Finding Peace
When I was little, I would pretend that my first word was “dog” and that “dog,” spelled backwards, was “God,” and therefore I was always meant to be part of a Christian church. My first word was not “dog,” but the strangers in the suits standing at my front door and humoring a 7 year … Continue reading The Plan
A breeze blows a kiss And it tastes of you What of your thoughts? Are they blowing, too? If I breathe in the sounds Of air through the trees Would there be a trace Of you in the leaves? I lost my voice To the sea, long ago But I hear your laugh When the … Continue reading Blow
I lie in bed and wonder who I am. “Volatile” rings through my ears, abrasive, rash, unacceptably familiar, it describes me perfectly. Did he know, when he said this, that I described my mother in the same way? Flashbacks of fights I didn’t start, wars I couldn’t win, breathes I couldn’t take. Did he know … Continue reading Volatile
3/7/2019 “The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you.” – David Foster Wallace Photo by Lena Bell via The Truth Will — Eyes + Words
I Watched you grow Into Someone I’d always wanted to be Did I make that happen? Or were you your own person Right From the Start? It keeps me up at night Did I make you, Did you make you? Could I have been you, Despite … Continue reading My Little One
Don’t withdraw your love from me, I promise I’ll come back.. This is just a phase, you’ll see! I’m so much more than that. I can laugh and I can love, And I can make you smile... I can be more than the fear That takes me every while. Don't withdraw your love from me; … Continue reading Don’t Withdraw Your Love From Me
Cool air flows in through the door, left slightly ajar by some coworkers who haven’t figured out that it’s too heavy to close on its own, and licks at my cheek. It smells of rain, and the dark clouds above my office building agree. We’ve been getting so much rain lately, I sometimes forget that … Continue reading A Warm Resort in a Chilly Office
Type, type, typing, Furthering another’s dream With no ideas for my own. When will someone be Type, type, typing For me?
The pricks are nothing to me They sting, sure, every now and then But it is their smell that makes me come for more I love it, and need it as much as the air I breathe The pricks are nothing to me They draw blood, I know But it's their softness that I remember … Continue reading Pricks
A single covered lamp lit up the room from a corner just a little too far away to make the atmosphere welcoming; the light barely made it through the large, thick shelves, loaded with books fading to blurry memory as soon as I’d glanced at the titles, past the brick-a-brack of family artifacts layered on … Continue reading A Simple Diagnosis
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