Rachnoc Haiku 21 Hour 21
From his memory
Released, on her Rachnoc feasts,
And our hero does run.
Hour 19 – Decay & The After
Decay & The After
In my own journey away from life,
all I can ask for is a falling apart that is proactive
let my eyelashes blow from my face
like a dandelion, let them fly, let me fly
let me pretend where they land,
I will have more opportunities to grow
let my nose melt into anthills
to make my body home, no, many homes
let maggots bleed from my cheeks,
dripping from dwellings of their own creation
let my hands turn to mouths turn to ash
let my lifeline speak before I combust
let my body be
and be
and be
until it isn’t
until it all falls apart
You stopped loving me
My lips moistened
your soul,
my words stunned
your thoughts,
you stopped loving me
when I showed you
that you were no longer the sun
of my days and
the moon of my nights.
You stopped loving me when
you stopped being my horizon,
You stopped loving me when
you stopped being a dragon
and became a man.
You stopped loving me when
you stopped being my shadow,
You stopped loving me when
you let my body
and my lips belong to another man.
5 AM – PRIDE
sighs and closed eyelids,
taste of saltine crackers
between cracked lips.
hold my rib cage together
so my heart can’t escape
my chest.
pavement scratches my knees,
batters them, but it’s just a
misdemeanor.
slapped on the wrists
while walking on Mass Ave,
the rainbow road
marks my belonging.
claps and pats on the back
line the street,
and the feel of smiles
widen mine.
the shame I held fades,
regenerating pride.
Prompt for Hour Twenty-One
Text Prompt
Write a poem that starts and ends with the word running.
Image Prompt
Choices
People say happiness is a choice and if you choose to be happy you’ll be happy. There are days when I choose happiness but I still feel sad. So, I have to disagree with happiness being a choice. On the other hand, life is a choice. So, whether I’m happy or not; I choose life.
23~5
(who did it?)
Who Stole My Heart??
AGAIN!
little soft feet
pitter~n~patter
<multiplying>
as they race
towards me
opening up
nummy treats
~pppfffft~
my love stolen
then given back
heavy with joy
as I watch them eat
by my wiggly bare feet
Ms Henry, my very first teacher. Kindergarten is like a blur. All I remember is her. She loved me like a mother loves her first born child. There’s no collection of memories at recess or lunch, I don’t know what I learned. I can tell you how I felt though. I felt compassion, affection, attention. In first grade, Ms Henry was my teacher again. I felt so loved that I believed she chose to teach first grade just for me. I never saw her again. In second grade, I needed her. I never got to say thank you, for nurturing me when I needed it the most.
Inarticulate
You want to know where I am
I am where I said I would be.
I am right here. Writing. Quiet.