Posted in life, Poems, thoughts

De-con-stru-ct-ion in vague.

Why did you ask if I was angry when

rain was filling my



titanium tanks over

flowing with hate;

I hope you can forgive

my doubled up wa

-lls; I hope you

can forget my

subconscious lies

but if you are still wondering

oui, I am a pissed off.

-Eva M.M.

Note on the art: All credit to the artist.

Hey everyone, thanks as always for stopping by and checking out my post. If you are new to the 1withthepen community I invite you to share your thoughts and ask any questions you may have, as well as explore some of my older post and pages at the menu on top. Thanks and all the best wishes!  🙂

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in life, Poems, thoughts

Kindred Soul

for Andrea


Fish out of water



flop fish flop


they don’t know art when it’s not theirs

They don’t know home

unless it’s in their bones

and they don’t know

what we do

what bees do

what art does

breath and bone and blood mingle

Thought canvas

thought hive

thought reflecting deep blue water lights

the emptiness

of river

fish out of water



fight kindred soul fight.

-Eva M.M.


Thank you as always for reading and have a wonderful day my little ink angels.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in Poems, thoughts


A girl I know
the night huddled over the speckled toliet bowl
watching little floating islands of bread and cheese

Two fingers




– Eva M. Monhaut

Quick notes about this poem:

When I wrote this I originally called it (the)countdown but I settled with 0. Or have at least for the moment. Zero is such an empty number and there is so much emptiness contained in this very empty poem itself. It only seemed fitting.

Also, while this poem does have more than one layer to it eating disorders, in particular bulimia take center stage. I do want to address the fact that I am not condoning those actions not confirming those who may struggle with them. If you or someone you know are struggling with an eating disorder please call one of these numbers, talk to a doctor or other trained professional, and surround yourself with the love and support you need.

Photo credit to the photographer/artists.

Thank you as always for reading and helping me bring awareness to many things contained within this poem.

Posted in life, Poems, thoughts, Uncategorized


we have a history

a speckled past


of me and you



bone and bone-s


doubt doubles on my chest

death lingers at my breast

–breath upon tortured breath,

the night still screams in echo, “LOVE ME!”

but I, stare out at light reflecting water, reflecting light–

still learning to let go.

-Eva M.Monhaut

Thank you guys as always for stopping by and reading. If you are knew to the ink angels community feel free to ask me anything and check out my about me pages.

The photo for this post is not the greatest and I do hope to replace it with a better one in the future. It was taken by me the other night when I went to visit the River lights in South Bend with my friend, The Artist,so shout out to her for bringing my on a much needed adventure and giving me some time to clear my head and inspiration for this poem.

If you want to find out more about the River Lights or just see some better photography skills check this link out:River Lights South Bend.

Love you all!

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in life, Poems, thoughts

Stolen Identity

Despairingly, I spoke of your despairing disparity

of ten years lost in translation

of playing hide and seek with your past


all of this is

a winter slowly dying

a woman still questioning

if her heart has been fooled ;


stealing stolen identies

to steal away the pain

of losing who you once were before

identity stolen





to lose



to love.

-Eva M.M.

Thanks as always for stopping by and for your continual love and support of my writing.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”


Posted in life, Poems, thoughts


This time of year the snow men sneak out

and manifest themselves as smiling gentlemen clothed in white.

This time of year everything becomes frosted

with the chill of winter, the silence of huddled and rare warmth.

This time of year


migrate to my bed

and pull the covers up over my eyes

to hibernate until the frigidness passes…

This time this year– I am finally learning the meaning of the word Winter;


You don’t know what cold is until it is all that you are.

-Eva M.M.


I think winter is finally settling in where I am at least and so I thought it appropriate to share this poem with you. Also, I have been going through a rough patch lately and of course the whether reflects that for me in a very concrete way.Despite that and the fact I have never been a winter person. I am going to stay all bundled up reading now that I am almost done with finals. I hope you all stay warm and enjoy some good books ( and 1withthepen!) If you are new here I always welcome questions,comments and feedback. Love you all my little ink angels. BYE!

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”


Posted in life, philiosophy, Poems, thoughts

Ma mère ( with audio)

You braved the world

and lost it

You loved your life

and watched it


fade from view

blurred glass

and foggy hearts

and, after all, that cord was severed eighteen years ago.

Nothing comes as a surprise to me anymore.

You will live for you

and I will live




feel I never had much of a choice

except to love you

for everything I





I am watching it,

loving life

and losing myself

in this brave new world.

-Eva M.M.


Background music in Audio: Sky Dancing: Patrick Watson

Audio Link to listen to my reading: My reading

” The pen and I, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”








Posted in life, Poems, thoughts, Uncategorized

Rag doll ( The poem version) With audio link.

Ragdoll ( The Poem)

Flies buzz around the curdled milk

and I am still cradling my head against my chest,

curled up in a ball

on the stained, eight toned carpet

across from your angry eyes.
Last night was worse:

Your hands against my flank,

digging in and dragging through,

channels that branded me yours.

And your vulgar vulture breath

against the back of my spine

sent shudders slithering through.
Curl deeper,

little rag doll,

bow your head and scream.
Breath slowly,

tattered rag doll,

and maybe you won’t die.
At the end of the day

a rag doll



– Eva M.M.