Golden brown, puffed-up squares,
have a slight crispness that breaks
away, revealing warm vanilla scented
sponges of floury goodness, made with a touch
of some emotion and attention to detail.
Enhancements may include: sparkling maple
syrup from the forests of Vermont, or the sticky
backyard product variety of aunty J;
toppings and powders and jellies, maybe fruit
or even nuts, but otherwise generically acceptable
without any of these.
Some of us grew up eating waffles,
never questioning their purpose or usefulness,
recalling (or not) fond memories of their taste,
the environment and décor or lack there of;
of the people that
Before pine lid closed,
he asked me to forgive.
Maple lid shut tight.
Snow fell hard and fast - what a first!
A first that now lets me smile.
PMO
4 December 2014
The words I can't say out loud
are the words I write instead,
but none of the ones
you'd like to read.
The vagueness protects
me from hurting you
while keeping me from
destroying myself.
Should you discover who 'you' are
know that these are my truths
and be glad that I didn't
name names.
PMO
4/21/2014
I'm not sure when it started exactly, but I remember that the fourth grade was really stressful.
Try and try as I might to write my feelings, I was limited.
My brain had a lot of words, but none of the best ones.
I learned all too well that the words you write on paper are destined to be
found by someone - your loved ones.
It makes them angry, sad, hurt, though I didn't really understand why.
I just did as I was told, as many children do.
I shut my mouth, wrote of not so hurtful things like balloons and flowers, about cookies I baked,
and places I wanted to go.
I locked away the parts of me that needed to tell someone my stories,
wh
I used to think I knew what friendships were
and then I grew up
Everything changed – I did
You did
The distance made it easier to see
and all the more difficult to be
a 'friend' to you
It was always raining when you called
flooding the bedroom - the streets outside
There were simply not enough towels
to soak up the hurt
Not enough time if there were
Even then, I tired so easily
I would hang up and cry
because I was confused
I cried because I thought I was sad
when really, I was angry
You called again
I woke to a thunderous storm squalling at my door
so I bought new towels to stuff under them
Braced for impact, the torrent came
Twas not an autumn day
nay, a hot summer's day instead
Not a fall's day, or a harvest, or even solstice
but an autumn's day it became nonetheless
A heat advisory warned of consequences
while storm clouds trailed my shadow
casting icy thorns at my back
a heavy fog crushing the chest
and salted air crusting over an eye or two
All the while seasons shift
occupying the space rational thought would be-
I did not care
But autumn crept into this miserable summer
wearing glass umber orbs and crimson hair
that begs of winter to stay away
Summer sun's rays streamed through a
thick window pane, lighting ablaze a radiant mane
that no one seemed to
Pandora keeps playing me a tune
that conjures up a specific time period in my mind – a vision of the old
and feelings 'like-new'.
I enjoy the far east melody in close up moment,
each time, feeling like I am being pulled back.
Pleasant, quiet emotions stir under the surface,
and the sullen, not so pleasant ones there too.
I just couldn't shake the intense feeling
that I had to find the old compact disk – this important
artifact, invisibly imprinted with the history
of this very specific period of my life.
I found it. I found my old self.
As I type on the computer, I listen to the disk.
I remember nothing and I remember ever
It's really hard not to want to protect you
the little boy that you really are
accident prone as you are
as you not ought to be in my opinion.
It's really hard to separate the junior from the senior
whom also needed a certain kind of protection
from certain kinds of people in his life-
except from the certain kind that secretly loved him most
from afar, where not even a telephone could reach.
It's bothersome to me that I could care
to the point of meddlesome inquiry;
unwanted by the man who claims he is 'fine';
unwanted by the man who lies retching in pain,
with egotism for a smile and a chuckle that says otherwise.
I should be so lucky th
The honesty of me lies within
a collapsed pile of limb
and flesh
wedged into dirt-stained grooves
of a plastic tub floor
trying so hard to be porcelain
The honesty of me swells
with resentment and contempt,
stuffing down an agonizing howl
that begs to be uncorked
by the heavy, shower smoke;
if only it could...
my stark, thick, tan curtain
hides my shame
and utter nakedness
and tears of self-anguish and pity
blend silently
into scalding falls
that ironically seek to purify
a body; boiling; a haggard back; burned
to the point of numbness...
peeling away layers of a soul that
longs to expel that untouchable,
unscratchable pain
Sweet fluffs of aqua and amaranth
poison my palette so pleasantly,
tongue, tingly twisted and tormented
without worry, slightly wondering if it should.
What care have I for cavernous cavities,
or molars that meticulously mash
something which doesn't need to be;
something silently unseen-
not there?
And though I thought about my truth
in the seconds before stratocumulus
dissolves delicately in the bacterio-dome,
which leans on destroying life to live it,
I swished the purple poison
cheek to cheek, coating once clean
gums, with glistening grit left over,
and felt foolish-
foolishly overjoyed at the overabundance
of euphoria this chemical