My skull is spillingfamiliar disappointment,but my heart still hopesyour thoughts are just stupefiednot all empty of feeling.
photo by Nick Fewings, on Unsplashfor Poets and Storytellers United (Writers’ Pantry #26: “You can make anything by writing”). Really, writing is magic… we can make with our brains, hearts, and fingers.
Saturday, June 27, 2020
Saturday, June 20, 2020
Shadows can’t be without light, just like me. Without you, twisting my limbs in our secret garden of little deaths, I can’t find the self that makes me. In the Solstice of my tale, you are Sun: growth and blaze and life and the rest. I know you fear full night—I taste the truth in words you touch to my lips, in caresses you banter to keep, in every rebel gasp my voice rips out of that bit in your mind you’ve wished didn’t whole who you are…let me be the heartof your twilight, the darknessbalancing the light
photo by Shyam, on Unsplash- for Poets and Storytellers United (Writers’ Pantry #25: Summer Solstice)
Wednesday, June 17, 2020
Saturday, June 13, 2020
Some days are the darkest,most twisted and unfriendlyof forests spawning barriersbetween asphyxiation and a life-giving breath. Others(the ones we cherish and turninto blood-food), those daysgleam through bare branchesin winter, singinghome a promiseof brighter springs,singinghome a promiseof brighter springs.
find more of @flipsphotos19’s work on Instagramfor Poets and Storytellers United (Writers’ Pantry #24: Mr. Frodo, I Do Understand)
Saturday, June 6, 2020
She says, “I envy the way you feel only what you want, the way the world never boils in the inside of your bones. It must be liberating not to need to rage aloud.”And I just watch her… and wonder, how many decibels of self-involvement does it take to grow deaf enough to unhear the growls of self-discipline that constantly remind me not to snap in the face of selective ignorance?
“Really,” her tongue goes on and on, brain still on mute, “you’re so lucky.”
“Yes,” I say, taking a few breaths, reminding myself who I am and why I am, “I am lucky.” In my head, I add, Lack of luck would’ve left the skin of my knuckles on your teeth. And who needs that sort of filth in their hands?
Perhaps finally sensing the mood feeding my tone, she smiles an unsure smile. And I hope a little.
photo by Geran de Klerk, on Unsplashfor Poets and Storytellers United (Writers’ Pantry #23: Growing Along with Our Words and Weekly Scribblings #22: It Takes a Bit of Discipline )