Poetry
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“Oh, just one last look, dear, another glimpse? Fifty years of memories come and gone Today …it ends.” Wife sniffles into her tissue. “Our home. All of this. Stupid bankruptcy.” Husband wipes her crying eyes with tired hands fighting his own tears with hopeful smiles “We'll never forget our memories here. They'll join the next from all our new adventures to come. we’ll be okay…” He whispers, holding her close. “We'll be okay.”Featured Image: Team GHB
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I choose to die
as I lower into the water
I’ll drown this life forever, I whisper
filling my heart, my eyes
my mind, waterlogged in no time…I choose to die
sitting cross-legged at the bottom of our lake
This backyard will never be the same
from my actions
to our family nameI chose to die
when my breathing ceased
ending apart of myself
I refused to see
Soaked memories of a shell I wore
masks of life that became a chore
submerged to the lake floorDiscarded, ignored
I chose to die
because I’m moving on
Reaching
above the surfaceBreathing
Knowing
I’ll live on
I Choose To Die first appeared at The Writer’s Club on August 27, 2022
Featured Image: Kirsten Curcio
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Christina loads a Linkin Park CD in the boombox, twists the volume to max presses play then turns to her friend “Christian! We kinda look like each other, you know? Our brown skin and dark curly hair.” The teenagers stare at themselves in the break room mirror “You’re prettier,” Christian whispers. “Let’s switch nametags,” Christina demands. “Someone will know,” he’s adamant. “Pfft. We’ll get away with it.” She pins her nametag on him. “Now I’m Christian, and you’re Christina.” Laughter ensues Rowdiness dominates the grill Fake Christian runs around singing screaming like Chester Bennington The restaurant crew acts like ninjas in battle handling fast-food orders to watching, confused customers Days later, a mystery shop returns zero score with a stinging memo: “That little Christian girl… is an issue.” But there was no little Christian girl there was a Christina but it made little sense Christian’s a guy three times Christina’s size “That mystery shopper fucked up.” The novice manager concluded, ripping the mystery shop up “Told ya.” Christina tells Christian quickly kissing him “Now you’re my boyfriend.”
Featured Image: Canva
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I am so thrilled to share my poem The House of Dead Leaves was published on Spillwords Press. Special thank you and warm vibes to all of my kind friends here on WordPress for reading and your continued support of my work, as well as Dagmara K and the Spillwords team.
Excerpt:
We arrive at a house composed of mustard-brown bricks Dead leaves and aged newspapers splattered with a wanted murderer’s face pile around the black front door, desperate to be swept I’m wearing a purple coat, itchy black sweatpants, sneakers that no longer fit, and a pink beanie hat I’m still cold and hungry, but I’m alive today I’m standing on a stranger’s stoop with the person taking care of me “We’ll stop here for a bit.” She says, knocking on the door I don’t have a choice in the matter I am a burden who became someone else’s temporary burden A child along for the ride during winter break, living in a troublesome city—south side A man opens the black door
Read the full poem here: The House of Dead Leaves
Featured Image: Canva
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Strolling through hazy woodland, a poet presses forward awaiting inspiration to strike “Will you accompany me tonight?” He inquires of Earth, walking on crunchy leaves, twigs snapping beneath his boots Such craves trigger rumbling rising from the woodland floor “My dear…” Her kiss plants his lips euphoric tongue sucking on his Vision strikes swirling into words arranged aligning a poet’s mind For a time... He writes and writes until she travels on with vanishing night refreshed in rich light A new day Another chance to venture forth again seeking his muse’s love and pure inspiration
Featured Image: Canva