Words fail me

{I wrote this last week…and put it in drafts, because it seemed toxic and radioactive.  Now, a week later, I think that it is good to post it, as I want a picture to be painted that is as true and real as I know how.  Clearly, we all fall short of True-truth understanding of reality and our place in it, but practically our perception and experience is real, and valid for being vulnerable regardless…these colors are an essential part of the picture of my life that is being created…and this poem a small work in a larger Work which someday may indeed be found a profound and priceless creation:  A life well lived.}

Words Fail Me

No pretty words,
no elegant phrase,
no alliteration
dancing and spinning,
distracting from
the deformed spirit limbs
and lack of true hallmarks
as a woman.
Just the moments,
which heap up
and pile up
and ever deepen
the ache inside.
You know this about me,
and still let it be.
It is preferable
to having to talk
to this stupid bitchy mutant
and tolerate her

why…her what,

her her


I fall,
Icarus struck down
and wings revealed
as crude and pathetic



when the twisted tilt
of this off-kilter place
rains down hard
and drowns my parched face
without quenching my thirst,
I feel swamped,
savaged and slain.
My hold flooded,
but buoyant resilience
beyond my kin
keeps me afloat…
and chained to a place
of teeth-gritting
white-knuckling determination
to finish this thing.


Cracked Mirrors

It’s so hard to see yourself
in a cracked mirror.
I gaze, deeply into faces
as they swirl and stream
past me in the byways and highways,
and the low ways too,
scuttering along in
gutters and grime.

I search for myself,
straining to see
past slackness,
lost blankness.
I watch dances,
intricate and musical and tone deaf
but find no rhythm
that matches me.
Dark, seeing darkly,
peering intently past
foggy facades
hanging like moss
off cliff-sides.
Cracked mirrors…

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