Redux
she was damaged by circumstance
against her will
the patterns of dysfunction became habits for life
she claimed her internal baggage to carry onward
life was always challenging
the rewards were seemingly unattainable
happiness was strived for but just out of reach
a bitter, lonely end was her destiny
and inevitably
she ceased to exist
Originally posted October 18,2018, on I Write Her; posted here with revisions.
Redux
kept down
held back
filled with fear
and rage
despair at every turn
me, an unwilling victim
blockades to stop me
turbulence swirling me about
My history embedded a lack of power in me.
Years of criticism, critique, and disgust took its toll.
Thick layers of neglect crusted over on this shell of me.
Defeated, ignored, and scared.
But I dared to feel more important than what the day rolled out.
I fought to experience life exquisitely, with the volume on high.
Determined to engage with this existence full of substance and force.
I clutched myself hard and pushed forward to lean loudly into my future.
Not gonna hide from it anymore.
Originally published September 26, 2018, on I Write Her.
I’d like to thank Joseph Pinto for the inspiration for this piece.
If you’d like, take a moment to read his post Whelve.
invisible drama
not acknowledged
outsiders only see camouflage
but the damage
dispensed from previous generations
lingers deep
self-preservation from the ugliness
slows the hurt
but offers no resolution
only a temporary roadblock
to the pain buried inside
which will surface
eventually…
criticism, shame, and pressure
weighed heavy on her innocent psyche
existence
the process of accepting more pain
impeding her maturity
life’s mistakes chosen unwisely
battles wearing her down
a breaking point
finally came
she chose to unearth her decimated being
destroying the mold of generations
retrieving and reclaiming her true self
way past due
Spirit
I am the fire spirit risen
from Aries, I have been riven,
on the birthday of Artemis
I was born of a stardust promise.
I am to be sought not bidden.
From in a dark place hidden.
On the cusp of the gloaming,
I may be found the hillsides roaming.
Passion
Summer nights, running through forests of love
Entwined like tree branches intimacy found.
Lips kiss as if greedily taking in water.
Bodies intermingled like vines, sought and received
Wrapped in each other’s arms, passion sated.
First Born
In the November snowfall.
Through the darkness of night. My courage in both hands.
The hours drifted by. The pain was numbed by gas and air. Suddenly, you were there – belovéd firstborn.
Unequal
When one loves
more than the other
no good can
come of it.
The other cheats and tells lies
A divorce follows.
Estrangement
the saddest thing is
to be mourning the living,
our estranged children
Eternity
October sorrows
recalled memories – birth, death,
awaiting rebirth
our promised eternity
free from human pain at last!
~~~
Carolyn Crossley, ©🦊VixenOfVerse, is a poet and writer from the Northwest of England. Previously published in the first The Short Of It book – The Sound of Brilliance, she has also been published in the anthologies, Poetic Vision and Purrfect Poems. Carolyn has a thriving WordPress blog: Backfromdarknesstolight.com containing haiku, senryu, and other poetry forms. Carolyn’s first feature on The Short of It was on November 20, 2020, and featured again this year on 5/27/2022.
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.
No one can hurt you again
I feel you in my veins
One touch ahead,
Don’t get mad,
I protect you!
Toxic or not?
We are never on the same level,
yet we need each other so much,
is it toxic or did we lose sense
– for compromises?
I want to listen
I want to listen to you,
I want to get along with you,
I always wish you just the best,
I hope this connection forever it lasts,
yet we are strangers…
Becoming and Deceasing
Rain is dropping on my head,
whether happy, whether sad,
rain is light and has no mood,
life giving on the earth clued,
but coming together, destructive,
dropping all life abductive.
~~~
Timo Schmitz is a language fanatic, philosopher, journalist, poet, and book author from Germany, where he lives and studies. He authored poetry books in German, English, and French. His poetry was also featured in Luna’s Poetry Bar as well as I Write Her. This is Timo’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.
Redux
Revised from the original posted on I Write Her:
deep scars embedded in our psyche
we were marred by loved ones we should call traitors
we feel the need to hide the frayed nerve endings deep inside
the repeated shocks to our system and sensibilities can make us mute
but let’s not go quietly
our enemies expect silence from us
but we deserve better than remaining restrained
not screaming to the rafters calling out their crimes
buys them a better life than they are due
the one we were owed
be strong, be loud, and let your wounds heal
by chance
life begins amongst strangers
a start of birthed possibilities
propelled without consent
entering this world
substantive expectations spur entities on
with an unconscious hope for empathy and guidance
yet living is a potluck
one possibly enjoyed
but for them
probably not
filled with variables beyond their control
with only but a few moments
bent favorably in their direction
too soon
the barely living
trudge towards the inevitable
a half-achieved existence for most
with regret
many pass
with tears
they leave in agony
their death
the unfortunate finish they’d not hoped for
dysfunction, years in the making
substantive love denied
fuckery freely given
innocence betrayed
rough starts
and disastrous endings
inhaling the methane of my own shit
lungs never quite breathing freely
almost at the end
sinking the lowest
gave rise to aspiration
and just like that, there was hope
Inspired by Sadje’s What do you see #81 &
VJ’s Weekly Challenge – What could you talk about for 30 minutes without preparation?
thick green creepers
a beautiful cover
on locked unit 28-5
the lush foliage slyly hides
the horrors
behind those doors
mutti wouldn’t approve
barring anyone entrance
revealing her shameful secrets
**VJ’s prompt – For those who are unaware of my dysfunctional relationship with my mother, Mutti would be the topic I could speak about without preparation for at least 30 minutes, if not a lifetime.
I Write Her 