Hush-a-bye baby, don’t look over there, listen to the lady, surrender your despair. No point letting life get, snagged on nasty thorns, curl up in your blanket, and dream of rosy dawns. Copy all the others, join our little tribe, safe under the covers, like the fairy tales describe. Don’t make yourself […]
Once upon a time several lifetimes ago, a college freshman took a poetry class from a kind professor lady who was a friend of her daddy’s. At first, she struggled to write authentically and wrote manufactured cans of generic words. With support and encouragement from the kind professor lady, she started to open up. She started to remember her own feelings and thoughts rather than the ones she’d been trained to claim. At this young age, much of her expression was related to feeling unworthy and dreaming of a mother’s love.
Once her truth was unleashed, the professor took note of the words, the style, the raw truth of this girl’s expression flowing freely for the first time. Professor lady entered a few pieces for submission into a poetry magazine, praising and encouraging this girl.This girl took those tiny tidbits of confidence and felt some pride and ability. She collected her writing in a glossy navy blue college folder along with a few of her favorite poems from her classmates.
Soon, the girl’s mother came to visit. She excitedly told mother of the published poems and the professor’s praise. Choking down her fear, she shared her glossy navy blue collection with all its grief and torment, fear and love. She saved her private heartfelt tribute to mother for last: a poem of raw and sincere desperation for mother’s love and approval intertwined with the depth of love and admiration she’d always felt for mother.
Mother read the tribute in silence as the girl waited breathlessly praying silent pleas. After reading the tribute, she said, “That’s super cute…but tell me about this classmate of yours who wrote this poem about Daisies”.
“Daisies” was a sweet and playful poem about dancing in a field of daisies which the girl had really loved for its light and sunny nature full of hope and thoughts of joy.
Mother said, “I’m really worried about the author of that Daisies poem. She sounds like a very sad girl who’s had some hard struggles in her life”.
In confusion and added desperation, the girl picked up the tribute to her mother and bravely, beggingly said, “Really? I was actually trying to express some of that myself, in this poem.”
Mother smiled a slight sneer-grin that made light dance in her dark eyes and said, “That’s a cute poem, but tell me more about these Daisies, that poor girl…”
Sip from the pain in my eyes
simultaneously sweet and hopeless
savor your creation
the bountiful blend of infinite misery
sip the dark, cluttered flavors
beg its nuance
dance blithely on your tongue…
my heartache tastes of your untethered joy
my agony, your treasured dreams
my torment, your freedom
my desolation, your playground
frolic, delight, laugh, play,
live all the life they ripped from my labored breath
swirl my endless grief in your perfect rosebud mouth
swallow the efforts of my dreams
relish the zest of salty satisfaction
my pain your remedy
my unwanted battle
my death your life
“I don’t want to hear a bloody THING about you, you’re a waste of silence, say nothing, speak no more”
“Not even to explain why?”
“Who cares why? What is the truth behind any why? It’s just a deck of cards, spilling into bath water after all, plug-in the radiator and throw it in, BANG BANG now we have something to talk about, electrocution, far more illuminating than fucking human problems … ”
“I want to tell you why I hate myself so much.”
“I don’t give a DAMN why you hate yourself. I’m GLAD you hate yourself.”
“Why are you so hateful?”
Hate, Hate, Hate. Because I’d rather drink lemonade. Because the world runs on it darling didn’t you know? Piss & vinegar inherited the earth.”
“I did know.”
“Then? Why the hell are you surprised?”
“I thought if you really tried you could communicate with someone, make them…
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I want to embrace the graceful beauty of this crippling pain, doll it up with flowery words of hurt like a teenager’s poem full of angst.
Oh, to make this broken heart sound bittersweet, rather than merely bitter. Once I was good at such things; writing lovely words of agony and making it all seem nearly stunning.
I flow through descriptive words, sweet similes, atypical analogies, mystical metaphors…
No! None fit. They can’t even reach the jagged edges no matter how tautly I stretch and contort them.
His smile was beautifully bright and constant. His laughter was infectious to epidemic proportion. His love was limitless, vast, and deep. His will was steely strong. His faith was relentlessly solid. His hope was contagious.
The loss of him is a nasty bloody gnash; a massive black void; a fearful scream from the soul which won’t release.
It is simply not beautiful.
It rained for 34 years
A constant drizzle of dampness which permeated the soul
and dampened the spirit’s birth-right of light
knowing nothing otherwise
her soul and body adapt
figuring into a semi-fish like thing.
when she was submerged in water, she forgot the rain
and it was a kind of grateful joy.
She could see others in the sunlight- their sunlight
And she longed to join them, stand next to them long enough
To warm her wet scaly skin just a bit
But she knew.
She knew joining their sun would put out the light and warmth they loved so much.
So she learned to love
She couldn’t know envy or wish the light for herself.
It being something different for her
Just not a part of her world.
The only argument for community she had was a falseness –
Her gift to pretend she didn’t rain.
She grew accustomed to all the staring.
Onlookers with a strange look in their eye unable
To look away from the contradiction of such joyful sadness
As she giggled and danced – twirled in circles,
Laughing at the raindrops as though they were sparkly diamond pieces of the sun embracing her with their light and warmth
Exuding a spirit full of light and joy as though the sundrops not only glittered all over her,
but as though the sun itself shone just for her
She confused people. They witnessed the sadness in her eyes
like a tangible pool of black marbles, glassy and dark;
the very sad darkness she refused
Pretending, playing, loving the
Sun that wasn’t
And they wanted to steal her laughter, snatch her sundrops, and submerge themselves in her pretend lightness.
She was so convincing and confusing, they wanted to trade their sunlight that was for her sundrops that weren’t!
She didn’t know envy, she had no concept of greed, so she willingly shared…
…and that which she was unable to share,
that which was her very essence, her mere learned ability to pretend and maintain breath, they simply stole.
Until she became exhausted and her sundrops that weren’t slowly dampened and darkened again into the raindrops that were
And quick with anger and the vengeance of disappointment, suddenly the sundrop thieves of her sun that wasn’t called her crazy.
Then they could only see the sad, crazy soul she was.