A ghost walked through my door, tagged along by a tiny, three-year old responsibility, and asked me nothing, but heavily implied and sagged until I offered a bed. A ghost walked through my door, heavy, weary, with echoes of drugs in my head, medical or otherwise, waiting till I offered food to announce that she … Continue reading Bringing in a Homeless
It's dry and gray outside. I'm dreaming of naps and Monsters, despite knowing the chemicals will induce unrest. There's bumps minute in pain, but satisfying in their defeat covering my forehead with puss. Blink up, dry eyes, to rain? Not yet. Skies here love to tease too much of moisture. Deserts don't do me well. … Continue reading Dry
Never thought I'd like being a mom this much. Growing up as the oldest of 11, I got burnt out on kids, more or less. Mom had chronic depression so I often had to watch over my siblings while she struggled just to function. Needless to say, I also got burnt out on babysitting. I … Continue reading Love/Hate Relationship with Kids
Sitting naked at my computer, thinking about you. How strange that so many fear what we have. They call it prison what has freed me more than childhood. A killer of love they call this, which makes me think of you as I sit here naked in front of the screen. Each inch of my … Continue reading Sitting Naked
"You do this all the time" he said, frustrated and I laughed. "Saying only half of your thought then stopping the rest from coming out. Don't you know how much that bothers me? I'm so curious..." "Why do you tease me?" He looked peeved, but I knew. "You mean one thing but seem to say … Continue reading Just Going Through the Phases
He was born with the mind of an artist, but, through some trick of fate, was given no means to express it. Some would say along with a small shameful part of my mind, that he is like a child, playing pretend in a world long since gone and dead, and therefore, no use for … Continue reading He Has an Artist’s Mind
My mother always had a inappropriate way about her. To this day I can still see something like a wild, passionate teenager in her that wouldn't look out of place at a beer-bong party or tearing off her top in a wet T-shirt contest. I also know that she would laugh if I told her this, because … Continue reading A Wild Spirit with a Tame Heart
My husband and I live in that ambivalent time of life when you're old enough to do what every other adult does, but young enough to be too poor, and generally forgotten about to do most of it. We live in a college town, which makes it even worse, because not only do all the … Continue reading Frog-Eyed Salad
We all reach this point, I believe. No matter what point in your life you are, there's a sort of private, pathetic shame to being an artist. We don't invent the next medical miracle. We don't easily provide a huge house and car for our family, most of the time. And, most of us, rarely … Continue reading When You’re Ashamed to be a Writer (or any other kind of artist)
Tell me how to strip away my skull to get to the broken bits within. The twisted wires that connect me to the overwhelming want for darkness, for nonexistence, for my flesh to peel off, because I cannot survive with just bone. Tell me there's a strip of hope I'm not seeing, one strong enough … Continue reading A Strip Away
Author T.S. Lowe 