I don't like you. Yet how commonly is my adoration called upon to sooth your troubled waters. You set sail without me, and I'm happy. I wanted no life on turbulant seas, but why do you call? Echo for me to give you--not a life line. Not another boat or to call the life guard, … Continue reading Love is Not a Boat
Category: Poetry
I Ache Tonight
I ache tonight. Take me down to a cool bed that isn't mine. Dress me up in a different time and call me by a different name, because I ache tonight within my frame, and cannot figure why. I ache tonight. So shroud me beneath ocean colors, seaweed arms to take me whole, and tie … Continue reading I Ache Tonight
Apostate
Why did you leave? You say it's because the home was a lie, that there is no way to find God, for all ways lead to God, and very few lead to the devil. I say I will not, that I will not leave my Father's path, and you ask "What if it is a … Continue reading Apostate
Sin of Covet
Covet all within a store known for fragile Chinese wares. Where is your pride now?
His Mother’s Red Dress
His mother's red dress is two sizes too big for me. I wear it anyways, flattered to wear that which was left behind; once well beloved but forgotten, but I cannot sew. And I find I am too fond to put it off: my husband's mother's red dress.
Romancing the Muse
"I will not help you," she said. "You dangle too much on the edge of reality and hope that I'm much too aware of your stupid means." But I already knew I was stupid. Isn't that why I couldn't write tonight? But then again, I never meant her any pink offenses. Even if what I … Continue reading Romancing the Muse
Deeper Ink
I want my ink to be deep and wide that my words should look sure and unmovable, rather than a thin scrabbled mess meant for temporary notes and reminder. Perhaps then I'll have more say more control over what I write and how it moves my world. Perhaps, then, I'll adore those thick inky strokes … Continue reading Deeper Ink
I don’t like you, Mom
He thinks if he expresses how much he doesn't like me it will stop me from trying to be a good mom. Oh, my precious baby, I ache for the feel of a soft little head beneath my chin, and little fingers clasped about my own. They were my moments to worship you. Little, soft … Continue reading I don’t like you, Mom
Anxiety Doesn’t Care About Stories
Grasping at straws broken plastic cutting the divinating creases of my palm. Tell me live long and may your future be devoid of vomit. Crack open my skull, and peel back the membrane crushing me. I'm seeing. Hallucinating. What's real? You are real, but am I? Nails, through my ears Temples, where God waits on … Continue reading Anxiety Doesn’t Care About Stories
To My Kai
I find the sound of your tiny snores ease my darkest nights. A profile of long lashes and bits of polished sky-- bits of me. But I couldn't be this beautiful. I want to hold you like in the days when you despaired whenever you couldn't hear my heart, but you're older now. And no … Continue reading To My Kai
Author T.S. Lowe 