Every Moment

I stand above this little girl, so peaceful and innocent, with skin that glows in a way that says nothing’s ever touched it. I watch her breathe in and out, hear the noises she makes in her sleep, and I think of a time when she was nothing but a dream. She was never supposed to exist, at least not without lots of medication, months of tracking schedules, years and years of waiting. Yet here she is, in the flesh, so full of love and happiness. She’s my little miracle, life’s greatest gift.

I’ll never forget the day that little plus sign turned blue, the disbelief in my veins, the look of shock on my face. I’ll never forget the first time I heard her heart beat, fast like a hummingbird, strong like a hoofbeat. I’ll never forget the night I first felt her kick, so subtle I almost missed it, but so monumental. I was so in tune with every little change. I embraced every moment, loved every single day. Even now, as I watch her dream in her sleep, I still miss when we were one, her growing in my belly.

But not a thing in this world, matches the love and peace I feel, when I watch my baby sleep like the world is standing still. I catalogue every second, snapshots in my head. I’ll memorize every moment, from her birth until my death. I don’t want to forget a thing, any step on this journey. Because the best thing I’ve been, is this little girl’s mommy.

by Ashley King

© All Rights Reserved 2017


He says he loves it when I write and he asks me to write for him. And really, he’s my favorite material… and there’s no shortage of inspiration. Everything about him is inspiring. He’s the real fucking deal. Here’s the problem: I’ve mistaken empty hands for wanting hearts before. I’ve mistaken infatuation for love, used words for others that I should’ve saved up. Because every line I ever wrote about anyone else now feels like a lie. To the core of my being I want to rip it up, erase it from existence so that I can use the beauty of each phrase, the perfection of every line, the words that I wasted on others, to write about him, and this time. I want to say a million things but some of them have been said before and the very fact that they have left my lips, my fingertips, somehow makes them not good enough for him…. because he’s something new… something different… something actual and tangible and real, totally authentic.

Words never fail me. But when I fell for him I spent so many nights looking in his eyes with a million things I wanted to say to him… and I said none of them. I expressed the smallest pieces of what I was feeling. Because my words didn’t seem good enough to explain this volcano of flames that was erupting in my chest. They simply, just did not fucking cut it. I’ve thought I loved before; and once or twice I have. So I have said many things to a person that I thought was my forever at the time. And to use those same words now, with someone so special, feels nothing short of wrong. They just aren’t good enough. So I’m a writer with no words like a bird without a song…

So how? How do I explain the way that the warmth of his hand on my shoulder radiates through my body straight to my soul and makes me feel like I’ve just come home? How do I explain the amazement I feel when I watch him think his way through something and come to the exact same conclusion that I have, that I swore no one else could see? How do I put into words, that after years of being bad at love, at fucking it up and finding it in all the wrong places, that I know I’ve finally got it right this time? Have you ever done that? Tried for something, given it a chance, time and time again all to discover that what you’d found is just another fuck up, another bad choice, another tragic ending? I have. And because of this past, all the words I have just don’t measure up in the face of this man. So I stare into the eyes of this person that I love to pieces and I know for the first time… that I’m completely speechless.

by Ashley King

© All Rights Reserved 2017

July Eighth

He makes me laugh. He makes me feel loved. He makes me think not every man's hands were made to be guns. He makes me think. He challenges me. He asks me how my day was. Regularly.

He thinks I am beautiful. He sees me as whole. My past is just a past, something that's old. He doesn't use it to label me, color me damaged. He sees a rainbow, not a woman made of bandages.

He loves me the way I thought only I was built to love. Not in that way that makes me think I'll never be enough. It is equal. It is good. It. Is. So. Much.

He speaks my language. He's never bigger than me. Smarter than me. "Be quiet so I can ignore you loudly". He wants to hear me. And that's why he chose me. And I accepted. Because I know a good man…when I see one closely.

by Ashley King
© All Rights Reserved 2017


Some days I struggle.

I carry this sense of impending doom around in my pocket like loose change or leftover lint. I feel a little left of center, a little off balance. Maybe I’m crooked. Maybe I’m damaged. Maybe there’s too many things that I’ve left unspoken, and the weight’s got me bent… but still unbroken.

So now some days I breathe anxiety for oxygen and use anger for strength.
Cause I can only fight as hard as I hate.
And sometimes that fire lightens the weight…
But sometimes it burns me instead.

I never fear the shoe dropping, I fucking expect it and although the years have caused that to lessen, I’ve still learned well how to hold my breath in. I’m a little cautious or completely reckless, balance has never been what I’m best at.

I’ve carried this guilt my entire life, accepting blame for shit that’s not mine.
I was raised to feel responsible, for everything; and it didn’t go away when I got old enough to see. See how broken that thinking is, and how wrong my mom was in the things she did. I was born pure and molded into an apology. Never taught to stand up or fight what people blamed on me. I spent my first 13 years mostly saying “Sorry”.

But evolution is inevitable and eventually the change came. I got a new mom, learned what I didn’t need to say. I stopped accepting blame and slowly dropped the weight. But some things in life, never truly go away.

So some days I wake up, with a belly full of lead, from all of the times that I bit another bullet. And on any given day my spine made of steel can curve into a question mark because not everything is healed. But most of the time, I stand up for myself, I don’t accept blame and take care of myself. I don’t make choices out of guilt, I don’t back down from what I’ve built. I’m accountable for my actions, and nothing fucking else.

by Ashley King
© All Rights Reserved 2017