Nicole Lyons Reviews Rachel Finch’s A Sparrow Stirs its Wings

Every now and then, when the world seems to be rocked in chaos and people are screaming without listening – vile words and cries for help climbing on top of and over each other – a single voice stands out, and that voice is pure in its truth and stunning in its wisdom.

Rachel Finch, and her debut book, A Sparrow Stirs its Wings, is that voice right now. Turning her heartbreaking abuse into heart-wrenching prose, Finch writes her truth and gives her strength to every unnamed victim turned survivor.

A Sparrow Stirs its Wings’ is both a hard and a beautiful book to read, the wisdom and the pain contained in these pages demand to be heard and felt long after she puts it all to bed.

There is no voice quite as beautiful as the calm and cool voice of a survivor, an advocate, and a poet, and Rachel Finch is all of these things and so much more.

A Sparrow Stirs its Wings deserves a much-loved place on the bookshelves of survivors across the globe, literature lovers everywhere, and the therapists who are breaking out of the confines of antiquated methods to treat people with breathtaking art therapy.

A Sparrow Stirs its Wings is available at

Nicole Lyons is a force of nature disguised as a writer, a social activist, a voice for the downtrodden, and a powerful poet with a delicate touch. She is a best selling published author, poet, and also a consulting editor for Sudden Denouement.  You can read more of her writing at The Lithium Chronicles.

Faye K. Brown Reviews Rachel Finch’s A Sparrow Stirs its Wings

“Pieces of me lie scattered in his fingerprints, his voice an echo at the base of my throat and as he nears me, I cross my heart and hope to die.” (He Will Carry Me, As Long A I Will Carry Him)

Amidst the hardships flowing through her veins, Rachel Finch has found salvation from sexual abuse and trauma through her poetry. This piece is just one of the many heart- wrenching, soul-shattering poems in her debut poetry book “A Sparrow Stirs Its Wings”.  Rachel invites her readers to over 120 pieces of her heart & soul, and I can guarantee you will need a box of tissues by your side for this book.

Split into two sections (Part One: Broken Egg Shells/ Part Two: Flight); readers can clearly identify the mood on the pages. Described within her poetic words are hellish moments worded so beautifully that you can’t help but to fight back the urge to dive in between the lines and save the girl before danger strikes. Rachel’s writing is spiritual, delicate, truthful, and at times, heart-piercing. There is a cleansing spirit even within the darker portions of the book:

“He thinks the darkness will swallow me whole, but he has forgotten that light burns within me.” (Inner Flame)

The emotions felt are powerful, and paralyzing.  Her words are a comforting hand to hold while they take you back to your own tragedies, as she holds you tight through poetry, and comforts you through her ability to be triumphant within turmoil.  A mark of a great poet Is the ability to make emotional connection with their audience, and Rachel Finch does exactly that.

Abuse is one of the most difficult subjects to write about, talk about, and acknowledge personally, let alone publicly.  Rachel has a way of bringing abrupt attention to the matter without glorifying it. This subject is trip-wired with fine lines, and she brilliantly dances right over them with a healing warrior goddess mentality and message:

“I spent so long in the dark that the moment the light streamed in, I let it swallow me whole. The beauty was everywhere, is, everywhere. People are so breath-taking. When they let themselves feel, when they choose to house truth on their tongue, when they grow from the pain.” (Growth from Part Two: Flight)

So often we feel ostracized and ashamed because of the terrible things other humans have inflicted upon us.  Rachel preaches to us to “Shed The Shame” because we are survivors, not victims; we can learn and grow from the pain, not let it destroy us; we have a choice to harness our power and use it for good, not continue the cycle.

Rachel reminds us that no one can take who we are away from us. We are warriors and she is holding up the eternal flame of righteousness, proudly displaying her battle scars – not for glory – but to share her bravery and reminding us that we are not defined by our tragedies, pain, and suffering. I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t ask for a better soul to lead me into battle.

There is no stone left unturned in “A Sparrow Stirs Its Wings”. This is our anthem for 2018. The revolution we have all been waiting for.

Rachel has gained success as an online poet and community leader via Facebook and Instagram on her “Bruised But Not Broken” page, as well as on her poetry page “Rachel”.  She has over 600,000 followers and counting. She is a unstoppable force that takes the time to comfort hurting and lost souls that need direction, healing light, a safe community, and family.  “A Sparrow Stirs Its Wings” is a tangible piece of her online legacy, as well as one of the most powerful collections of poetic literature I have had the honor and privilege to read.  Get ready for your world to be poetically ROCKED!

