I am torn, Ripped Right down the middle. Jagged Between my breasts. There’s a left, And a right. But what is left in-between? A peace, in me. Right there, Left behind.
Disturbed. A lifetime used To wonder, But never reach out. ~~~ Time is dirty, Muddy prints left. Tracking down Nostalgia lane. ~~~ Doors opened, That should have stayed closed. Latched and locked, But picked with curiosity. ~~~ Trouble spilling on the floor, Swept clean. Specks of dust remain, Undisturbed. ~~~ It is present, But invisible. … Continue reading The Passerby – July 31, 2019
Filling up my puddle, Splish, splash. Pity party for one, please.
Trauma isn't that moment, Trauma is strung out. A flavor that lingers, In the back of your throat Your whole life.
Shaking~rumbling~ Blow, blow, blow! Feel it, grab it Ride on!
The hardest thing to do Is smile through All the pain carried Deep inside of you.
Put it down, they say. Enough is enough, they huff. I am mad, because I am sad And I just don’t have any energy today. To be there, like I once was.