Male egos-family links…

I lost my spark when the match wouldn’t light. I tried to use my flashlight so that I could see the paper beneath my pen, but the battery was dead. So instead tears fell upon that paper, the words never came like the poetry lost in my phone when reset. My heart erased. There is nothing but numbness where passion was, and digging deep, I still can’t find the words to complete what I had felt. My stories go on, but even the sound of waves don’t bring me elaborate details of analytical thoughts. I clean, I sing, I try to dance, and this world has me spent on who I am — wasted on the fact that they force you to ride the merry go round stealing what was ours in the first place. Our spirits, in it freedom, when we were told in this life we could be anyone and anything given you worked at it. All lies alibi’s to deceive us into believing we mattered. And I used to think I did before people I loved, naysayers forced themselves into my mind, breaking my backbone, causing me to pray to a man above, a man! For it is the man who makes it impossible for the women to break free! And there is nothing our society has done to make it easy to wriggle out of this perpetual circle they have us entrapped in! And when we choose to rebel in the slightest way they make sure we know we’ve gone astray.

Angela K. Crandall ©9/11/19

Soul Suvivor

“My nightmare is your dream on steroids.
Swinging with the metallic band, I could never comprehend.
So I dive under the covers to hide in a cocoon.
I plunge into elsewhere with purple streaks in my hair far, far away deep in the gray zone.”


Equality for All

The only sanctuary that exists is in your own mind.
This world is blind
It doesn’t know what unconditional love is
What it knows is fear, hate, and how to take away
What was never theirs,
It says
‘And liberty and justice for all.’
Most of you make me want to die
But I know I have to keep fighting
For those that need me.
I stand with the LGBT community.
~Angela K. Crandall~

What’s within

“And so I built walls because you choose to stick them up. I began to create my own. I’d rather stay in a world I shaped, than the one you doomed. My cage of words, creating stories. Can you take them from my head, as you took my heart from my soul? Each and every word is an action typed within breaths leaked from the pulse I continue to allow to beat. The only repercussion would be I could no longer tell my story. It’s why I go on. It’s my story. It’s all I have. I will not allow anyone else to hold the pen. At times for this, I suffer, we suffer, creating our worlds unlike any other. Now, I should sleep within. Again tomorrow I begin again. Faults, scars, alibis, misspelled words, and punctuation.”

-Angela K. Crandall©8/7/16 (Sweet dreams.)


Sensational sleep, don’t make me weep
Let me slumber in your arms
Bring me no harm
Allow me to rest humbly in my bed
Until the sun does shine
Then comes the dark
When I hit the spark, and lights blink on
Draw me into the dream
I’ll lucidly linger
My head upon soft pillows
My arms hug my Teddy bear
I’ll drift in dreams
You’ll find me there.
Angela K. Crandall

Thankful in-spite of myself

I am always thankful for what I have

Some days the sunshine hides behind the clouds

And I don’t see the light hidden within

My emotions play havoc with what people, really think of me

And I am judged, often for needing to be reminded I am loved

This, is what depression and loneliness, look like

It’s not, about you, it’s about us

Inside our own skin, needing reassurance

That you remember

As I try to remember

That the sun will return

The rain will disappear

And again, there will be light to replace the darkness.


Angela K. Crandall


Unspoken Reality

Where is the devotion?

Hero’s, hope for the best

That tragedies, happen, for reasons

Nothing is just chance

Because if it’s not

Then why do we suffer pain and heartbreak

Why are we filled with illusions of what we think should be?

When nothing at all exists there.

Where do we end up?

Why do we dream

If it is all in vain


Destructive notions

What are we if not dreamers?

Living in a sea

That is, trying to swallow us into the reality

Others decide, is real?


Angela K. Crandall


Meet me in the middle

Changing lives matter

Each small gift of wisdom

Perfection is not in perfect

It’s what we do to aid others

Ease it not is

Conflicts cause difficulties, reasoning

Abilities to look beyond often are not pleasing

Hope is found, in connections similar, seeing some the same

 But not always

Piecing together important parts

Understanding reflections exist

Beyond this shallow water of illusions can we rise?

Or will we forever be denied knowing

What could have been?

I look out into the horizon letting the water lap over my feet.

The now clean beach is ready

The petitions in my mailbox, have been signed

Words are spoken, to people I meet

In the spirit, that they too will see kindness

It isn’t easy

Anger does come


The hardships of compassion

They too bleed

It’s the hate, that damages us, the most

In eyes, that want to force us into sameness

Let’s Celebrate culture

Not deny it, the heritage we came from

When people fought for rights to live free

No matter what their race, sexuality, or belief

Why do we keep denying this?

I’ll keep writing poetry, til it ends

Beauty, love, hate, hurt, peace, beliefs, and non-beliefs

Where, can we find the serenity, the believers claim?

I don’t think it will be when we are all the same

Only, when we embrace diversity will the anger subside

Helping our neighbors, in spite of the challenges, we face within us

Because outside us our hands are needed

To rise, above the system created to defeat us.


Angela K. Crandall



Lost in the idea, that death will come for you, without having to die.

You’ll merely exist, unless you rise above, all that is around you, surrounds you, engulfs you and attempts to steal your soul.

We are not here to be beaten down, but to rise!

We must gain, our abilities through cultures united, not divided, nor should you lack the ability, to see we all bleed red, but love unites us when everything else separates us.

 If we could learn, how to accept we are not all the same.

 Stop ignoring what we don’t like about each other, acknowledge you are you, and I’m me.

 Then maybe we could stop wars, poverty, and the thought that I’m better than you for what I have, who I am, my sexuality, my religion or that which may offend you.

Instead see that inside we all hold our own, truths.

Still we fight colliding on top of each other.

A rubble of chaos.



Angela K. Crandall