Down the worn carpet baby blue, but beloved to the door I was so familiar with touching My feet, small then led me to the bed where my father stood oddly haggard as he woved, peice by peice his strewn wardrobe. 'Father' asked I Little voice. 'Where are you going?" His answer was vague even … Continue reading Of Step-Dad the First
Category: Poetry
Of Mother
I remember two-year-old me bouncing on the ratty queen bed in my grandfather's basement throwing a rock at my mother's TV. She had found the rock who knows where, but she collected odd things like that. Whatever reminded her of vast open spaces where Indians ran free. She came out of the bathroom in … Continue reading Of Mother
His Black Bench
Sometimes I look back on this ex of mine who turned out to be a sociopath. I write more about him in my short-blurg of the passion confused boy. But on the sociopath stuff--for reals. Did the researched. He told me himself after such and such tests. Yep...but...I guess I'm still trying to make sense … Continue reading His Black Bench
Baby Barf
I remember that striped shirt. The one my father wears. My little baby had barfed all over mine, so he gave me one of his from the dirty laundry. It had smelled... of generic male deoderant. Not the most sentimental of shirts. And he's still wearing it. Maybe my baby should have barfed all over … Continue reading Baby Barf
My Spouse, the Dreamer
You dream so many things. Leaving me to hold my tongue and confess I don't believe. Because you dream to cope, and I dream for direction. You, to imagine meaning to your strife. And I to put a place to strive for. You don't remember, I can't forget. That I in my weakness can only … Continue reading My Spouse, the Dreamer
I Am a Horrible Person
I am a horrible person. A 600 pound woman, with flesh hanging like veils past her limbs, gave birth to a 40 pound baby not too long ago. And all I could wonder was how it had gotten there in the first place. ...You're probably a horrible person too.
Undrifting Friend
Friend, what have we come to? I think about sending you a gift without knowing if it's even worth it. You speak of friendship, but how is it that I can still mourn when no fissure has broken us apart? Just breathing and sex. I miss you but wonder how on earth you could still … Continue reading Undrifting Friend
Crunching Pride
Just writing up my list and crunching the numbers that mama says won't change for the next twenty years, so get comfortable. She might as well have said: "You'll always be poor, sweetheart, and we all know there ain't no charm in it." Bread winner training for a job his own sick brain won't let … Continue reading Crunching Pride
Shh. I’m a Bigot.
The world applauds. A mass, a great multitude, millions upon millions clapping, cheering An ocean coming to eat me whole. They've gotten their way through the bigots infecting their nation. Free love for all. Men and men, women and women, can love without prejudice of the law. Bigots... It feels so odd to be staring … Continue reading Shh. I’m a Bigot.
I’m Freaking Tired
I'm tired. Don't tell me to be productive, don't tell me to be successful, don't even tell me I'm wasting my time. I know I am. But I'm freaking tired, so just hand me that remote, TV, Xbox, or otherwise, and let me rot here on this couch like every other loser in this country. … Continue reading I’m Freaking Tired
Author T.S. Lowe 