Reflections of a Tired Girl
Reflections of a Tired Girl
I am an enigma; forever stepping in front of mirrors attempting to angle myself in the perfect position to be loved; always making myself smaller than I seem in order to be seen. The mirror never minimizes though; only my self-worth and the infallible expansion of the earth and its distorted heart; the murderous, evil hands that trench through my body and pick me apart. None of the pieces are beautiful.
I am a snake, slipping myself in and out of places that I do not belong; constantly praying to find my one true home, yet forever stuck in a sea of gold and I am always the rock at the bottom; worthless, wretched, ruined and worn through – but was there really anything to wear? Some people are simply rags; soaking up everyone’s water in an attempt to find their own; thoroughly wrung out and yet the droplets of clarity still transfigures to blood.
I am a sore thumb in a room of perfectly perched fingers and my nail beds are dirt-filled from digging after treasure. Shovel after shovel, the removal of gloves, raw red and blistered – I am still digging to find mine, to understand what love I should reciprocate in exchange for the work of my hands. 'X-marks the spot' is written on everyone else’s map but mine.
Nobody ever tells you about the dark side of the world; the eclipse that drips in front of the light in your life and will never unfurl; there is no bone clad armor to protect you from this; and the indent on your bruised peach heart will never, ever drip golden, always devastatingly red.
- i am so disgustingly human
The Voice
August 2024
What the World Is Made Of (Colors)
Color winds its way through souls – plant stems, the lick of a warm breeze, snow, flames that flicker high, painted in red, the color of roses as well as blood, love and war, and veins of life, duali...
A Villanelle
The pool is open, did you not hear? There’s a banner in town advertising it. Summer hasn’t yet slipped from my fingertips. I almost want to cry When I think about June morphing into July morphing int...
The Fleeting Moment on the Bus During Which I Spied a Dead Thing and a Raven
lines on the road paralyze me redefine me reignite a sort of otherworldly longing in me orange blurs into yellow blurs into black lines blink in and out of a parallel existence / red was never a facto...
Reflections of a Tired Girl
I am an enigma; forever stepping in front of mirrors attempting to angle myself in the perfect position to be loved; always making myself smaller than I seem in order to be seen. The mirror never mini...
Eros' Arrow
When Eros shoots the heart of one The piercing point of Beauty’s son Borne of love and lust and loss To pine for one’s a lover’s cost. Eros with his quiver filled Leaves a trail of hearts he’s killed...
Glimpse
It is a wandering sort of day (wandering mind wandering feet wandering eyes) before I find the camera. It looks old enough that I wonder how it still works. Because I have nothing to do and because ...
Acceptance before Change
On September 2 of 2022, I packed three short sleeve shirts, two long sleeve shirts, and four pairs of pants into a backpack and left my house in Sharon, VT, for four months on an intensive expedition ...
Floods – Again
Last year, floods ransacked Vermont.They stole. They destroyed. They even killed.While the rest of the country dealt with extreme heat,Vermont was struggling just as much with the floods.I was lucky e...
Painted by a Friend
A welcoming face smiles in greeting, then sets in concentration as colorful strands cascade down her face –a painter painted in cool colorsthat sing of soft sandsand calming wavesmemoriespainted in a...
Intertwined
When only the stars shine, the winds’ whispered rhyme echos across the land as the sea longs for the moon. The magnetic pull weaves their fates together, intertwining them for eternity. The moon chas...
Strangers
Strangers are the closest companions. You take a shot and I let it go. You say I’m pretty and I let it go. Will we meet again? I don’t know.