A Sparrow Stirs its Wings is available from

front cover

Faye Brown is the author of Beautifully Damaged Things. You can read more of her writing at Black Orchid Poetry and FKBrown Poetry.



Coming July 2018- ‘A Sparrow Stirs its Wings’ by Rachel Finch

Sudden Denouement Publishing is thrilled to announce the upcoming release of Rachel Finch’s book of poetry ‘A Sparrow Stirs its Wings.” Rachel is the powerhouse behind the Bruised But Not Broken community on Facebook, which provides support and healing for trauma survivors. She is also a Contributing Writer for Blood Into Ink and founder of Bruised But Not Broken on WordPress. She is a symbol of hope throughout the world and we are honored to see her vision come to life.

The Addicts Don’t Disgust Me; Humanity Does-Rachel Finch/Bruised But Not Broken

Even the heathens used to suck on their mamas titty.. 

There was a time the addicts cried for milk and that was enough..

Those babies grew with Love in their hearts and still the world beat them down.. 

People, beat them down.

I’ve watched everyone i’ve ever loved reach out for comfort. I’ve watched them all reach for a damn fix too. 

But I don’t get mad.

You know why I don’t get mad? 

Because the baby crying for a bottle still hides inside.

Because those babies grew into children, suffered at the hands of men claiming to be human and they’ve been gagging on trauma ever since.

But no one’s there to pat their backs.. Couldn’t soothe the colic, can’t help heave the vomit. 

There is no support system.

Just little girls hiding behind big tits and long eyelashes, painting smiles onto their faces, as if foundation hides the streak of tears, we know it doesn’t.

Little boys, bruised, looking up at men that fathered them and then taught them everything love isn’t, through their fists. 

Rape, carried behind their eyelids, beatings still living beneath their skin.

There was no fucking hero. 

Just small people, reaching for a bottle, reaching for a titty that’s dried up, a fucking hand to hold that can’t be found because jesus, to touch them would be to risk the plague.

And you walk by.

I have watched these people crumble. I have watched them stomach grief, living with a bad taste on their tongue, struggling to spit the pain from their lungs and I watched them fight.

The shame in their chests, the weight on their shoulders, their broken hearts barely beating. 

They were anything but weak.

And you think you’re better than them, because you carry your pain in your pockets and you can handle the heavy that weighed them down. 

You did not live their path. 

I guess I do get mad, when their bodies convulse, when they throw up as much as they choked down, when they laugh admist the agony of overdose.. 

But not with them.

With those of you that think you’re a fucking gift to the planet, but can’t be a gift to a brother. 

The addicts don’t disgust me.

Humanity does. 

Rachel can be found on WordPress at Bruised But Not Broken and on Facebook

He Was A Six Foot, Six Year Old..-Rachel Finch/Bruised But Not Broken

He was a six foot, six year old,
his skin, heart, cold as the armour he still wore.
Deep voice booming, heavy gaze looming,
clawing for a control he never felt before.
I watched him suck the life from her lungs
and fill his own with a power born from her fear
and he sickened me.
I traced the cut on her skin with a shaky hand
and she flinched.
And she flinched.
She pulled away from soft hands, she knew
and I watched him smirk.
I tasted the vomit in my mouth all the way from
my stomach and gagged on the flavour of the blood
seeping from my heart up to my tongue.
I poured honey on her wounds, thick to hide the
shame and I swallowed blame, his and my own for the
days I watched him shrink her and said nothing.
He was a six foot, six year old,
internal bruising lining the under layer of his body
and he kicked her in the playground that their boys
played tag in and I chased them so he didn’t have to.
I chased them so when they looked back they’d remember
my smile running after them and their mother’s
face toward the sky, her back to him,
her back to his knife, back to his wounds that
were still living.
He was a six foot, six year old,
and we mothered him.
We offered love to an orphan that had never felt warmth
but he did not thaw.
Now I fan the fire to keep the heat and intertwine it in
their nervous system so they never feel the cold they were born into.
So she never remembers the frost.

Rachel Finch 2018 

Rachel can be found on WordPress at Bruised But Not Broken and on Facebook

It Was Tragic..-Rachel Finch/Bruised But Not Broken

It was tragic,
the way we clung
to dreams and longings,
the way they smothered
the trauma with labels
and tried to squeeze
our psyche into straightjackets
too small to bound the inner.
It was tragic,
the way we retreated to our
subconscious and made homes
of the fortresses that
housed the ancient but
not forgotten.
It was tragic,
the way we sparked up,
chewed valium to
numb the yesterdays and
mauled at any euphoria
we could claim ours
to soothe the wounds.

Rachel can be found on WordPress at Bruised But Not Broken and on Facebook