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A Little Nitty Gritty Ditty

I’m dying

Inside

I ain’t lying

To hide

I see you coming for me

Mister Anxiety

Go

Fuck

Off

Turn your damn head

And cough

That’s right I got chesticles

And, I got you by the testicles

Got you in a vice grip

You try to move and I’ll rip, rip, rip

I break a chair over your back

To make up for all the things you think I lack

I repeat

Fuck you

Take a seat

You’re in for a treat

Believe me, I am for real

I won’t give up until

I’ve won

I’m done.

Poet’s Note: I have intense anxiety attacks. I’ve had a horrible one building along with a migraine for 9 hours. I missed an important appointment that I have been waiting for since spring. I finally couldn’t take it anymore and had to write it out. It’s a little better now; Of course I’ve had two doses of meds now and kisses from my service dog and support dog who are curled up next to me on the couch which is some feat considering that they are both big ass dogs. Please, excuse the foul language, but, if you have ever had a major panic attack, you understand. If not, deal with it. I think this would be a good rap, so I’m giving it to the best rapper I’ve ever heard, my friend, Ian Gabriel to do with as he pleases. With all of that being said, there’s one last thing…I’m out. Mic drop…

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“Tears are words that need to be written” -Paulo Coelho

I am not good at crying. I was never comfortable with it. Growing up, when I cried, I was either told to shut up and take it, to be quiet, that I looked funny doing it, or that it made me look ugly. For the last ten years, the ten years since Mom’s passing, I have rarely cried. Now, as I am my dying husband’s care giver, I cry often…not only for what I will lose, but for all that I have lost. My virginity at age five. My son at age fourteen. My hope at age 21. I cry for a father who helped so many and hurt so few. Those few being us, his own family. I cry for my perfectly imperfect mother…a woman who lived in and past fear. I cry for my brother who forced reality down so far that it had no choice but to come bursting up. I cry for my sister. I just cry for all she believes she has lost. I cry for my husband, my one great love, as I watch him try to stay Army strong and dignified. Illness has no dignity. I know as I have been sick most of my life. Death has dignity. Not the moments leading up to it but the passing itself. I held Granny’s hand as she stroked out, then stared into something that I could not see, smiled, and commented that now, after a lifetime of being a stalwart Christian, now she understood. As they say in the South, a Lady always knows when it’s time to leave. I realized while writing this truth that I am no Lady, but I am a woman…a perfectly flawed and naked to my soul, human. You may not like what I have written. You may be uncomfortable with it. But, I have been one acquainted with the world of untruths for far too long. Mulder had it wrong. The truth is not out there, rather it is in us. And, so is God.

जवान / Young

एक बार बड़े प्यार सेजिंदगी ने प्यार से पूछा,तुम्हारी उम्र क्या है?प्यार ने शरमाते हुए बोला,मैं तो हमेशा जवान रहती हूंदिलों के अंदर… 🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱🌱 Life…

जवान / Young

KK is a good friend and an unbelievable author. I love this poem; you will see it here again on Valentine’s Day!

She Fills Me Up

Away above the clouds she dwelled

until slumber I took.

In her left hand, she grasped a plain, wooden bowl

In her right, an ornate, porcelain vase.

In dark, I slept in terrors as her lengthy arms fell from the sky

Grasping the bowl down my throat, she scooped me out.

Misery, we shared.

But, as the day began to creep back in,

her magical potions of clear, cool water caressed me through with joy and jubilation. Dig me deep and fill me up, my wise, wizened Mother.

Is it the left hand or the right tonight?

Like every night, it’s both.

Acid in my Drink

I drank a cup of poison today

opened her up and slewed her down.

And, all of the folk who wished me harm,

regretted there wishes and were over come with a mass of frowns.

I said I drank a cup of poison today

would have eaten it if I could

But, I knew that drink was all my tummy would take,

Otherwise, gnashing I would.

You drank some, too, my dear ones

And, agreed that it’s better than guns…

except in a true duel

I was Eight

Cannot breathe

Sheets smell of a two day continuous fart gala

Eeeww!…He flicked a booger on me that he had balled up like a balloon.

I have become a waste can for fresh, newly picked boogers.

How do you get raped while the rapist picks his nose?

You remember the punishment that will befall you next time Mom and dad are away.

Between the tears and his sweat your Tweey Bird nightie is drenched and a full breath is impossible.

He’s so scrawny yet feels like a boulder on your chest.

Rolling off of me, he does a gymnastic type dance and is on the floor.

“Get out of my bed, slut” he remarks in a sneering yet comical way,

but you can still get the hint that he means business.

I was eight.

After All

Staring at the paint chips in the ceiling,

Not wanting to move because I’m sick and finally cozy.

I’m starving though.

I stretch and claw my way into a half seated position

My mammoth duo of dogs aid me to no avail.

I lie back down,

defeated.

Taking a couple of puffs off my vape,

I rev upward.

I’m hungry dammit.

I stretch and wobble,

the dogs think it’s game on now!

I grab a chair and pull myself up.

Thighs of fire get me cleaned up and fed.

But, looking at me in the end, you would never know the fight.

Southern ladies always are presentable.

After all, we tidy our hair and freshen our lipstick,

even if the house was on fire.

Poetry: Thanksgiving

I forgive myself for idealizations of holidays pastFor quick crying between wishesFor wiping tears on my pumpkin apronFor missing the harvest moon …

Poetry: Thanksgiving

This blog entry by an amazing artist conveys my thoughts exactly. I am alone this Thanksgiving, and it really had me down until I read this piece by sweet Bridgette. You should check out her writings and photos.

And, to those who wonder where the turkey and mash potatoes are- they are in your heart, dear one. Thank each of you who read and support my blog. Your dedication keeps me dedicated. Many thanks and blessings to you all!!!

Love~ Susan