The Unglamorous Art of Surviving

Dear Reader, You asked how I function; how I get through the day. You asked how long it took for me to accept that my loved one was gone. You asked for advice. Well, here are words: You have recently lost a loved one, and I am so deeply sorry for you. It has been … Continue reading The Unglamorous Art of Surviving

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Poetry Friday: Taking Notes in English

Taking Notes in English They said they liked high school fine, and at least no one died while they were there. My insides clenched and I thought of you, Andrew. Dead dead dead, kick the stone all you want but he can’t feel a thing. Cut me open, display my insides to the ceiling, snip … Continue reading Poetry Friday: Taking Notes in English

Poetry Friday: Mortality

Mortality A cemetery: If this is all we come to, it will be okay.

Poetry Friday: Reason$ to Live

*trigger warning* Reason$ to Live The old feelings return and my concentrated suffering could kill every light in the city. I can’t even trust the emptiness to stay; abandons me faster than hope and leaves me numb. I can’t even complain because I’ve been worse. Perspective. It’s cheaper to hide than to act; blood flows … Continue reading Poetry Friday: Reason$ to Live

Poetry Friday: Three Years Later

(For Mrs. Hogan) Three Years Later They warned me since the beginning that Honors Pre-Calc was tough. I watched Andrew, Zach, and Doug do work using theta, vectors, and stuff. The teacher, a gal affectionately known as a homework corrector from Heck, was petite with a smile that was fast as a flash and a … Continue reading Poetry Friday: Three Years Later

Poetry Friday: Staining Cement

Staining Cement Last night when we held hands I felt your heart beat so fast and I wondered why mine didn't. You know I love you but my heart stayed steady, so the blood in me stayed cool. I liked your hand, all warm and strong and wrapped snug in mine, you saying you didn't … Continue reading Poetry Friday: Staining Cement

Poetry Friday: For Drooble

For Drooble Gray speckles on a gray-green landscape, me a pink splotch, I march through the cemetery unafraid of the mothers and fathers and children sleeping in earth. Stone benches say, “Come sit awhile and think of us. This stone preserves our hospitality, like the jars we sealed our jam in, laughing with loved ones.” … Continue reading Poetry Friday: For Drooble