hopeless
I’m tired of the quotes and the advice that just stirs up theories and thoughts that hurt worse. I’m so turned off by trying to figure anything out, especially any kind of feeling. I wish to be numb. Dead if need be because when the unexpected plummeting to the depths of darkness again after the short moment of okayness makes none of it worth it. I know because I’ve been down then up and down. And I’m still here. Still here.
Class night incognito’s
Prose. At last. Prose. At last. How do I thank you for the spankings you’ve handed down.
What did the hand say to the face?
SLAP!!!
Into fruition. My mission to secure a seat at your table. Yes/No? Maybe kiddie? Say it’s so
After a snip it. (You know?) In the Week magazine mentioned the app. (Did it happen like that? Imagine that’ maybe) As similar to a creative writing class.
I thought... What a relief. Because.
Back then. I still had beef with?
Public Speech. And all words used to face the matter. (Teeth Chatter)
And I’d tired at that which once entertained.
Books, beaches, or Babylon etc. etc.
Variety? Yes! Hearing good things. About getting other things of your chest. Remembered twenty five years ago. Writing stories in class as something I did not detest. So the joust of jest. Is/Was for the best.
Imagine That?
beginning to begin
I’m beginning to shift. My bones, they’re beginning to feel different—hinged with new nails and plates. They creak like the floorboards of a building I used to call home—a memory that no longer crushes me.
I’m beginning to live. My soul, it’s beginning to feel. My heart it’s beginning to begin again.
hidden in quiet berths of lines
hidden in quiet berths of lines
on monogramed stationary
longhand slopes of adoration
accomplished and cherished
well versed-
all inflamed too soon
and she hid until ripen
fingers petal-forms, whisperings
(casting passes. privileges stricken
each grain scratches and scars
until praised death.)
as rereads burns raw lips
-in small volumes-
strangled ribbon-drafted
of sparkled adornments
(glossy gaps blur his obsession.)
reflection- unlocking
gripping instincts
murmur wonderings...
(inciting a thirst
spoils golden pleas
and bludgeonly stamps her
past.)
as tirelessly traveling
through old prints,
un-belonging to these
scattered silhouettes
how missed?
unseen before
his massive lurking form.
© 16 days ago, Meg pain • loss • death • adult