Milestone Well worn,our path together,though not well-traveled.Our destinationnowhere near the one we chose.Where we parted,all that remains is a milestoneof what once wasour life together. Reading Between the Lines Expression Fine lines, creasesFraming the lipsCorners… More
Intensity laced with lunacy; it’s seductively subliminal.
Past hurt swept away by the look masquerading as deeply in love.
It’s not love.
And it easily has you.
If you are not careful.
Psychological warfare playing out in the depths of your mind.
Don’t be deceived by the charm of the snakes, the force of the demanding ones
or the egos of those where clever observation never occurs.
They will hurt you.
Maybe not right away, but they will.
The scars of learning are deep and never healing.
See it before it gets a hold of you.
past deeds do haunt you
ultimatums were given
The boys tried to plead with their captors. “Free us!” But where would they go? Trapped on a ship sailing the Philippine Sea, they could crave their freedom, but then what? They’d actually only get as far as the ledge of the boat.
Their situation tested their will. Cursing their fate, they angrily rattled the chain connecting them. “Why did we let them steal us from our families? Wouldn’t you rather be dead than enslaved?” The boys thought of the games that distracted them, leading to their imprisonment.
Just then, the main doors opened. It was the infamous Christopher Columbus!
the slickness of my tongue in youth
divulged my immaturity
when speaking untruths to get my way
at the liquor store
with a fake id
batting eyelashes for rum
with drama-filled explanations
of why homework wasn’t turned in
the walls cringing with angst
from screams between generations
braggadocious and vain
impressing the girls and boys for attention
as a fledgling human
i excelled in drama
yet aging now prefers that the lies come to an end
With each passing minute
I unfurl and greet the day.
I am here.
Blessings as I expose myself fully.
My open stature beckons examination
As the beauty within is revealed.
Loves Me/Loves Me Not
Oh, ox-eye daisy! Tell me of fortune today!
With sorrow, I destroy your beauty revealing my fate.
But I must know – does he love me?
From the buried bulbs
Appear dizzying rainbow fields
Poetry and nature are the only things that make sense for Katey. This is Katey Sutherland’s first feature on The Short of It.
Submissions are now closed but if you’d like to be featured on The Short of It in the future,
click here for the submissions guidelines.
we hit rough patches in life
then yearn for tranquility and comfort
or at least the ability to move to safety
there is still hope…
self-care is a must
an escape quite possibly necessary
clarity just within reach
as long as we stretch out our hands
don’t hesitate to resolve…
but swallowing feelings
pushing them down
deeper and deeper over time
builds a cesspool within
you will begin to sink…
seeking the transient warming from spirits
diving headfirst into liquid oblivion
they say, self-medication
in reality, self-destruction
addiction can kill
if we let it…
Both pieces are exquisitely short but pack brilliant messages about the things we love, enjoy, pursue, engage in, and adore. Ultimately, my point of putting these two together is that we, as individuals, decide what ecstasy is to us.
locked in a library of freedom
in pure ecstasy
the priestess of the serpent
gave destiny pause
this was all a test
where was the love and sweetness
oh my, how you failed
Originally published 8/9/2018 on I Write Her, presented with slight revisions.
these are my waffles
my satisfaction matters
screw the rest of you
My head began to spin as I tried to grip the loom to keep myself from falling. Slowly, I regained composure. But then, I dared to glimpse at the stain on the pattern again, making me anxious. I could hear the past in the crack of my bones as I began to tense up and curl into a ball. Lord, what is wrong with me?? I felt light and heavy simultaneously as my thoughts began to whirl and slowly creep out of control.
I began to wonder who would pick up the slack on the production line. My abuser, maybe?