“Living is killing me,” he said.
“Living is killing me,” he said.
in Jackson, Mississippi
in a shit brown ’69 Buick
in the driveway of my grandparent’s home
we sat silently
each for our own reasons
my mom sat in the front passenger’s seat waiting
clinging to the bouquet of flowers that somehow made it all ok
baby sister sat in the back seat beside me
quiet for once but only cause she didn’t know what was going on
dad sat seething in the driver’s seat
waiting for me to break the silence
to respond to their seemingly simple announcement and a question
They were getting back together
we were moving back home
and all he wanted to know was, “Isn’t that great, Melanie?”
They didn’t expect my shock, my hesitation
They didn’t know my horror or my ultimate resignation
that the brief respite had ended, as i should have know it would
when he repeated his question with that edge in his voice
I quickly mumbled “yeah”
but the damage had been done
“Don’t you love our daddy, girl?”
“I don’t believe you, guess you’re gonna have to prove it.”
With his hand twisted in her long curly locks he said between moans, “I thought… you were… a good girl.”
“I was,” she said slowly, gazing up from between his thighs with a gleam in her eyes. “That wasn’t working out so well for me so I’m trying something different.”
After violently tearing page after page of happy faces frozen in time from the album she lit the glossy plastic covered things on fire and unceremoniously dropped them in the bin.
“Photographs of other people’s memories
remind me of a life stolen from me.”
she explained to her befuddled neighbor.
They say it’s a fine line between genius and madness
and I agree, a fine line indeed
because I can see the poetry in insanity
and the insanity in poetry
or maybe poetry is a way to release some instability
while still being considered sane
consider the muse
we wait impatiently to hear her voice whispering in our ear
to be graced with her presence, to feel her near
but we are Poets, Artists, Writers………not mentally ill!
it’s not as if we “hear voices” and are “compelled to do as they say”
In poetry we can explore death and dying, even murder and suicide
without fear of being locked away and medicated
with words I’ve killed myself a thousand times
on paper, I have a standing date with death
with sharpened pen I’ve tortured and murdered my abusers too
the acts carried out in poetry
have helped me survive in reality.
she gently placed him in his crib
as his eyes fluttered and closed
for the last time
Reclaiming my inner badass at 50
Blogging away with random thoughts in form of poetry, stories and more...
Book reviews and other gibberish.
Scribbles on Cocktail Napkins
Tigers not daughters
The Art of Glamorous Fantasy
Luxuriating in Ephemeral Art
Never get lost in the Sauce
Sriram Janak - Photography
Create a path of Light with your Life
Welcome to my world.
Critical. Crazy. Catastrophic.
Tales from the mouth of a wolf
Great poets live on the edge of sanity; mediocre ones reside in the suburbs.
visualize whirled peas...all you have to do is stop the violins!
A gorilla's existential crisis
AM Roselli's art & writing site
The Ridges of Intertextuallity
This too shall pass..
Welcome to the world of cats!
A Vegan Stew
En enkel fotoblogg med bilder och en del konstiga tankar.
A Hopefully Formerly Depressed Human Vows To Practice Self-Approval
.... my journey to a healthy life, making new memories and so much more
A Gypsy, Bismillah & Esmerelda The Spider Sit With Yama At The Vaitarna
Tears Become Joy...Take my words as TRUTH.
lights in the sky
Author: The Eternals Series
一枚の写真は一千語に匹敵する／A picture is worth a thousand words
Lanzo una escena hermosa con una fotografía.
ALLOW THEM TO TAKE FAILURE NOT AS A MEASURE OF THEIR WORTH, BUT AS A CHANCE FOR A NEW START.
Spiritual Moments in the Human Experience
Wisdom from the Blogs I Follow
If you want to impress me, undress your heart.
Artists using intelligence and creativity to foster and spread peace and love throughout the world. We can work TOGETHER to bring about change!
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