Music, Poetry

Doot doot doot


In the cover of night

I turn on my light

And I let it shine

With a big glass of wine

I’ll let you go

And when you come back to me

We’ll burst like a star

Falling over the sea


Mountains so tall

They make the whole world

look small

But I’d climb them for you

If you asked me to


Say that you’ll love me

Say that you’ll care

Say that you’ll kiss me

And always be there

Say all the things

That make me smile bright

I’ll say them to you

And you’ll turn on your light too


I’ll turn it off

I’d do it for you

I’d burn out my light

If you asked me to

I’d give up my light

I’d do it for you

I’d put out my fire

If you asked me to


But I’d never ask you

No, I’d never ask you


In the cover of night

I turn on my light

And I let it shine

With a big glass of wine

I’ll let you go

And when you come back to me

We’ll burst like a star

Falling over the sea


We’ll burst like a star falling over the sea

~Sarah Davenport 2015

Music, Poetry

Mississippi Blues



No one’s home, no one’s home

Oh Mississippi leave me alone

I ain’t got no dammed whiskey

I’ve been dry to the bone

My pockets been empty

Since I turned eighteen

My mind ain’t been right since

Last Halloween 

Don’t come here no more

I won’t open my door

I ain’t got no news

I’m begin’ and stealing 

And singing the blues

Oh Mississippi you whore

Don’t you come here no more

Don’t you come here

Don’t come around

Don’t you come here no more

~Sarah Davenport 2015

Music, Poetry

If I Were A Pimp



Take me to the vet

Cause I’m an animal

Feasting on beastie dong

You’re looking at a cannibol 


I got the junk 

To take care of your


Take off your clothes

Make up too

Cause imma beat it up

Until only your mom

Can identify you

Go-head and hurl – gurl

I’m ’bout to twirl you

Into oblivion

Shock collars

Crisp dollars

Gangsta ballers

Strung up

In my closet 

Where it’s dark like


What’d you say?

Bitch what?

Is that a grin?

Don’t even begin

To pretend

Like you could handle

This again. Sheee-it.

~Sarah Davenport 2015


Do The Junk



He said; come on in and pick me up

My body is an empty cup

I’ve been down for nine days straight

I’ve been dry one out of eight

He said; sit by me I need you still

My empty cup I want to fill

I’m too broke to pay my bill

But fuck it for another pill

I put a needle to my vein

Anything to mute the pain

I said; I can’t stop this fucking train

Doesn’t matter where 

my emptiness remains

He said; one more thrill

One more thread

One more hit to rest my head

He said: this shit kills

My wounds are red

My body limp

My body bled

He said; this shit kills

I laid down and said

Close your eyes fool

We’re already dead

~Sarah Davenport 2015

Mental Health

The Social Contribution Complex

Here I am. Almost 33, mother of two children without custody, art maker with one hell of an unorganized, tumultuous, self destructive tendency. Being a thirty something. Settle down time? Find myself? Just keep on trucking? WTF. I’ve not been to school since the ninth grade. 

I used to harp on myself for being a barnacle on society. I’m the statistic. I’m the one the GOP complains about. I’m Daniel Desario; James Franco’s character on Freaks and Geeks. A loser. 

But what if I’m not? 21 years ago I was diagnosed with bipolar and spent my entire teenage career on probation. I was a walking time bomb. In my twenties I was on autopilot in a Kamikaze. After having my second child I did some serious trial and error until my doctor I found the perfect psych prescription cocktail and I’ve taken it with the dedication of a toothpick sculptor ever since. 

That’s the thing. What I don’t think anyone really understands. My life right now, is at risk every thirty days. I take pills that have literal killer withdrawals. When my pharmacy has a glitch I’m teetering on an emotional wire. Today, for example… Oh, this is just something that happens without explaination or known reason other than the magic words: side effects. My tongue, and my shoulders to chest, and fingertips.. just roll a numbing sensation through me.

I do take pills to help with the side effects of my psych meds, that also have side effects. I do this. I do it because I came to a point in life where everyone that truly knows and loves me gave me the ultimatum, get help for my illness or lose their support.

I’m an artist. I rarely make money, lately I’ve used my art to barter goods. I’m poor. I don’t have the ability to hold down a job. I need support in one way or another, always emotional.

So many hours I spend wondering if I could hack weening off my meds, what would I be like? As temperamental as before? Out of order? Would I slink into the night, find a needle and pass out in a gutter somewhere? I’ve been there. In the gutter. I’ve been the hitchhiker in the rain at night without a clue as to what direction was home. Chronic bronchitis. Chuck Taylor’s molded to my feet after weeks of never taking them off. Sleeping under a bridge. Endless cups of coffee bought up with nickels and dimes just to be inside some place warm.

People who don’t know all the chapters in my story can’t fathom my illness. I clean up well. I know how to smile. People who think they understand my illness encourage me to kick the psych meds and whole heartedly believe I can navigate my illness intuitively. People think I was born yesterday, for who could be so naive as to go through the shit storm of hassle it is to take a multitude of medication to Just to control an unruly temperament… Just stop being moody. 

Ah, shit… My friends. If only you’d been there. 

I may not be growing a community garden. I may not be organizing food not bombs picnics or discovering cures to disease. But god dammed if I can’t say with confidence that I contribute to society everyday. Morning and night. With each pill I swallow, trust me, I contribute. 

~Sarah Davenport 2015


Riding On The Line


Riding on the line
Could’ve been a shadow
Between the houses
Between the street lights
Just behind the sign

Riding on the line
Can’t justify the distance
Between your sweet breath
Between your heartbeat
How far it is from mine

Riding on the line
I draw for days past
By the wayside
Alone and empty
Sipping dollar wine

Riding on the line
I cry into my pillow
I don’t want to be a bother
I feel like an insect
I feel it all the time

Riding on the line
I hope you’ll still love me
When you grow up
When you’re ready
To put this all behind

Riding on the lie-i-i-ine

~Sarah Davenport 2014