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Stupid Girl

You’re so stupid, little girl. Did you feel clever when you locked yourself away? Did you think the dark would hide you from the world or save you from its sway?

You’re so stupid, little girl. Did you think that, if you were gone it couldn’t happen to you? Did you think the darkness would save her too?

You’re so stupid, little girl. You’ve been gone so long, you may have missed the worst, but it’s still all wrong.

You’re so stupid, little girl. You’re such a little fool. Won’t you ever learn that all they are is cruel?

You’re so stupid little girl, to think that you are strong. What a foolish hope to keep your whole life long.

You fool! Oh, how I hate you! How long have I wished you dead? And how I long to throw you from my head!

You little fool, such a poor little fool. I should pity you, and what a loathsome fact it is too, that I do.

You useless little idiot. I ache to hurt you. My hands desire to grip your neck. To see the life fly from your eyes and wreck.

You’re so stupid, little girl. Do you even know how lucky you are, to have been huddled away while I got all the scars?

You poor little fool, do you hate me, as much as I hate you? What a dismal fate it is, for us to be one and not two.

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The Good Stuff

Posted on
The Good Stuff

Sharp, cool, summer nights,

Big Dipper, Little Dipper, North Star,

Whispers of a moving creek,

Chirping crickets,

Chorus of frogs,

Chattering, calling coyotes,

Home

*

The stink of boggy water,
Earthy scent of horse,

Soft lips on your palm,

Campfire smoke,

Crackling logs,

Burnt marshmallows,

Home

*

Lazy summer mornings,

Pickle jar in the sun,

Sweet tea over ice,

Rich aroma of coffee,

Sticky donut holes,

Crazy 8s and Rummy,

Home

*

Deep winter calm,

Childish joy of life,

Musty smell of kerosene,

Dinner on the woodstove,

Snow drifts,

Numb, stinging face,

Home

*

Frog spawn,

Fledgling ducks,

A toad for show and tell,

A disappearing salamander,

Mating frogs,

Shedding snakes,

Home

*

Friday rituals,

The house is clean,

Evening peace,

Quartet music in the morning,

Sweet oat cereal,

Game night,

Home

*

Bicycle rides,

A story before bed,

The hard forest floor,

Too hot, hot cocao,

A pleastly heavy backpack,

Oatmeal and fried eggs,

Home

Supernatural

Posted on
Supernatural

She’s supernatural, my cosmic kin,

forged at once so long ago, now together again.

Comfortable companion through eternity,

she’ll always find a way to return to me.

Fearsome defender, but with a soft touch;

she gives her everything, doesn’t ask for much.20170423_162757_HDR~2

Together in stillness, for me it’s enough;

she’s always nearby when things get tough.

With an intelligence that’s second to none,

her muchness just can’t be outdone.

So fierce, so brave, so misunderstood;

she’s lived through more hell than anyone should.

She is her own, but somehow also mine,

two spirits linked with a psychic line.

All beauty pales next to her light;

an earthly star, she’s still so bright.

Olive eyes shine forth from a stone facade,

relic from when she was worshiped as God.

Still my Queen, picture of magnificence,

she’s well aware of her own significance.

Fabled, famed- Supernatural

mistress of mine, a grimalkin called Nell.

Don’t Be Nice to Me

You could cut me ’til I bleed,
drain my life away.
It won’t hurt so bad-
Just, don’t be nice to me.
*
You could force me to my knees,
lay me ‘pon a bed of nails,
or burn me at the stake-
Just, don’t be nice to me.
*
You could call me any name,
you could tell me any lie,
say the shameful things I am-
Just, don’t be nice to me.
*
You could turn your back on me,
leave me shirtless in the cold,
watch me freeze to death-
Just, don’t be nice to me.
*
You can beat me,
choke away my breath.
You could even lock me up-
Just, don’t be nice to me.
*
Kindness is a deadly weapon,
there is no defense.
No other pain akin to this.
So please, don’t be nice to me.
*
My head may know the truth,
but my soul has been miswired.
Pain is a relief, and pleasure my agony.
So please, don’t be nice to me.

Demons

There’s a peculiarity of mine,
something so dank, so savage, as to be unspeakable.
A lurid creature lurking in the putrid recesses of my upbringing;
undiscoverable, unphotographable, undiscernable, 
yet terrifyingly palpable.
In all technicality, harmless,
a waking dream of pure terror.
Closer than my shadow,
unriddable parasite of the soul.
The antithesis of joy,
the retribution for passion,
unknowable nemesis and bane of muchness.
Fits of passion flowing out,
unbridled joy, righteous anger, simple love.
The helpless subject of a primal god,
my punishment is swift, sure, severe.
Body and soul wracked together with knowing;
worthless, shameful, disgusting, selfish- rude.
Demon unnameable, showcasing the underside of my soul.

The Dirtiest Word

Shocked, scared sick, stupid

All these things I am

Never should’ve told her

Foolish to seek comfort

There’s never any comfort

Just wanted her love

Now I’ve her sympathy

Humiliated

Ashamed to have told

Bruises, belts, broken paddles

Fits of temper

Headlocks

Hitting every stair

The truth feels guilty like a lie

She hurts for me

Calls it what it is

But that word isn’t mine

Try to backtrack

Change her mind

Afraid I’ll be in trouble

Scared he’ll be as well

Defend him

Say it’s not his fault

Find a way to get away

Go back home from camp

What you know

Is safer than what you don’t

It’s ok, you’re used to it

You’ll be eighteen someday

Midnight Worship

Midnight Worship

The light of the night,

gentle solitude

ardent acolyte

in her midnight nude,

running from the light,

the night is her food.

Performing the rite

and setting the mood,

her heart’s fire alight,

will soon be imbued

with her muses’ might.

Divine strength renewed,

she’ll rest in delight.

Sensing day’s prelude,

far will flee the sprite.

Careful to elude

the sun’s vengeful sight,

knowing she’s pursued,

she’ll chase the twilight.

Pop-pop, the Pajama Cat

Pop-pop, the Pajama Cat

He’s a pajama cat,

a bit saggy in the knees.

His middle’s kinda fat,

sneaking, eating too much cheese.

He’d look fine in a hat,

except cats do as they please,

so he’s more apt to chat

in dainty slippers, like these,

or sporting a cravat.

High fashion, in some countries.

*

He chases all the girls

but has hardly any luck,

though he dips and twirls.

He’s really not a hunk.

When they mock his neat curls

or when they’re quite clearly struck

by his string of rare pearls

he cries, then gets very drunk

and dances ‘til he hurls,

or his fancy pumps get stuck.

*

Sometimes he prowls around

clad in a grocery sack.

Sometimes worn like a crown,

or else Supercat attack.

He’s looking to astound

with his clever fashion hack.

He usually ends up bound

up in the sack, without much slack,

begging help from the hound

who frees him with a smack thwack.

*

To the friends in his head

he’s loyal when they’re in need.

He tucks them into bed,

he fulfills their every need.

He checks the mirror for Fred,

he pays for all their weed,

and gives them stuff to shred.

Pop Pop’s friends are real indeed,

at least that’s what he said

when he left in his best tweed.