Reblog – childhood’s villain by Bogdan Dragos

A powerful read for anyone with a dysfunctional childhood, definitely one for me.

Daydreaming as a profession

Father used his fists a lot Though never on the kids On the walls and the furniture and the doors and the mailbox and the fence and the neighbors and random people on the street and strangers in the bar and a few times the poor dog and one time on mother He was the childhood’s villain To defeat him one had to become a hero and becoming a hero took time And today after all this time the villain of childhood was dead He died at the hands of some other character, a neutral one A cop who told him to drop to the ground and father didn’t so he got shot That was it The end of his saga Utterly unsatisfactory anticlimactic disappointing just bad There was no final showdown between hero and villain because those things only happen in childhood and childhood had ended a long time…

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Reblog – All those little malices by Candice Louisa Daquin

Another exceptional piece by Candice! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. 🙂



June 14, 2021 The Feathered Sleep

All those little malices

By all means ignore me

or dissect me

it seems a parody of contrasts

is my lot

the interplay of intensity and nothingness

for you who climb out of the woodwork and carve my freedom on your belt

you who look away after one glance and do not consult your back mirror

the gaze of this world exhausts me

I want to wade into the deeps and swim off

away from the noise of competition, egos, alarm clocks and paleo diets

to something resembling peace


that fissured part of my soul

fractured by time, strife and the religion of need

surfaces breathless

and sighting land, swims back

filled with a longing to be heard, touched, ratified

by those mercuried, humid hands of humans

the lovers, the haters, the players

I can’t pretend to keep up

I am tired beyond my years

trying to understand what makes people break others

why our penchant for destruction, lying and vilifying

is the healthiest hothouse flower of them all

as much as I want to climb inside silence and stay still

my ear pressed to a shell

listening to a fantasy world

I know now, as I am no longer a child

that wonderlust is only for the very young

who inhabit it with such unbridled glee

that we adults stop what we are doing, however important

and watch with indulgent smiles;

as wet and laughing

they dash through sprinklers


The dragon got you! Get to the Faraway Tree!”

in that moment, I wish we could recall

what potion we drank to enable us to believe

such kind places ever existed

where, like glossy rubber boots we left at the doorway

all those little malices would fall off

and not muddy the floor


our family rich with morbitities
of the mind, body and soul
wondering which fate awaits me

inviting the punishment
for perceived past misdeeds
a self-flagellation of sorts

abuse hammered in
nailed to my psyche
hard to escape, even after years

wrenching free is the only hope

Childhood Daze

Andrew Morris – Unsplash

Inspired by VJ’s Weekly Challenge – The Chase & Sadje’s – What do you see #77

the gleeful children
with imaginative friends
had the fairies dancing around them

laughing without care
and the sunlight fading into dark
the young minds began the chase

with enthusiasm and joy
one by one
little lights filled the jar

held brightly captive
these grantors of wishes
small eyes closed into slumber


it was plain to see, flying like a plane off her wooden stilts
there would be blood
there was no pain as the broken window pane sliced down beside her left eye
so much blood discombobulated her mother
tears took center stage, not the white t-shirt now stained dark red
the hysteria in the background so oscar worthy
a little girl watching the performance
not knowing yet there were deeper wounds created
years passed before mom and her chronic attention-whoring
got that so richly deserved smack-down
the girl, now a woman, didn’t clap, fawn or adore anymore
she just walked away

Inspired by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Saturday Mix


Photo by James Sutton on

my love for you…

is written on my face
but you can’t seem to read me

emanates with intensity
but you are immune to feeling me

is expressed with every syllable
but you don’t know how to hear me

is right in front of you
but you are unable to see me

i must not be enough

Wordle #461

My sister and I grew up on all things camp – TV, film and even some music. We watched the funniest shows like Gilligan’s Island and Batman. It was hilarious getting animated, emulating an exaggerated karate chop through an imaginary smoke trail or holding Vick’s up to our eyes, so the vapor made us cry fake tears. 

I am yearning for carefree, childhood trips with the family, watching monarch butterflies flitter around on the mountain hills. The current plot twist in our lives makes me ache for pure, unadulterated silly joy. Thanks, Covid-19.

It’s time for some birdsong and chill.