Originally published on the Sad Girls Club lit page:
In solitude,
Loneliness arrived on time,
Whispering to my fears,
“It’s too late,
In this flesh encasement,
To try again.”
The problem with sadness?
She speaks,
In every language.
Remembering the details,
Of how I broke.
Pulled up high,
And fastened tight,
That brightly-colored,
crepe paper unicorn,
Cracked wide-open,
From the last blow.
Then the people ran to pick through,
The sweetness of my soul.
Buying Time
Loneliness whispers,
Erase the lines,
of my wrinkled brow.
Furrowed with time,
That pin-pricked shot,
Fixes everything.
The injections course,
Through my veins,
Preserve me;
As a living taxidermy,
Of what I used to be,
And ran through,
Long past my time.
On Becoming
Lines filled in;
I wandered through darkness,
Always needing,
To fill this old soul.
And even when the unicorn,
Turned to discarded refuse–
And I wasn’t the pretty paper,
Or the sweetened candy soul.
That people grabbed,
And swallowed,
In jittery rows.
I was none of it,
and all of it,
Thought I was obliterated,
Afraid to be invisible,
When all of it was ego.
Then the old crone finally came to me,
When I thought it past my time,
She laughed from her heart,
and gave me her smile,
It was wrinkled,
Much older than mine.
I recognized her slightly,
From the twinkle in her eye,
But she wasn’t of this time,
Or place, she was older than the sky.
The Crone
She came wrapped in the night,
For she’s guided by the moon.
I took her in,
We spoke a while,
It ended all too soon.
She put her hand in mine.
The woman of the sky,
Looked deep into my eyes,
