Category Archives: family

365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Sixty-Three

he called me a cunt.
this is my family.
no presents or Christmas cheer here.
just loneliness and heartache.

nobody’s fault but mine.
some asshole butchered Stairway last night.
and I don’t work at a guitar store.

so many things I should do.
but proper functioning is not on my radar.
I’ve broken the last good dream.
there was for me.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Sixty-Two

tis the season.
to think about things past.
miss the things you had.
and cry.

the cold shocks.
tears stop.
if only for a little while.
they always return.

too much.
always too much.
I break.
I am not strong.
I am not worthy.
but at least I’m alive.

for now.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Fifty-Four

sky is watercolor.
clouds across a blue wash.
centered by the wind.

shifting temperatures.
and broken things.
always identified with.
the Island of Misfit Toys.

the sky is watercolor.
sun a lightbox, diluting color.
till all fades to white.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Fifty-One

paid a hitman.
no view of the blood.
this is the result of lust.
overwhelming love.

ends of ends.
no sense of home.
this is what it’s like.
to fully be alone.

wish I hadn’t killed us.
but it seems what I do.
breaking over loss of home.
crying out for June.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Forty-Nine

honesty will often.
start a war.
there’s no use crying.
over spilled coffee.
embarassment flees.
soon enough.
and there are much finer.
reasons for tears.

lines drawn before.
anything was said.
no part of this battle.
wanted or needed.
escape not an option.
stop the turning away.
rest and comfort.
a food-borne memory.
mother’s casserole.
and the solace of snow.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Forty-Eight

when I was a young girl.
there were many lives.
went down three paths.
at the same time.

foundation rickety.
avoided the truth.
and now convergence.
is the one thing to strive for.

fifteen to life, and ticking.
fifteen to life to blow.
wasting time.
though it’s fifteen to life to go.

Laughing too hard to write any more of this. Made up a dirtier version of this chorus earlier at work, but I think riffing on the song in general is responsible for the cackles.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Forty-Four

tree is not trimmed, heart.
is still broken. What. Is. This?
a shell, unspoken.


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