#truthhurts

(I think this is recycled from a few years ago, but I still like it)

I’m listening to this song

about the good, bad, and ugly truth.

I guess the truth is all of those

at some point.

I wish I had some good truth

to chew on –

so far, it’s just been bad and ugly.

And it hurts.

People are always sorry when the truth hurts,

but they still dump it on you.

Sometimes they even give

a “truth hurts” quip like it’s supposed to help.

Douche bags.

Yeah, I’m thinking of you right now –

all of you,

and why you ever thought I wanted

your brand of truth.

Maybe you didn’t want to lie,

but the truth wasn’t really necessary either.

 

#weareallhypos

There is no end to the hypocrisy of the human heart.

That’s all for now.

(Mic drop?)

#itsallcomingbacktomenow

Remember way back when,

when it was easy to write and create 

and let stuff flow. 

And then, 

I got distracted by living outside 

of words. 

I left my comfort zone for 

flesh 

and 

blood. 

Also, I found love. 

Still got it – 

kind of a record. 

Who knew brown eyes and lots of Cribbage 

could make me forget about 

my other love? 

I found someone who 

got my brain. 

And He he listened about “thou” – 

big deal. 

But I’m inching back 

to words, 

to my pen, 

to the thing I loved 

before I loved 

those big brown eyes. 

 

#enoughisenough

I am enough –
all of me,
not just parts,
not pieces that you can pick
and choose
and patch together –
fashion into something
socially acceptable so everyone
will smile with approval.
But nope –
that’s not my bag.
I don’t want to be acceptable anymore.
I don’t want to check off
someone’s list and get a seal of approval.
I want to be me.
Just me.
No additives or fillers.
Nothing artificial to make me look right
for the pictures.
Took a while, but I finally got it figured out –
I’m totally unique and
not made to be in the regular flow.
Because I have my own,
I am enough,
and if you don’t like it,
then you’re out of luck for anything else.
I’m done moving myself
around to fit into everyone – or someone else’s mold.
Been there,
did that enough that I don’t want
any more t-shirts.
I am enough.
Nothing else to say.
Peace out.

girl power

I’ll never forget the day

when I finally figured out who I was.

No labels,

no political correctness,

nothing neat and easily explained.

I was a blend of terms and ideas and styles and blood.

All of it, all over the place.

Took me a while to shut out the noise

and see for myself.

But when I got it, I really got it.

The emperor finally found his clothes.

Her clothes.

My power suit, so to speak.

Feathers flying like they were meant to all along.

So I leveled my gaze and went for it.

Exam Room 24

It’s been a while, but I’m still here. For your reading pleasure – my try at flash fiction:

 

Exam Room 24

“I don’t like how men smell. Or really, I don’t how it smells. And how I smell after.”
The nurse looked up from her clipboard, but didn’t say anything. The young woman in the hospital gown continued speaking, either forgetting that she wasn’t alone or not caring.
“They’re always so shocked when I say anything – like they don’t think they smell bad. Like they think it would smell good. And it doesn’t go away quick either. Not even after a shower.”
“What is your name?”
The young woman didn’t make eye contact. “Emily.”
“And your last name?”
“Bronte.”
The nurse sighed quietly. “I’m going to need your real name.”
The young woman frowned. “They said it was okay to use fake names though.”
“That was the counseling hotline. This is different…we’ll need your actual name.”
“Can’t I just be her for a little bit? Just a little?”
The nurse stretched a smile on her face. “Sure, Emily – for a little bit. But eventually….”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“You mean did he force me? Don’t they all in some way though? Force it? The others were nicer about it, made it seem like I wanted to…made it seem like my idea sometimes. And most times, I probably mostly did want to. But it was always their idea before mine. And I always knew that, but I went along anyway. I’d pretend that I was all for it, and they’d pretend to call again.”
“But this time?”
Emily glanced down at her fingers. “I broke a nail, I think. Doesn’t matter, I guess, since the paint’s chipped on all of them.”
“Emily?”
“Yeah, this time he was just more upfront about it. I said no. Or, I think I did. I wanted to. I tried to pull away. He hurt, in general, you know? It was rough and he didn’t care.”
The nurse stopped writing. “I’m sorry, Emily. I’m sorry for him. For all of them, but definitely for him.”
Emily shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to talk about it again, huh?”
“A detective’s waiting to take your statement.”
“About time to stop being Emily.”
The nurse smiled gently. “Maybe after the examination. That okay?”
“Sure. That way someone else is being poked and scraped.”
“I’ll be gentle. Promise. Now, lie back please and we’ll get this done as quickly as possible.”
Emily’s chestnut hair fell over the back of the examination table. “I hate how they smell.”

Stuff We Don’t Talk About

Sometimes things happen —

that’s what we say when it’s too complicated,

or painful,

or petty,

or messy to explain

and we just want to shrug it off,

even though

we know that isn’t happening

anytime soon.

Because things happen —

like when I married the wrong man

who bullied me

into

      the

            ground

and never thought he spoke unkindly.

Or when I let that person

break my heart over and over

and over,

like I’m not china.

Or when the first of two monsters

took something from me and left only scars.

But hey – things happen.

Yep — things.

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