•September 24, 2014 • 1 Comment

The grinding teeth sharpening to points is just my body’s preparation
Preparing I’m sure
I’m to become something
Blackened gnarled arms claw at the sky

Keep moving forward

•June 9, 2014 • Leave a Comment


I’ve been having this conversation with myself a lot lately:
“Bad day.”
“No, you just dropped a glass.”
“Bad day!”
“Nope, the sheet is just too short.”
“Can it be a bad day now?”
“No, one hairy shower at work does not ruin your day.”
It’s hard but policing myself this way and forcing myself to be positive (or at least rational) does make life easier.

Things are weird. The person I was talking to frequently needs space and time to sort out his life. He has huge changes coming up and I’m not sure that there’s room for me in his plans.

Keep moving forward.

No promotion. I don’t think I’m going to see one this season unless I apply for porter. (No thank you.)

Keep moving forward.

I should call home. And also my bank. And W. And basically anyone familiar because I feel like I’m drifting out of myself. Maybe I’m just becoming me.

Big little

•April 27, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I’m having all of these big dreams lately. I know I should be taking my meds but dreams are exciting and my hair isn’t falling out as aggressively as it was. Hopefully the structure of working will help manage the bi polar. If I can just keep moving, I won’t be able to curl into a ball and sob. Anyway I’m out of the worst of the withdrawal, now just comes the management.

Write a book; start a webcomic; couch surf; fall in love; adventure. These are the things that preoccupy me. I am gripped with terrible wanderlust. I’m too still and I have no direction. It’s crushing. I need to move and experience. I have the time, I have the freedom, I would just need to make the money as I go along. We’ll see. I’m sure it can work.

I’m a week away from leaving and it can’t happen soon enough. My house is extremely tense. No one can speak to my mother. We’ve all scattered to our corners. This isn’t healthy.

My Okc account is open and I’ve been chatting regularly with someone. I’m learning a lot about myself. A big solid realization hit me that I have never been a single adult. I don’t actually know what I want in a partner because I’ve not experienced an adult relationship. How weird is that? I was nearly married. I was partnered for 12 years but I don’t know anything about adult relationships. Outside of Okc, The Crush burns on. I’ve caught myself asking if I love him. I don’t know. I don’t think I know what love feels like. A terrified part of me hopes so intensely that it’s because the meds dulled me too much. It hopes beyond hope that I’m not incapable of feeling certain things. Greater than that even it hopes that there is something to feel to begin with.


•April 22, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Hey guys. I feel like an ass for doing this but I have a little problem. In about two weeks I begin my employment adventure in Yellowstone National Park. Unfortunately I’ve come up about $150 short in travel expenses with no current income to cover it. No income to fund the travel to get to the job that provides the income. Not cool. It’s such a small amount that I feel ridiculous asking, but that tiny amount stands between me and my direction.

Here’s the link if you’d like to help. <3


•March 10, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I awake
In bizarre indigo gardens.
Flowers with heads split wide
Screech imploringly to a glitter
black sky.

I wait for her,

The mother of claws and feathers.
The man she hunted,
A coppery dream lingering in her cheek.
A plasma love.
(all mine)
(to the bone)

In my chest, muscle stutters
in attempts to follow
the ticking pulse of the mirrored faces,
Darting from every peripheral glance.


I’ve come to her,
Her child with a field of face irrigated in aggravated tears.
To the mother of claws and feathers
I’ve brought my nightmares.
“Kill them,” I cry. “They know my name. They eat me alive.”

All fanged affection,
Pure jagged maternal love,
She is to the sky.
A soothing glint of murderous nurturing.

And the very last thing the demons will sing,
“Is that the soft beating of mighty wings?”

Organ Thief

•March 8, 2014 • 1 Comment

I own trauma shears

Black water organ cooler

Shrieking harpy mouth

Filled with razor lipped love

Give me

Give me

Give me


We can take the superfluous organs

And replace them with mirrors



Hollowed eyes to hold the peat

The secret mirrors reflecting back

Gardens full of clocks ticking

And wings beating


children of Manticore

•March 6, 2014 • 3 Comments

Edit: I took both Claritin and Ativan today. Ativan swirls my thoughts into spindled colors, clawed arms that reach for ashen skies. Claritin apparently spins me right out into intense disassociation. I’m ok. I’m really ok. I’ll be even better once I get some good sleep. All that follows needed to be said anyway.

We play fearlessly in the dark now.

If Manticore is our mother

who are these people calling us into houses blindingly fluorescent


In colors we don’t understand

Feelings beyond our comprehension

We don’t love

(Because you have to love yourself!)

We don’t love because it’s not safe

We are platonic and we are familial

We do not touch

We do not surrender physical acts of control

We do not surrender emotional acts of control


We don’t hug because we don’t show weakness. We don’t hug because if you don’t touch us, we feel safe. We don’t hug family because they stand too close. (Tell the truth. We don’t hug family because we don’t trust them.) They stand too close and they don’t entirely understand that getting close to our face makes us profoundly uncomfortable. If they stand too close they might know. They might hear the grinding and crunching noise that happens in our chest. They might hear the screaming terror that is always one breath away. They might know that yellow is sick and so we hide it under blue so that we can be green. They might know, that we don’t know if we are dangerous. We don’t know the lengths that we would go to reclaim our space. To reclaim our safety.
We play fearlessly in the dark because it’s safer than the light.

And yet. And yet we crave affection from others. Maybe. We think we crave it. We theoretically crave human warmth.

We are we today because we can’t be me. Not right now. We are not fortified. We are not incorporated. We are a thousand black and purple tendrils. We are feeling the you. The you because we need to keep the you at this length. Don’t touch us. We will destroy everything we must to keep our safety.

We did too much today. We saw too much, heard too many things. Too many people touched us. All the while our lungs were shredding in our chest. We always wonder how much of this is psychosomatic. Predictive. Our airways constrict and every inhale is razors, every exhale is flame. We know why. We can’t fix it right now. We say right now a lot.

Self-indulgent but there is no catharsis until someone else hears us. Until our words are read they stay inside of us. They kill us slowly, we don’t reincorporate, we disassociate. We disappear to hammered numbness. We die.

Deidra Alexander's Blog

I have people to kill, lives to ruin, plagues to bring, and worlds to destroy. I am not the Angel of Death. I'm a fiction writer.

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Welcome to my blog all about my book to be Illicit By Nature. Filled with hilarities, horrors, and a dash of tomfoolery to keep you all entertained… fingers crossed!


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