The stream (all workshops)
We haven't spoken for
a while,
I see you haven't changed much.
You with your cloying carbohydrates
dangling
in pernicious wrappings
like chocolate kisses
whispering
sweet nothings
to palates
too smitten
to walk away.
You woo everyone,
don't you,
with fleeting pleasure.
The hungry, the thirsty,
the anxious, and the bored,
promising fulfillment,
contentment,
even
merciful friendship.
A worst nightmare loomed large
notification courtesy Montgomery County
Assistance Office caseworker
implied medical coverage axed
I felt hammered, nailed, shingled out...
livid with rage
frenzied, harried, jarred...
railing away
fit tubby tied to train tracks
ready to kill myself,
but dang, I ain't got enough funds
to cover funeral
or preferably cremation costs.
Young
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson
Another winter is on the approach,
As another year blows by,
The pressure is zero below,
Time constantly running out,
It's not fun to have to run from fears,
How many summers do I have left here?
Cold wind blows on my face,
Frozen encased in stone,
Paralyzed by fear of the unknown,
Of what the future holds,
Choking up on the trials that have yet been known,
Sensations we all must feel.
This is true pain of the most painful,
How to move on without them here,
No possible way to heal from the burns,
Faintly falling
feet strictly
strolling
from street
to street .
Wistfully
wandering while
persistently pondering
past the
people they meet.
Silence splinters surreptitiously,
Reverberating, ricocheting rigorously,
Empty echoes ebb throughout my veins,
Noiseless screams devoid into nothingness.
Folded within myself,
Holding my heart with trembling hands,
Bleeding out from what could've been,
Forever is fakeness, lost again.
Translucent shell, now my home
Where a woman used to be
Bones and baggage hollowed out
For everyone to see
Unwelcome, unwanted,
your compliment oozes over me.
An oil slick I cannot easily remove:
a furtive touch that burns into me
like a toxic slug's trail.
Your words, your looks, your touch
were not invited nor asked for
If we should return your unsought regard
and delved deep into your life -
would you be welcoming
or would you feel that we
are also a creep?
“Thank you for breaking my trust and mind. Before any boy ever could.
For now I crave sexual touch, yet I fear it.
For now whenever someone touches me in the places you once did.
I feel nothing but fear and panic.
So thank you, for breaking my ability to love, trust, and touch.”
My death waits like an old roué, he sang
At the time I didn’t understand
A lech and glamorous alien,
Filled with wanton and carnal desire?
Through my teenage years,
I believed he would fall in love with me,
didn’t everyone who suffered,
with the bloom of youth,
and too many hormones?
The wood is here
For our mid winters heat
Piled off to the side
Of the woodshed,
Fresh from the truck
The scent is tantalizing
With the musky scent of oak
and the sweet smell of maple
Coming from the heat of the sun
As the wood continues to dry
As I move the wood to
Its stack in the shed
I also detect the fruitiness
Of some apple
Buried in there
As I pick up each piece
I reflect, that twice
It will heat me
Once as I carry it
And once when to the stove it goes.
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