Raw Earth Ink
spit, mixed with dirt – muddy words flow
Tag: Sadness
Erosion
I hold memories of you like a wave-worn rock nestled in my pocket reaching in, my fingers float along your soft edges /the gentle curves of who you were /who I remember you to be /who we once were I feel your weight a… Continue Reading “Erosion”
Ten Years
Ten years. Damn. It doesn’t feel like ten years. My body remembers. Remembers like it was a few months ago. My chest remembers. The ache. The brokenness. The questions. The tears… oh god, the tears. Somehow it was my fault, I’m sure of it.… Continue Reading “Ten Years”
Grief Held
The loss was so profound So deep So all-encompassing that it Seemed For a time As if the tears would Never End “Will I ever stop crying?” I asked the world in general In poured the platitudes The endearments The empty gestures And then… Continue Reading “Grief Held”
So Small for a Love So Large
When I held him in my arms, he was so small. So small. I cried oh god how I cried. I asked, is there anything we can do? The doctor said, I’m sorry no, he’s just too small. I cried harder. Please, I’ll do… Continue Reading “So Small for a Love So Large”
Memories in Withdrawal
When they placed him in my arms, he weighed nothing at all I didn’t even know how to hold him The moment I looked into his face, I felt something burst and bloom in my heart Something I had never felt before and never… Continue Reading “Memories in Withdrawal”
Seven Purple Crocuses
crystals coat my eyelashes and my puffed breath swirls before my face the mist runs its fingers through the low-lying trees the quiet whisper of dried and yellowed grass in the slightest breeze the grasp of winter’s white blanket still wrapped around their ankles… Continue Reading “Seven Purple Crocuses”
Piece of Sh*t
Today he told me I was a worthless piece of shit And maybe he’s right Perhaps I’m not worthy Of his time or energy But I can make great Indian food And some people pay for my ink and art Plus I’m decent in… Continue Reading “Piece of Sh*t”
The Quiet
he walks down the lane a single rose clasped within his palm its petals soft and gentle reminding him of his lover’s voice a shift within as one memory lifts upon another his thumb caresses the velvet though it were a cheek instead her… Continue Reading “The Quiet”
