each morning felt like penance, every choice a heavy cost. I carried guilt like winter, cold and cutting to the bone, Unsure if I would ever find my way back home. But this year I am standing, sober, present, free, Tomorrow doesn’t frighten me with what it asks of me. I wake without the weight of shame pressed heavy on my chest, And for the first time in so long, I know I’ve done my best. Lights adorn the house and tree, like the glitter in my heart, Tiny sparks of healing where the breaking used to start. Laughter fills the walls again, no echoes left to roam, This joy is loud and living—this house is finally home. My children’s eyes are shining with a trust rebuilt by time, Proof th...

My scars speak first when I enter a room, They arrive before words; before names; before bloom. They tell of the nights I survived by my own breath, Of bargains with silence; of dances with death. They don’t cry aloud or ask to be seen, They whisper of battles; of where I have been. They murmur, “She’s fallen, she knows how it feels, To kiss the hard ground and still learn how to heal.” Some thin as the regrets I once carried with shame, Some wide as the darkness that swallowed my name. Each mark holds a truth my voice struggled to say, Of choosing to live when it felt easier not to stay. I used to grow smaller when eyes lingered long, Afraid they’d read me and get me all wrong. Now I let them stare, let the scars do their part, They tell of my breaking, and more of my heart. They say I was tested, bent close to the flame, That pain tried to own me, but failed in its claim. They speak of endurance, of strength softly worn, Of a woman remade, not bitter—but born. So when I speak now, it...

They didn’t say it out loud, or otherwise make it known, No speeches made, no painted signs, no big words overthrown. Forgiveness, it came softly; quiet, and slow, Like light through a door I’d bolted with, “No.” It lived in their laughter—careless and free, In hands reaching out, without doubting me. In the way they said, “Mum”—still warm; still whole, Like my broken past hadn’t swallowed the role. I carried my shame, like a weight on my chest, They carried none—they just wanted my best. I counted the nights I was half-there; not true, They never kept score of the things I’d undo. I judged my every failure; replayed my every fall, Built courtrooms in silence, where I’d sentence them all. While I punished my heart for the things I’d become, They were planning tomorrow, with me as their mum. Children don’t forgive with words carefully said, They forgive by believing you’ll show up instead. By asking for presence and trusting you’ll try, By sleeping in peace, sure you won’t say goodbye. ...

  This Christmas, it feels quieter; softer somehow still, An empty chair, a missing laugh, a space no joy can fill. The lights are up, the tree still glows, the carols drift and play, But part of us is holding our breath and learning how to stay. Your hands once wrapped the season up in warmth and gentle cheer, With stories told and love poured out, every single year. Now memories hang like ornaments: fragile, bright, and true, Each one a thread of Christmas love that leads us back to you. We feel you in traditions; in every shared refrain, In recipes and rituals that soften grief and pain. Though this is our first Christmas, walking without you near, We carry you inside our hearts, in every quietly shed tear. So tonight we’ll light a candle and let its silent glow remind, That love outlives the hard goodbyes we have to leave behind. Merry Christmas, Grandma—your light still shows the way, Not gone from us, just held in love, this Christmas and always. ©️ Wonderland Wanderess 2025

  Twenty years back, just kids in disguise, Wild hearts, sharp smiles, truth hid in our eyes. We found each other early, too soon to understand, How love can slip away, when time won’t take your hand. We fit like a secret the world couldn’t keep, But timing stood guard while we learned how to bleed. So fate pulled us sideways, said, “Go—learn the cost, You’ll find what is real, only after it’s lost.” It sent us through fire, through nights carved in doubt, Through breaking ourselves just to figure things out. We loved and we lost and we stood on our own, Learning strength is built when you’re left all alone. And still—after detours, wrong turns, and delay, After swearing we’d never come back the same way, Every version of me: cracked, weathered, and torn, Kept walking the road that led here, reborn. Because you are my home—not the place, but the truth, The shelter I earned after fighting my youth. After all of the miles, the twists and the bends, I’d walk through those storms again...

Dear Self,  You are strong and you are brave, and you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit for that. You have survived more in your 35 years of life than most people endure in a lifetime. It is time to forgive yourself for the mistakes you made along the way. Survival might not be an excuse, but it is an explanation, and every so-called ‘wrong’ step brought you to where you are, and who you are, today. Would you trade this version of you for anything? No. No, you would not. You, therefore, cannot begrudge what you think were missteps any longer. Each one put you on this path; the right path; the sober path.  You are humble, kind, compassionate, and empathetic. Despite the heart aches and breaks you have lived through, you refused to allow the darkness of this world to harden your soul. You strode out of Hell like you owned the place, head held high, nursing buckets of water for loved ones still burning. And even when your voice shook, you told your stories; you had the cou...

  Wise beyond her years,  With pockets full of tears.  Her innocence was stolen, The wheels of injustice keep on rollin’.  A little girl forced to grow up before her time,  Fear and betrayal in what should’ve been her prime. A beautiful little soul, trampled and bloodied, But God forbid the guilty, have their name muddied. She’s fierce and she’s fire, Destined to inspire. But that doesn’t make it fair, The trauma was never hers to bear. They say it’ll make her stronger, Learning to trust will take a bit longer. But she’s the strongest girl I know, And courage is all she can show. I’m so proud to call this girl mine, She’s the cosmic dust that makes my stars shine. I know that she’ll get through this, And the hard times, she’ll no longer miss. She’ll run, she’ll sing, she’ll dance, she’ll love, Because this girl was sent from Heaven above. And if I ever doubted God, as I stared at the sunrise, I see Him every time I look into her hazel eyes. So Baby Girl, you hur...

  There’s a warrior inside me, Who spent years locked in a cage; I’m sorry that I clipped her wings, And left her alone with her rage. I didn’t know how to love me, Therefore, couldn’t love her either; I had the keys to set her free, To let her live, but I did neither. For years she begged and pled with me, To convince me we were enough; But I searched outside for something more, A protector and provider; strong and tough. But that toughness was within all along, I’d just locked her away from the world; I buried her deep within my bruised soul, Never allowing her wings to unfurl. She seethed and resented my empathy, And all the trauma it attracted; She stood for boundaries and self-love, Not broken promises, always retracted. Still she waited for the day, I’d at last see my worth, When I’d say enough is enough, I deserve more; I gingerly reached for the key I always knew I had, Dug deep into my darkest parts and flung open the door. She didn’t greet me with hate, Just her joyous wa...

TRIGGER WARNING: the following research article contains graphic details and sensitive topics which some readers may find distressing. On 7 August 2012, Brandon Duran was murdered and his body was sawed into twenty-five pieces (Porterfield, 2017a). Duran’s body parts were then placed in concrete-filled buckets and discarded in a pond. One of the two convicted killers was Amber Andrews, Duran’s ex-wife, and the mother of his 3-year-old son. She allegedly conspired with her lover, Justin Hammer, to lure Duran to Elmore, under the ruse of reconciling. A jury rejected Andrews’ assertion that the proposed reconciliation was genuine, along with her pleas of innocence. Andrews and Hammer were both convicted of murder in the first degree (Dillon, 2014); however, this paper will mainly focus on Andrews, who was additionally charged with desecration of a corpse and conspiring to commit murder. She is currently serving a life sentence for the murder, and a further 17 years, for the associated...